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Her brandish’d lance, and shake her horrid shield.

       Then Calchas bade our host for flight

       And hope no conquest from the tedious war,

       Till first they sail’d for Greece; with pray’rs besought

       Her injur’d pow’r, and better omens brought.

       And now their navy plows the wat’ry main,

       Yet soon expect it on your shores again,

       With Pallas pleas’d; as Calchas did ordain.

       But first, to reconcile the blue-ey’d maid

       For her stol’n statue and her tow’r betray’d,

       Warn’d by the seer, to her offended name

       We rais’d and dedicate this wondrous frame,

       So lofty, lest thro’ your forbidden gates

       It pass, and intercept our better fates:

       For, once admitted there, our hopes are lost;

       And Troy may then a new Palladium boast;

       For so religion and the gods ordain,

       That, if you violate with hands profane

       Minerva’s gift, your town in flames shall burn,

       (Which omen, O ye gods, on Grecia turn!)

       But if it climb, with your assisting hands,

       The Trojan walls, and in the city stands;

       Then Troy shall Argos and Mycenae burn,

       And the reverse of fate on us return.’

      “With such deceits he gain’d their easy hearts,

       Too prone to credit his perfidious arts.

       What Diomede, nor Thetis’ greater son,

       A thousand ships, nor ten years’ siege, had done:

       False tears and fawning words the city won.

      “A greater omen, and of worse portent,

       Did our unwary minds with fear torment,

       Concurring to produce the dire event.

       Laocoon, Neptune’s priest by lot that year,

       With solemn pomp then sacrific’d a steer;

       When, dreadful to behold, from sea we spied

       Two serpents, rank’d abreast, the seas divide,

       And smoothly sweep along the swelling tide.

       Their flaming crests above the waves they show;

       Their bellies seem to burn the seas below;

       Their speckled tails advance to steer their course,

       And on the sounding shore the flying billows force.

       And now the strand, and now the plain they held;

       Their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fill’d;

       Their nimble tongues they brandish’d as they came,

       And lick’d their hissing jaws, that sputter’d flame.

       We fled amaz’d; their destin’d way they take,

       And to Laocoon and his children make;

       And first around the tender boys they wind,

       Then with their sharpen’d fangs their limbs and bodies grind.

       The wretched father, running to their aid

       With pious haste, but vain, they next invade;

       Twice round his waist their winding volumes roll’d;

       And twice about his gasping throat they fold.

       The priest thus doubly chok’d, their crests divide,

       And tow’ring o’er his head in triumph ride.

       With both his hands he labours at the knots;

       His holy fillets the blue venom blots;

       His roaring fills the flitting air around.

       Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound,

       He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies,

       And with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies.

       Their tasks perform’d, the serpents quit their prey,

       And to the tow’r of Pallas make their way:

       Couch’d at her feet, they lie protected there

       By her large buckler and protended spear.

       Amazement seizes all; the gen’ral cry

       Proclaims Laocoon justly doom’d to die,

       Whose hand the will of Pallas had withstood,

       And dared to violate the sacred wood.

       All vote t’ admit the steed, that vows be paid

       And incense offer’d to th’ offended maid.

       A spacious breach is made; the town lies bare;

       Some hoisting levers, some the wheels prepare

       And fasten to the horse’s feet; the rest

       With cables haul along th’ unwieldly beast.

       Each on his fellow for assistance calls;

       At length the fatal fabric mounts the walls,

       Big with destruction. Boys with chaplets crown’d,

       And choirs of virgins, sing and dance around.

       Thus rais’d aloft, and then descending down,

       It enters o’er our heads, and threats the town.

       O sacred city, built by hands divine!

       O valiant heroes of the Trojan line!

       Four times he struck: as oft the clashing sound

       Of arms was heard, and inward groans rebound.

       Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate,

       We haul along the horse in solemn state;

       Then place the dire portent within the tow’r.

       Cassandra cried, and curs’d th’ unhappy hour;

       Foretold our fate; but, by the god’s decree,

       All heard, and none believ’d the prophecy.

       With branches we the fanes adorn, and waste,

       In jollity, the day ordain’d to be the last.

       Meantime the rapid heav’ns roll’d down the light,

       And on the shaded ocean rush’d the night;

       Our men, secure, nor guards nor sentries held,

       But easy sleep their weary limbs compell’d.

       The Grecians had embark’d their naval pow’rs

       From Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores,

       Safe under covert of the silent night,

       And guided by th’ imperial galley’s light;

       When Sinon, favour’d by the partial gods,

       Unlock’d the horse, and op’d his dark abodes;

       Restor’d to vital air our hidden foes,

       Who joyful from their long confinement rose.

       Tysander bold, and Sthenelus their guide,

       And dire Ulysses down the cable slide:

       Then Thoas, Athamas, and Pyrrhus haste;

       Nor was the Podalirian hero last,

       Nor injur’d Menelaus, nor the fam’d

       Epeus, who the fatal engine fram’d.

      

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