BOOK II

      All were attentive to the godlike man,

      When from his lofty couch he thus began:

      “Great queen, what you command me to relate

      Renews the sad remembrance of our fate:

      An empire from its old foundations rent,

      And ev’ry woe the Trojans underwent;

      A peopled city made a desart place;

      All that I saw, and part of which I was:

      Not ev’n the hardest of our foes could hear,

      Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear.

      And now the latter watch of wasting night,

      And setting stars, to kindly rest invite;

      But, since you take such int’rest in our woe,

      And Troy’s disastrous end desire to know,

      I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell

      What in our last and fatal night befell.

      “By destiny compell’d, and in despair,

      The Greeks grew weary of the tedious war,

      And by Minerva’s aid a fabric rear’d,

      Which like a steed of monstrous height appear’d:

      The sides were plank’d with pine; they feign’d it made

      For their return, and this the vow they paid.

      Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side

      Selected numbers of their soldiers hide:

      With inward arms the dire machine they load,

      And iron bowels stuff the dark abode.

      In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle

      (While Fortune did on Priam’s empire smile)

      Renown’d for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay,

      Where ships expos’d to wind and weather lay.

      There was their fleet conceal’d. We thought, for Greece

      Their sails were hoisted, and our fears release.

      The Trojans, coop’d within their walls so long,

      Unbar their gates, and issue in a throng,

      Like swarming bees, and with delight survey

      The camp deserted, where the Grecians lay:

      The quarters of the sev’ral chiefs they show’d;

      Here Phoenix, here Achilles, made abode;

      Here join’d the battles; there the navy rode.

      Part on the pile their wond’ring eyes employ:

      The pile by Pallas rais’d to ruin Troy.

      Thymoetes first (’tis doubtful whether hir’d,

      Or so the Trojan destiny requir’d)

      Mov’d that the ramparts might be broken down,

      To lodge the monster fabric in the town.

      But Capys, and the rest of sounder mind,

      The fatal present to the flames designed,

      Or to the wat’ry deep; at least to bore

      The hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore.

      The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide,

      With noise say nothing, and in parts divide.

      Laocoon, follow’d by a num’rous crowd,

      Ran from the fort, and cried, from far, aloud:

      ‘O wretched countrymen! what fury reigns?

      What more than madness has possess’d your brains?

      Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone?

      And are Ulysses’ arts no better known?

      This hollow fabric either must inclose,

      Within its blind recess, our secret foes;

      Or ’tis an engine rais’d above the town,

      T’ o’erlook the walls, and then to batter down.

      Somewhat is sure design’d, by fraud or force:

      Trust not their presents, nor admit the horse.’

      Thus having said, against the steed he threw

      His forceful spear, which, hissing as flew,

      Pierc’d thro’ the yielding planks of jointed wood,

      And trembling in the hollow belly stood.

      The sides, transpierc’d, return a rattling sound,

      And groans of Greeks inclos’d come issuing thro’ the wound

      And, had not Heav’n the fall of Troy design’d,

      Or had not men been fated to be blind,

      Enough was said and done t’inspire a better mind.

      Then had our lances pierc’d the treach’rous wood,

      And Ilian tow’rs and Priam’s empire stood.

      Meantime, with shouts, the Trojan shepherds bring

      A