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      Which on the winged lightning seem’d to fly;

      From o’er the roof the blaze began to move,

      And, trailing, vanish’d in th’ Idaean grove.

      It swept a path in heav’n, and shone a guide,

      Then in a steaming stench of sulphur died.

      “The good old man with suppliant hands implor’d

      The gods’ protection, and their star ador’d.

      ‘Now, now,’ said he, ‘my son, no more delay!

      I yield, I follow where Heav’n shews the way.

      Keep, O my country gods, our dwelling place,

      And guard this relic of the Trojan race,

      This tender child! These omens are your own,

      And you can yet restore the ruin’d town.

      At least accomplish what your signs foreshow:

      I stand resign’d, and am prepar’d to go.’

      “He said. The crackling flames appear on high.

      And driving sparkles dance along the sky.

      With Vulcan’s rage the rising winds conspire,

      And near our palace roll the flood of fire.

      ‘Haste, my dear father, (’tis no time to wait,)

      And load my shoulders with a willing freight.

      Whate’er befalls, your life shall be my care;

      One death, or one deliv’rance, we will share.

      My hand shall lead our little son; and you,

      My faithful consort, shall our steps pursue.

      Next, you, my servants, heed my strict commands:

      Without the walls a ruin’d temple stands,

      To Ceres hallow’d once; a cypress nigh

      Shoots up her venerable head on high,

      By long religion kept; there bend your feet,

      And in divided parties let us meet.

      Our country gods, the relics, and the bands,

      Hold you, my father, in your guiltless hands:

      In me ’tis impious holy things to bear,

      Red as I am with slaughter, new from war,

      Till in some living stream I cleanse the guilt

      Of dire debate, and blood in battle spilt.’

      Thus, ord’ring all that prudence could provide,

      I clothe my shoulders with a lion’s hide

      And yellow spoils; then, on my bending back,

      The welcome load of my dear father take;

      While on my better hand Ascanius hung,

      And with unequal paces tripp’d along.

      Creusa kept behind; by choice we stray

      Thro’ ev’ry dark and ev’ry devious way.

      I, who so bold and dauntless, just before,

      The Grecian darts and shock of lances bore,

      At ev’ry shadow now am seiz’d with fear,

      Not for myself, but for the charge I bear;

      Till, near the ruin’d gate arriv’d at last,

      Secure, and deeming all the danger past,

      A frightful noise of trampling feet we hear.

      My father, looking thro’ the shades, with fear,

      Cried out: ‘Haste, haste, my son, the foes are nigh;

      Their swords and shining armor I descry.’

      Some hostile god, for some unknown offense,

      Had sure bereft my mind of better sense;

      For, while thro’ winding ways I took my flight,

      And sought the shelter of the gloomy night,

      Alas! I lost Creusa: hard to tell

      If by her fatal destiny she fell,

      Or weary sate, or wander’d with affright;

      But she was lost for ever to my sight.

      I knew not, or reflected, till I meet

      My friends, at Ceres’ now deserted seat.

      We met: not one was wanting; only she

      Deceiv’d her friends, her son, and wretched me.

      “What mad expressions did my tongue refuse!

      Whom did I not, of gods or men, accuse!

      This was the fatal blow, that pain’d me more

      Than all I felt from ruin’d Troy before.

      Stung with my loss, and raving with despair,

      Abandoning my now forgotten care,

      Of counsel, comfort, and of hope bereft,

      My sire, my son, my country gods I left.

      In shining armor once again I sheathe

      My limbs, not feeling wounds, nor fearing death.

      Then headlong to the burning walls I run,

      And seek the danger I was forc’d to shun.

      I tread my former tracks; thro’ night explore

      Each passage, ev’ry street I cross’d before.

      All things were full of horror and affright,

      And dreadful ev’n the silence of the night.

      Then to my father’s house I make repair,

      With some small glimpse of hope to find her there.

      Instead of her, the cruel Greeks I met;

      The house was fill’d with foes, with flames beset.

      Driv’n on the wings of winds, whole sheets of fire,

      Thro’ air transported, to the roofs aspire.

      From thence to Priam’s palace I resort,

      And search the citadel and desart court.

      Then, unobserv’d, I pass by Juno’s church:

      A guard of Grecians had possess’d the porch;

      There Phoenix and Ulysses watch prey,

      And thither all the wealth of Troy convey:

      The spoils which they from ransack’d houses brought,

      And golden bowls from burning altars caught,

      The tables of the gods, the purple vests,

      The people’s treasure, and the pomp of priests.

      A rank of wretched youths, with pinion’d hands,

      And captive matrons, in long order stands.

      Then, with ungovern’d madness, I proclaim,

      Thro’ all the silent street, Creusa’s name:

      Creusa still I call; at length she hears,

      And sudden thro’ the shades of night appears—

      Appears, no more Creusa, nor my wife,

      But a pale specter, larger than the life.

      Aghast, astonish’d,

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