There, reft of arms, poor Troilus, rash to dare Achilles, by his horses dragged amain, Hangs from his empty chariot.

Neck and hair Trail on the ground; his hand still grasps the rein; The spear inverted scores the dusty plain.
Meanwhile, with beaten breasts and streaming hair, The Trojan dames, a sad and suppliant train, The veil to partial Pallas' temple bear.
Stern, with averted eyes the Goddess spurns their prayer.
LXIV.

Thrice had Achilles round the Trojan wall Dragged Hector; there the slayer sells the slain.
Sighing he sees him, chariot, arms and all, And Priam, spreading helpless hands in vain.
Himself he knows among the Greeks again, Black Memnon's arms, and all his Eastern clan, Penthesilea's Amazonian train With moony shields.

Bare-breasted, in the van, Girt with a golden zone, the maiden fights with man.
LXV.

Thus while AEneas, with set gaze and long, Hangs, mute with wonder, on the wildering scene, Lo! to the temple, with a numerous throng Of youthful followers, moves the beauteous Queen.
Such as Diana, with her Oreads seen On swift Eurotas' banks or Cynthus' crest, Leading the dances.