Sooth, then, shall _she_ return To Sparta and Mycenae, ay, and see Home, husband, sons and parents, safe and free, With Ilian wives and Phrygians in her train, A queen, in pride of triumph?
Shall this be, And Troy have blazed and Priam's self been slain, And Trojan blood so oft have soaked the Dardan plain?
LXXIX.

"Not so; though glory wait not on the act; Though poor the praise, and barren be the gain, Vengeance on feeble woman to exact, Yet praised hereafter shall his name remain, Who purges earth of such a monstrous stain.
Sweet is the passion of vindictive joy, Sweet is the punishment, where just the pain, Sweet the fierce ardour of revenge to cloy, And slake with Dardan blood the funeral flames of Troy.
LXXX.

"So mused I, blind with anger, when in light Apparent, never so refulgent seen, My mother dawned irradiate on the night, Confessed a Goddess, such her form, and mien And starry stature of celestial sheen.
With her right hand she grasped me from above, And thus with roseate lips: 'O son, what mean These transports?
Say, what bitter grief doth move Thy soul to rage untamed?
Where vanished is thy love?
LXXXI.

"'Wilt thou not see, if yet thy sire survive, Worn out with age, amid the war's alarms?
And if thy wife Creusa be alive, And young Ascanius?
for around thee swarms The foe, and but for my protecting arms, Fierce sword or flame had swept them all away.
Not oft-blamed Paris, nor the hateful charms Of Helen; Heaven, unpitying Heaven to-day Hath razed the Trojan towers and reft the Dardan sway.
LXXXII.

"'Look now, for I will clear the mists that shroud Thy mortal gaze, and from the visual ray Purge the gross covering of this circling cloud.
Thou heed, and fear not, whatsoe'er I say, Nor scorn thy mother's counsels to obey.
Here, where thou seest the riven piles o'erthrown, Mixt dust and smoke, rock torn from rock away, Great Neptune's trident shakes the bulwarks down, And from its lowest base uproots the trembling town.
LXXXIII.