"'Enough and more, to live when Ilion fell, And once to see Troy captured.

Leave me, pray, And bid me, as a shrouded corpse, farewell.
For death--this hand will find for me the way, Or foes who spoil will pity me and slay.
Light is the loss of sepulchre or pyre, Loathed have I lived and useless, since the day When man's great monarch and the God's dread sire Breathed his avenging blast and scathed me with his fire.' LXXXVIII.

"So spake he, on his purpose firmly bent.
We--wife, child, family and I--with prayer And tears entreat the father to relent, Nor doom us all the common wreck to share, And urge the ruin that the Fates prepare.
He heeds not--stirs not.

Then again I fly To arms--to arms, in frenzy of despair, And long in utter misery to die.
What other choice was left, what other chance to try?
LXXXIX.

"'What, _I_ to leave thee helpless, and to flee?
O father! could'st thou fancy it?
Could e'er A parent speak of such a crime to me?
If Heaven of such a city naught should spare, And thou be pleased that thou and thine should share The common wreck, that way to death is plain.
Wide stands the door; soon Pyrrhus will be there, Red with the blood of Priam; he hath slain The son before his sire, the father in the fane.
XC.