All hushed intent, when from his lofty seat Troy's sire began, "O queen, a tale too true, Too sad for words, thou biddest me repeat; How Ilion perished, and the Danaan crew Her power and all her wailful realm o'erthrew: The woes I saw, thrice piteous to behold, And largely shared.

What Myrmidon, or who Of stern Ulysses' warriors can withhold His tears, to tell such things, as thou would'st have re-told?
II.

"And now already from the heaven's high steep The dewy night wheels down, and sinking slow, The stars are gently wooing us to sleep.
But, if thy longing be so great to know The tale of Troy's last agony and woe, The toils we suffered, though my heart doth ache, And grief would fain the memory forego Of scenes so sad, yet, Lady, for thy sake I will begin,"-- and thus the sire of Troy outspake; III.

"Broken by war, long baffled by the force Of fate, as fortune and their hopes decline, The Danaan leaders build a monstrous horse, Huge as a hill, by Pallas' craft divine, And cleft fir-timbers in the ribs entwine.
They feign it vowed for their return, so goes The tale, and deep within the sides of pine And caverns of the womb by stealth enclose Armed men, a chosen band, drawn as the lots dispose.
IV.

"In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle Renowned and rich, while Priam held command, Now a mere bay and roadstead fraught with guile.
Thus far they sailed, and on the lonely strand Lay hid, while fondly to Mycenae's land We thought the winds had borne them.