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10
THE FALL OF TROY.
Each weary reveller's torch was dim.My husband slept, reposing himFrom that thanksgiving festival.His spear was hanging on the wall,No longer ready for the fray:For now their fleet had left the bay,And deem'd we that the leaguering bandHad fled our rescued Trojan land.
And I my gather'd locks was bandingNeath the circling fillet prest,Before the golden mirror standing,Ere I sought my peaceful rest;When, lo, a sound of far alarmsCame echoing through our halls:—It is the clang, the clash of arms!The foe is in the walls!And nearer! hark! the cheer, the cryOf the on-trampling soldieryRings through the captured town!—"On, Sons of Greeks!"the leaders call;"Now is the hour that Troy must fall!"Think of your homes—on, on! to earn"Victory, spoil, and glad return."Now break her bulwarks down!"
Hurriedly folding round my breast,In Dorian guise, the first-seized vest,
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