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THE FALL OF TROY.
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I fled my home, and sought the shrineOf the Virgin Power Divine,But there I knelt in vain—They tore me thence. I saw my lord,He lay by foreign falchions goredOn his own threshold slain.And I was hurried o'er the seaThe slayer's spoil. Still upon thee,My fallen country, looking back,As clove their ship her homeward track.I gazed, till blinding tears prevail'd,And fainting nature's firmness fail'd.
Yet cursed I, in my soul's despair,The sister of the sons of Jove,And Ida's swain. Ye guilty pair,Ye fiends to Troy, your sinful loveHath torn me from my country's walls,Hath slain her sons, hath sack'd her halls.Helen, the victims of thy crimeHeap on thy head their malison!Ye billows, to her native climeRefuse to bear th' accursed one.Let her not see again the homeShe left in sin and shame to roam.
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