On beds of tap’stry placed aloft, they dine With Ceres’ gift, and flowing bowls of wine; When thus Anchises spoke, amid the feast: “Say, mitred monarch, Phoebus’ chosen priest, Or (ere from Troy by cruel fate expell’d) When first mine eyes these sacred walls beheld, A son, and twice two daughters crown’d thy bliss? Or errs my memory, and I judge amiss?”

“The dire destroyer of the Trojan reign, Fierce Agamemnon, such a prize to gain, (A proof we also were design’d by fate To feel the tempest that o’erturn’d your state,) With force superior, and a ruffian crew, From these weak arms the helpless virgins drew; And sternly bade them use the grant divine, To keep the fleet in corn, in oil, and wine. Each, as they could, escaped: two strove to gain Euboea’s isle, and two their brother’s reign. The soldier follows, and demands the dames; If held by force, immediate war proclaims. Fear conquer’d nature in their brother’s mind, And gave them up to punishment assign’d. Forgive the deed; nor Hector’s arm was there, Nor thine, Aeneas, to maintain the war; Whose only force upheld your Ilium’s towers, For ten long years against the Grecian powers. Prepared to bind their captive arms in bands, To heaven they rear’d their yet unfetter’d hands, ‘Help, Bacchus, author of the gift,’ they pray’d; The gift’s great author gave immediate aid; If such destruction of the human frame, By ways so wondrous, may deserve the name;

Nor could I hear, nor can I now relate Exact the manner of their alter’d state; But this in general of my loss I knew, Transform’d to doves, on milky plumes they flew, Such as on Ida’s mount thy consort’s chariot drew.”

With such discourse they entertain’d the feast; Then rose from table, and withdrew to rest. The following morn, ere Sol was seen to shine, The inquiring Trojans sought the sacred shrine; The mystic power commands them to explore Their ancient mother, and a kindred shore. Attending to the sea, the generous prince Dismiss’d his guests with rich munificence, In old Anchises’ hand a sceptre placed, A vest and quiver young Ascanius graced, His sire a cup; which from the Aonian coast, Ismenian Therses sent his royal host. Alcon of Myle made what Therses sent, And carved thereon this ample argument.

A town with seven distinguish’d gates was shown, Which spoke its name, and made the city known; Before it, piles and tombs, and rising flames, The rites of death, and choirs of mourning dames Who bared their breasts, and gave their hair to flow, The signs of grief, and marks of public wo. Their fountains dried, the weeping Naiads mourn’d, The trees stood bare, with searing cankers burn’d, No herbage clothed the ground, a ragged flock Of goats half famish’d lick’d the naked rock Of manly courage, and with mind serene, Orion’s daughters in the town were seen; One heav’d her chest to meet the lifted knife, One plunged the poniard through the seat of life, Their country’s victims; mourns the rescued state, The bodies burns, and celebrates their fate. To save the failure of the illustrious line, From the pale ashes rose, of form divine, Two generous youths; these, fame Coronae calls, Who join the pomp, and mourn their mother’s falls.

These burnish’d figures form’d of antique mould, Shone on the brass, with rising sculpture bold; A wreath of gilt acanthus round the brim was roll’d.