Who worked my safe return, and nerved my arm
With vengeance against Priam! for the gods,
Taught by no glozing tongue, but by the sight
Of their own eyes knew justice; voting ruin
And men-destroying death to ancient Troy,
Their fatal pebbles in the bloody urn
Not doubtingly they dropt; the other vase,
Unfed with hope of suffrage-bearing hand,
Stood empty. Now the captured city’s smoke
Points where it fell. Raves Ruin’s storm; the winds