O’er the towers of Priam. Ruin
Whelms the young, the old. In vain
Shall they strive to o’erleap the snare,
And snap the bondsman’s galling chain,
In woe retrieveless lost.
Jove, I fear thee, just protector
Of the wrong’d host’s sacred rights;
Thou didst keep thy bow sure bent
’Gainst Alexander; not before
The fate-predestined hour, and not