There Trojan matrons with dishevelled hair
Sought vainly to avert impending fate
From their doomed lords. There, too, Cassandra stood,
O’erfraught with Deity, and told the ruin
That hung o’er Troy—and poured her wailing song
To solemn shades—and led the children forth—
And taught to youthful lips the fond lament.
Sighing she said—“If e’er the gods permit
Your safe return from Greece, where, exiled slaves,
Your hands shall feed your haughty conquerors’ steeds,