Cl.—Word of joy this morning brings
From the bosom of the night,
Higher joy than Hope’s gay wings
Circled in her farthest flight!
Troy is taken, Troy is fallen
By the victor Argive’s might!
Ch.—Troy has fallen dost thou tell me?
Have I heard thy words aright?
Cl.—Hearken! I repeat the words,—
Troy is held by Grecian lords.
Ch.—Ah! what gladness fills my heart,
And my tears with rapture start!
Cl.—Yes, thine eyes thy feeling shew.
Ch.—This by what proof dost thou know?
Cl.—The gods, that never would deceive,
Brought these tidings.
Ch.—Dost believe
In the fickle shapes of dreams?
Cl.—Nay; the dozings of the mind
Leave in me no trace behind.
Ch.—Some wild rumour, then, meseems?