And, though all Troy's aflame, there's not a brand
To light his pyre and give him sepulture.
And still the heavenly powers are not appeased.
Behold the urn; and, subject to its lot,
The maids and matrons of our princely line,
Who wait their future lords. To whom shall I,
An agéd and unprized allotment, fall?
One Grecian lord has fixed his longing eyes
On Hector's queen; another prays the lot
To grant to him the bride of Helenus;60