Nor he whose eye alone can read the fates
(A faithful seer to us, to captives mild),180
Nor his pest-smitten camp and gleaming pyres.
When baffled Greece stood tottering to her fall,
This man with passion pined, had time for love,
Thought ever on amours; and, lest his couch
Should be of any Phrygian maid bereft,185
He lusted for Achilles' beauteous bride,
Nor blushed to tear her from her lover's arms.
Fit foe for Paris! Now new wounds he feels,