LXXXV. "Oh, born to sorrow! whom th' Achaian foe
Dragged not to death, when Ilion was o'erthrown!
O hapless race! what still extremer woe
Doth Fortune doom the living to bemoan?
Since Ilion fell, seven summers nigh have flown,
And we o'er every ocean, every plain,
Past cheerless rocks, and under stars unknown,
Oft and so oft are driven, as in vain		757
Italia's shores we grasp, and welter on the main!
LXXXVI. "'Tis Eryx' land, Acestes is our host.
What hinders for the homeless here to gain
A home—an Ilion for the one we lost?
O fatherland! O home-gods saved in vain,
If still in endless exile we remain!
Ah! nevermore shall I behold with joy
A Xanthus and a Simois again,
Our Hector's streams? ne'er hear the name of Troy?		766
Up! let devouring flames these ill-starred ships destroy!
LXXXVII. "Methought in sleep, Cassandra's ghost came near,
With torches in her hands, and bade me seize
The flaming firebrands, and exclaimed: 'See, here
Thy Troy, the home that destiny decrees!
The hour is ripe; such prodigies as these
Brook not delay. Lo! here to Neptune rise
Four altars. He, the Sovereign of the seas,
Himself the firebrands and the will supplies.'"		775
Then straight, with arm drawn back, and fury in her eyes,
LXXXVIII. She waved a torch, and hurled it. Dazed with fear,
The women trembled as she tossed the flame.
Then one who nursed through many a bygone year
The sons of Priam—Pyrgo was the dame,—
"No Trojan this, nor Beröe her name,
The wife of Doryclus. Full sure I ween
Immortal birth her sparkling eyes proclaim.
What breathing beauty! what celestial sheen!		784
Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien!
LXXXIX. "Myself but now left Beröe, worn out
With sickness, grieving in her heart to miss
These funeral honours to our Sire."—In doubt
They waver, and with eyes that bode amiss
Look towards the vessels and the blue abyss
Of ocean, torn in spirit 'twixt the love
Of realms that shall be and the land that is.
On even wings the goddess soared above,		793
And with her rainbow vast the cloudy drift she clove.
XC. Then, by the monstrous prodigy dismayed,
And driven by madness, forth the matrons fare
With shouts and shrieks. The houses they invade,
And living embers from the hearthstones tear,
With impious hands these strip the altars bare,
And boughs, and leaves and lighted brands they cast
In heaps, and fuel for the flames prepare.
O'er bench and oar, from painted keel to mast,		802
The Fire-god raves at will, and rides upon the blast.

XCI. Meanwhile, with tidings of the fleet in flames,
Swift posts Eumelus. To the tomb he hies
Of old Anchises, and the crowded games.
Back look the Trojans, and with awe-struck eyes
See the dark ash-cloud floating through the skies.
And, as his troop Ascanius joyed to lead
In mimic fight, so keen, when danger cries,
First to the wildered camp he spurs his steed;		811
And breathless guardians fail to stay his headlong speed.
XCII. "What madness this, poor women?" he exclaims,
"What mean ye now? No camp of Argive foe,
Your hopes ye doom to perish in the flames.
See your Ascanius!"—At his feet below
He flung the helmet, that adorned his brow
When mimic fight he marshalled. Hurrying came
Æneas, hurrying came the host; but lo!
The shore lies bare; this way and that each dame		820
Slinks to the woods and caves, if aught can hide her shame.
XCIII. All loathe the daylight and the deed unblest.
Sobered, they know their countrymen at last,
And Juno's power is shaken from each breast.
Not so the flames; with gathered strength and fast
Onward still swept the unconquerable blast.
Forth puffed between the timbers, drenched in vain,
The smoke-jets from the smouldering tow. Down passed
From keel to cabin the devouring bane.		829
Nor floods nor heroes' strength the mastering flames restrain.