Jussa sequar? quiane auxilio juvat ante levatos,
Et bene apud memores veteris stat gratia facti.
Quis me autem, fac velle, sinet, ratibusque superbis
Invisam accipiet? nescis, heu, perdita, necdum
Laomedonteæ sentis perjuria gentis.
Quid tum? sola fugâ nautas comitabor ovantes ?
An Tyriis omnique manu stipata meorum
Inferar? et quos Sidoniâ vix urbe revelli,
Rursus agam pelago, et ventis dare vela jubebo?
Quin morere, ut merita es, ferroque averte dolorem.
Tu, lacrymis evicta meis, tu prima furentem
His, germana, malis oneras, atque objicis hosti!
Non licuit thalami expertem sine crimine vitam
Degere, more feræ, tales nec tangere curas:
Non servata fides cineri promissa Sychæo!
And serve for ever in their base employ,
Because forsooth I helped them in their need,
And Trojan hearts can ne'er forget the deed.
If thou couldst dare it, what triumphant lord
Will take an alien on his proud shipboard?
Thou know'st not yet, though ruined and alone,
The perjured sons of false Laomedon.
Shall I with those wild crews unguarded go?
Or press with all my Tyrians on the foe,
Urging once more upon the wind-swept foam
Men torn unwilling from their Sidon home?
No, die, as thou deservest !—It will sever,
The unflinching steel, thine agony for ever.
'Twas thou, my sister, whom my tears could move
In that mad moment of my rising love,
To plunge me headlong in this depth of woe,
And unprotected hurled me on the foe.
'Twas not for me to lead the wild-wood life,
And never know the bondage of a wife,
Nor e'en to keep the promise that I gave
In the last parting o'er Sychæus' grave.
O'ER Athens' columned citadels
And green Arcadia's shepherd dells,
O'er Sparta's rock-encircled valley,
And white sails of the bounding galley
That slowly breaks the Ionian foam,
Straining for Hellas and for home,
The Dawn is coming: on the flow
Of Western waves she reddens now,
And bursting upon Sicily
Her trembling purple floods the sky :
But untouched by her rosy fingers
On each dark hill the night-cloud lingers;
Nor yet the rocks, where dews are streaming,
Upon the precipice are gleaming ;
Nor yet the pines-with sombre dress
Covering the craggy wilderness,
Where never climber dare intrude
On Ætna's fiery solitude
Pierce through the dense-enfolding mist
That wraps them to the mountain breast:
Only from out the grey profound
Is heard afar the cataract's sound,
As rushing from its aëry steep
Onward it dashes to the deep.
But see! before advancing Day
The morning mists have rolled away;
And colours from that magic beam
Flash out upon the winding stream,
And woods in untamed majesty
Toss their bright foliage to the sky,
Where clear above the unnumbered throng
Sweet Philomel begins her song.
But can the light on wood and river Rekindle hopes now quenched for ever? The tears that blind the Athenian's eyeCan they take pleasure from yon sky? Or loves he now the sparkling wave That rolls above his comrade's grave, And drifts toward the death-strewn shore Each shattered trireme, mast, and oar,
And bursts in idly foaming spray
Far at the entrance of the bay,
Where the chained galleys, firm and high, Deny him flight and liberty?
From Syracuse a sound is sent,
And turret, dome, and battlement
Are ringing with the exulting cry
Of pæan chanting victory :
And beacon-fires are smouldering still
On Euryelus' castled hill,
And high upon Plemmyrium
Bid the Sicilian armies come,
To view the last expiring throe
Of their thrice-baffled captive foe;
And from each inward-gazing glen
The dread alarm of coming men
Sounds o'er the marsh, where silently
Anapus wanders to the sea;
Or seems to sound: each airy breath
To that doomed army whispers death.
Despair has hushed the piercing cry That rose from thousands to the sky, When Syracuse, but yesterday, With one clear pæan swept the bay, And forward o'er the drowned and dying. Pressed on their ranks in panic flying, As leaves of Autumn pale and sere Are crowded on the wind-swept mere. And he stands there, whom Athens sent To be the unwilling instrument
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