|
Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
||||
 |
||||
|
Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers |
||||
|
|
||||
|
See! Neptune's altars minister their brands: The god is pleas'd; the god supplies our hands." Then from the pile a flaming fire she drew, And, toss'd in air, amidst the galleys threw. Wrapp'd in amaze, the matrons wildly stare: Then Pyrgo, reverenc'd for her hoary hair, Pyrgo, the nurse of Priam's num'rous race: "No Beroe this, tho' she belies her face! What terrors from her frowning front arise! Behold a goddess in her ardent eyes! What rays around her heav'nly face are seen! Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien! Beroe but now I left, whom, pin'd with pain, Her age and anguish from these rites detain," She said. The matrons, seiz'd with new amaze, Roll their malignant eyes, and on the navy gaze. They fear, and hope, and neither part obey: They hope the fated land, but fear the fatal way. The goddess, having done her task below, Mounts up on equal wings, and bends her painted bow. Struck with the sight, and seiz'd with rage divine, The matrons prosecute their mad design: They shriek aloud; they snatch, with impious hands, The food of altars; fires and flaming brands. Green boughs and saplings, mingled in their haste, And smoking torches, on the ships they cast. The flame, unstopp'd at first, more fury gains, And Vulcan rides at large with loosen'd reins: Triumphant to the painted sterns he soars, And seizes, in this way, the banks and crackling oars. Eumelus was the first the news to bear, While yet they crowd the rural theater. Then, what they hear, is witness'd by their eyes: A storm of sparkles and of flames arise. Ascanius took th' alarm, while yet he led His early warriors on his prancing steed, And, spurring on, his equals soon o'erpass'd; Nor could his frighted friends reclaim his haste. Soon as the royal youth appear'd in view, He sent his voice before him as he flew: "What madness moves you, matrons, to destroy The last remainders of unhappy Troy! Not hostile fleets, but your own hopes, you burn, And on your friends your fatal fury turn. |
