Book XIII
How Troy in the night was taken and sacked with fire and slaughter.
So feasted they through Troy, and in their midstLoud pealed the flutes and pipes: on every handWere song and dance, laughter and cries confusedOf banqueters beside the meats and wine.They, lifting in their hands the beakers brimmed,Recklessly drank, till heavy of brain they grew,Till rolled their fluctuant eyes. Now and againSome mouth would babble the drunkard’s broken words.The household gear, the very roof and wallsSeemed as they rocked: all things they looked on seemedWhirled in wild dance. About their eyes a veilOf mist dropped, for the drunkard’s sight is dimmed,And the wit dulled, when rise the fumes to the brain:And thus a heavy-headed feaster cried:“For naught the Danaans mustered that great hostHither! Fools, they have wrought not their intent,But with hopes unaccomplished from our townLike silly boys or women have they fled.”
So cried a Trojan wit-befogged with wine,Fool, nor discerned destruction at the doors.
When sleep had locked his fetters everywhereThrough Troy on folk fulfilled of wine and meat,Then Sinon lifted high a blazing torchTo show the Argive men the splendour of fire.But fearfully the while his heart beat, lestThe men of Troy might see it, and the plotBe suddenly revealed. But on their bedsSleeping their last sleep lay they, heavy with wine.The host saw, and from Tenedos set sail.
Then nigh the Horse drew Sinon: softly he called,Full softly, that no man of Troy might hear,But only Achaea’s chiefs, far from whose eyesSleep hovered, so athirst were they for fight.They heard, and to Odysseus all inclinedTheir ears: he bade them urgently go forthSoftly and fearlessly; and they obeyedThat battle-summons, pressing in hot hasteTo leap to earth: but in his subtletyHe stayed them from all thrusting eagerly forth.But first himself with swift unfaltering hands,Helped of Epeius, here and there unbarredThe ribs of the Horse of beams: above the planksA little he raised his head, and gazed aroundOn all sides, if he haply might descryOne Trojan waking yet. As when a wolf,With hunger stung to the heart, comes from the hills,And ravenous for flesh draws nigh the flockPenned in the wide fold, slinking past the menAnd dogs that watch, all keen to ward the sheep,Then o’er the fold-wall leaps with soundless feet;So stole Odysseus down from the Horse: with himFollowed the war-fain lords of Hellas’ League,Orderly stepping down the ladders, whichEpeius framed for paths of mighty men,For entering and for passing forth the Horse,Who down them now on this side, that side, streamedAs fearless wasps startled by stroke of axeIn angry mood pour all together forthFrom the tree-bole, at sound of woodman’s blow;So battle-kindled forth the Horse they pouredInto the midst of that strong city of TroyWith hearts that leapt expectant. [With swift handsSnatched they the brands from dying hearths, and firedTemple and palace. Onward then to the gatesSped they,] and swiftly slew the slumbering guards,[Then held the gate-towers till their friends should come.]Fast rowed the host the while; on swept the shipsOver the great flood: Thetis made their pathsStraight, and behind them sent a driving windSpeeding them, and the hearts Achaean glowed.Swiftly to Hellespont’s shore they came, and thereBeached they the keels again, and deftly dealtWith whatso tackling appertains to ships.Then leapt they aland, and hasted on to TroySilent as sheep that hurry to the foldFrom woodland pasture on an autumn eve;So without sound of voices marched they onUnto the Trojans’ fortress, eager allTo help those mighty chiefs with foes begirt.Now these—as famished wolves fierce-glaring roundFall on a fold mid the long forest-hills,While sleeps the toil-worn watchman, and they rendThe sheep on every hand within the wallIn darkness, and all round [are heaped the slain;So these within the city smote and slew,As swarmed the awakened foe around them; yet,Fast as they slew, aye faster closed on themThose thousands, mad to thrust them from the gates.]Slipping in blood and stumbling o’er the dead[Their line reeled,] and destruction loomed o’er them,Though Danaan thousands near and nearer drew.
But when the whole host reached the walls of Troy,Into the city of Priam, breathing rageOf fight, with reckless battle-lust they poured;And all that fortress found they full of warAnd slaughter, palaces, temples, horriblyBlazing on all sides; glowed their hearts with joy.In deadly mood then charged they on the foe.Ares and fell Enyo maddened there:Blood ran in torrents, drenched was all the earth,As Trojans and their alien helpers died.Here were men lying quelled by bitter deathAll up and down the city in their blood;Others on them were falling, gasping forthTheir life’s strength; others, clutching in their handsTheir bowels that looked through hideous gashes forth,Wandered in wretched plight around their homes:Others, whose feet, while yet asleep they lay,Had been hewn off, with groans unutterableCrawled mid the corpses. Some, who had rushed to fight,Lay now in dust, with hands and heads hewn off.Some were there, through whose backs, even as they fled,The spear had passed, clear through to the breast, and someWhose waists the lance had pierced, impaling themWhere sharpest stings the anguish-laden steel.And all about the city dolorous howlsOf dogs uprose, and miserable moansOf strong men stricken to death; and every homeWith awful cries was echoing. Rang the shrieksOf women, like to screams of cranes, which seeAn eagle stooping on them from the sky,Which have no courage to resist, but screamLong terror-shrieks in dread of Zeus’s bird;So here, so there the Trojan women wailed,Some starting from their sleep, some to the groundLeaping: they thought not in that agonyOf robe and zone; in naught but tunics cladDistraught they wandered: others found nor veilNor cloak to cast about them, but, as cameOnward their foes, they stood with beating heartsTrembling, as lettered by despair, essaying,All-hapless, with their hands alone to hideTheir nakedness. And some in frenzy of woe:Their tresses tore, and beat their breasts, and screamed.Others against that stormy torrent of foesRecklessly rushed, insensible of fear,Through mad desire to aid the perishing,Husbands or children; for despair had givenHigh courage. Shrieks had startled from their sleepSoft little babes whose hearts had never knownTrouble—and there one with another layGasping their lives out! Some there were whose dreamsChanged to a sudden vision of doom. All roundThe fell Fates gloated horribly o’er the slain.And even as swine be slaughtered in the courtOf a rich king who makes his folk a feast,So without number were they slain. The wineLeft in the mixing-bowls was blent with bloodGruesomely. No man bare a sword unstainedWith murder of defenceless folk of Troy,Though he were but a weakling in fair fight.And as by wolves or jackals sheep are torn,What time the furnace-breath of midnoon-heatDarts down, and all the flock beneath the shadeAre crowded, and the shepherd is not there,But to the homestead bears afar their milk;And the fierce brutes leap on them, tear their throats,Gorge to the full their ravenous maws, and thenLap the dark blood, and linger still to slayAll in mere lust of slaughter, and provideAn evil banquet for that shepherd-lord;So through the city of Priam Danaans slewOne after other in that last fight of all.No Trojan there was woundless, all men’s limbsWith blood in torrents spilt were darkly dashed.
Nor seetheless were the Danaans in the fray:With beakers some were smitten, with tables some,Thrust in the eyes of some were burning brandsSnatched from the hearth; some died transfixed with spitsYet left within the hot flesh of the swineWhereon the red breath of the Fire-god beat;Others struck down by bills and axes keenGasped in their blood: from some men’s hands were shornThe fingers, who, in wild hope to escapeThe imminent death, had clutched the blades of swords.And here in that dark tumult one had hurledA stone, and crushed the crown of a friend’s head.Like wild beasts trapped and stabbed within a foldOn a lone steading, frenziedly they fought,Mad with despair-enkindled rage, beneathThat night of horror. Hot with battle-lustHere, there, the fighters rushed and hurried throughThe palace of Priam. Many an Argive fellSpear-slain; for whatso Trojan in his hallsMight seize a sword, might lift a spear in hand,Slew foes—ay, heavy though he were with wine.
Upflashed a glare unearthly through the town,For many an Argive bare in hand a torchTo know in that dim battle friends from foes.
Then Tydeus’ son amid the war-storm metSpearman Coroebus, lordly Mygdon’s son,And ’neath the left ribs pierced him with the lanceWhere run the life-ways of man’s meat and drink;So met him black death borne upon the spear:Down in dark blood he fell mid hosts of slain.Ah fool! the bride he won not, Priam’s childCassandra, yea, his loveliest, for whose sakeTo Priam’s burg but yesterday he came,And vaunted he would thrust the Argives backFrom Ilium. Never did the Gods fulfilHis hope: the Fates hurled doom upon his head.With him the slayer laid Eurydamas low,Antenor’s gallant son-in-law, who mostFor prudence was pre-eminent in Troy.Then met he Ilioneus the elder of days,And flashed his terrible sword forth. All the limbsOf that grey sire were palsied with his fear:He put forth trembling hands, with one he caughtThe swift avenging sword, with one he claspedThe hero’s knees. Despite his fury of war,A moment paused his wrath, or haply a GodHeld back the sword a space, that that old manMight speak to his fierce foe one word of prayer.Piteously cried he, terror-overwhelmed:“I kneel before thee, whosoe’er thou beOf mighty Argives. Oh compassionateMy suppliant hands! Abate thy wrath! To slayThe young and valiant is a glorious thing;But if thou smite an old man, small renownWaits on thy prowess. Therefore turn from meThine hands against young men, if thou dost hopeEver to come to grey hairs such as mine.”
So spake he; but replied strong Tydeus’ son:“Old man, I look to attain to honoured age;But while my Strength yet waxeth, will not ISpare any foe, but hurl to Hades all.The brave man makes an end of every foe.”
Then through his throat that terrible warrior draveThe deadly blade, and thrust it straight to whereThe paths of man’s life lead by swiftest wayBlood-paved to doom: death palsied his poor strengthBy Diomedes’ hands. Thence rushed he onSlaying the Trojans, storming in his mightAll through their fortress: pierced by his long spearEurycoon fell, Perimnestor’s son renowned.Amphimedon Aias slew: Agamemnon smoteDamastor’s son: Idomeneus struck downMimas: by Meges Deiopites died.
Achilles’ son with his resistless lanceSmote godlike Pammon; then his javelin piercedPolites in mid-rush: AntiphonusDead upon these he laid, all Priam’s sons.Agenor faced him in the fight, and fell:Hero on hero slew he; everywhereStalked at his side Death’s black doom manifest:Clad in his sire’s might, whomso he met he slew.Last, on Troy’s king in murderous mood he came.By Zeus the Hearth-lord’s altar. Seeing him,Old Priam knew him and quaked not; for he longedHimself to lay his life down midst his sons;And craving death to Achilles’ seed he spake:“Fierce-hearted son of Achilles strong in war,Slay me, and pity not my misery.I have no will to see the sun’s light more,Who have suffered woes so many and so dread.With my sons would I die, and so forgetAnguish and horror of war. Oh that thy sireHad slain me, ere mine eyes beheld aflameIllium, had slain me when I brought to himRansom for Hector, whom thy father slew.He spared me—so the Fates had spun my threadOf destiny. But thou, glut with my bloodThy fierce heart, and let me forget my pain.”Answered Achilles’ battle-eager son:“Fain am I, yea, in haste to grant thy prayer.A foe like thee will I not leave alive;For naught is dearer unto men than life.”
With one stroke swept he off that hoary headLightly as when a reaper lops an earIn a parched cornfield at the harvest-tide.With lips yet murmuring low it rolled afarFrom where with quivering limbs the body layAmidst dark-purple blood and slaughtered men.So lay he, chiefest once of all the worldIn lineage, wealth, in many and goodly sons.Ah me, not long abides the honour of man,But shame from unseen ambush leaps on himSo clutched him Doom, so he forgat his woes.
Yea, also did those Danaan car-lords hurlFrom a high tower the babe Astyanax,Dashing him out of life. They tore the childOut of his mother’s arms, in wrathful hateOf Hector, who in life had dealt to themSuch havoc; therefore hated they his seed,And down from that high rampart flung his child—A wordless babe that nothing knew of war!As when amid the mountains hungry wolvesChase from the mother’s side a suckling calf,And with malignant cunning drive it o’erAn echoing cliffs edge, while runs to and froIts dam with long moans mourning her dear child,And a new evil followeth hard on her,For suddenly lions seize her for a prey;So, as she agonized for her son, the foeTo bondage haled with other captive thrallsThat shrieking daughter of King Eetion.Then, as on those three fearful deaths she thoughtOf husband, child, and father, AndromaeheLonged sore to die. Yea, for the royally-bornBetter it is to die in war, than doThe service of the thrall to baser folk.All piteously the broken-hearted cried:“Oh hurl my body also from the wall,Or down the cliff, or cast me midst the fire,Ye Argives! Woes are mine unutterable!For Peleus’ son smote down my noble fatherIn Thebe, and in Troy mine husband slew,Who unto me was all mine heart’s desire,Who left me in mine halls one little child,My darling and my pride—of all mine hopesIn him fell merciless Fate hath cheated me!Oh therefore thrust this broken-hearted oneNow out of life! Hale me not overseasMingled with spear-thralls; for my soul henceforthHath no more pleasure in life, since God hath slainMy nearest and my dearest! For me waitsTrouble and anguish and lone homelessness!”
So cried she, longing for the grave; for vileIs life to them whose glory is swallowed upOf shame: a horror is the scorn of men.But, spite her prayers, to thraldom dragged they her.
In all the homes of Troy lay dying men,And rose from all a lamentable cry,Save only Antenor’s halls; for unto himThe Argives rendered hospitality’s debt,For that in time past had his roof receivedAnd sheltered godlike Menelaus, whenHe with Odysseus came to claim his own.Therefore the mighty sons of Achaea showedGrace to him, as to a friend, and spared his lifeAnd substance, fearing Themis who seeth all.
Then also princely Anchises’ noble son—Hard had he fought through Priam’s burg that nightWith spear and valour, and many had he slain—When now he saw the city set aflameBy hands of foes, saw her folk perishingIn multitudes, her treasures spoiled, her wivesAnd children dragged to thraldom from their homes,No more he hoped to see the stately wallsOf his birth-city, but bethought him nowHow from that mighty ruin to escape.And as the helmsman of a ship, who toilsOn the deep sea, and matches all his craftAgainst the winds and waves from every sideRushing against him in the stormy time,Forspent at last, both hand and heart, when nowThe ship is foundering in the surge, forsakesThe helm, to launch forth in a little boat,And heeds no longer ship and lading; soAnchises’ gallant son forsook the townAnd left her to her foes, a sea of fire.His son and father alone he snatched from death;The old man broken down with years he setOn his broad shoulders with his own strong hands,And led the young child by his small soft hand,Whose little footsteps lightly touched the ground;And, as he quaked to see that work of deathsHis father led him through the roar of fight,And clinging hung on him the tender child,Tears down his soft cheeks streaming. But the manO’er many a body sprang with hurrying feet,And in the darkness in his own despiteTrampled on many. Cypris guided them,Earnest to save from that wild ruin her son,His father, and his child. As on he pressed,The flames gave back before him everywhere:The blast of the Fire-god’s breath to right and leftWas cloven asunder. Spears and javelins hurledAgainst him by the Achaeans harmless fell.Also, to stay them, Calchas cried aloud:“Forbear against Aeneas’ noble headTo hurl the bitter dart, the deadly spear!Fated he is by the high Gods’ decreeTo pass from Xanthus, and by Tiber’s floodTo found a city holy and gloriousThrough all time, and to rule o’er tribes of menFar-sundered. Of his seed shall lords of earthRule from the rising to the setting sun.Yea, with the Immortals ever shall he dwell,Who is son of Aphrodite lovely-tressed.From him too is it meet we hold our handsBecause he hath preferred his father and sonTo gold, to all things that might profit a manWho fleeth exiled to an alien land.This one night hath revealed to us a manFaithful to death to his father and his child.”
Then hearkened they, and as a God did allLook on him. Forth the city hasted heWhither his feet should bear him, while the foeMade havoc still of goodly-builded Troy.
Then also Menelaus in Helen’s bowerFound, heavy with wine, ill-starred Deiphobus,And slew him with the sword: but she had fledAnd hidden her in the palace. O’er the bloodOf that slain man exulted he, and cried:“Dog! I, even I have dealt thee unwelcome deathThis day! No dawn divine shall meet thee againAlive in Troy—ay, though thou vaunt thyselfSpouse of the child of Zeus the thunder-voiced!Black death hath trapped thee slain in my wife’s bower!Would I had met Alexander too in fightEre this, and plucked his heart out! So my griefHad been a lighter load. But he hath paidAlready justice’ debt, hath passed beneathDeath’s cold dark shadow. Ha, small joy to theeMy wife was doomed to bring! Ay, wicked menNever elude pure Themis: night and dayHer eyes are on them, and the wide world throughAbove the tribes of men she floats in air,Holpen of Zeus, for punishment of sin.”
On passed he, dealing merciless death to foes,For maddened was his soul with jealousy.Against the Trojans was his bold heart fullOf thoughts of vengeance, which were now fulfilledBy the dread Goddess Justice, for that theirsWas that first outrage touching Helen, theirsThat profanation of the oaths, and theirsThat trampling on the blood of sacrificeWhen their presumptuous souls forgat the Gods.Therefore the Vengeance-friends brought woes on themThereafter, and some died in fighting field,Some now in Troy by board and bridal bower.
Menelaus mid the inner chambers foundAt last his wife, there cowering from the wrathOf her bold-hearted lord. He glared on her,Hungering to slay her in his jealous rage.But winsome Aphrodite curbed him, struckOut of his hand the sword, his onrush reined,Jealousy’s dark cloud swept she away, and stirredLove’s deep sweet well-springs in his heart and eyes.Swept o’er him strange amazement: powerless allWas he to lift the sword against her neck,Seeing her splendour of beauty. Like a stockOf dead wood in a mountain forest, whichNo swiftly-rushing blasts of north-winds shake,Nor fury of south-winds ever, so he stood,So dazed abode long time. All his great strengthWas broken, as he looked upon his wife.And suddenly had he forgotten allYea, all her sins against her spousal-troth;For Aphrodite made all fade away,She who subdueth all immortal heartsAnd mortal. Yet even so he lifted upFrom earth his sword, and made as he would rushUpon his wife but other was his intent,Even as he sprang: he did but feign, to cheatAchaean eyes. Then did his brother stayHis fury, and spake with pacifying words,Fearing lest all they had toiled for should be lost:“Forbear wrath, Menelaus, now: ‘twere shameTo slay thy wedded wife, for whose sake weHave suffered much affliction, while we soughtVengeance on Priam. Not, as thou dost deem,Was Helen’s the sin, but his who set at naughtThe Guest-lord, and thine hospitable board;So with death-pangs hath God requited him.”
Then hearkened Menelaus to his rede.But the Gods, palled in dark clouds, mourned for Troy,A ruined glory save fair-tressed TritonisAnd Hera: their hearts triumphed, when they sawThe burg of god-descended Priam destroyed.Yet not the wise heart Trito-born herselfWas wholly tearless; for within her faneOutraged Cassandra was of Oileus sonLust-maddened. But grim vengeance upon himEre long the Goddess wreaked, repaying insultWith mortal sufferance. Yea, she would not lookUpon the infamy, but clad herselfWith shame and wrath as with a cloak: she turnedHer stern eyes to the temple-roof, and groanedThe holy image, and the hallowed floorQuaked mightily. Yet did he not forbearHis mad sin, for his soul was lust-distraught.
Here, there, on all sides crumbled flaming homesIn ruin down: scorched dust with smoke was blent:Trembled the streets to the awful thunderous crash.Here burned Aeneas’ palace, yonder flamedAntimachus’ halls: one furnace was the heightOf fair-built Pergamus; flames were roaring roundApollo’s temple, round Athena’s fane,And round the Hearth-lord’s altar: flames licked upFair chambers of the sons’ sons of a king;And all the city sank down into hell.
Of Trojans some by Argos’ sons were slain,Some by their own roofs crashing down in fire,Giving at once in death and tomb to them:Some in their own throats plunged the steel, when foesAnd fire were in the porch together seen:Some slew their wives and children, and flung themselvesDead on them, when despair had done its workOf horror. One, who deemed the foe afar,Caught up a vase, and, fain to quench the flame,Hasted for water. Leapt unmarked on himAn Argive, and his spirit, heavy with wine,Was thrust forth from the body by the spear.Clashed the void vase above him, as he fellBackward within the house. As through his hallAnother fled, the burning roof-beam crashedDown on his head, and swift death came with it.And many women, as in frenzied flightThey rushed forth, suddenly remembered babesLeft in their beds beneath those burning roofs:With wild feet sped they back—the house fell inUpon them, and they perished, mother and child.Horses and dogs in panic through the townFled from the flames, trampling beneath their feetThe dead, and dashing into living menTo their sore hurt. Shrieks rang through all the town.In through his blazing porchway rushed a manTo rescue wife and child. Through smoke and flameBlindly he groped, and perished while he criedTheir names, and pitiless doom slew those within.
The fire-glow upward mounted to the sky,The red glare o’er the firmament spread its wings,And all the tribes of folk that dwelt aroundBeheld it, far as Ida’s mountain-crests,And sea-girt Tenedos, and Thracian Samos.And men that voyaged on the deep sea cried:“The Argives have achieved their mighty taskAfter long toil for star-eyed Helen’s sake.All Troy, the once queen-city, burns in fire:For all their prayers, no God defends them now;For strong Fate oversees all works of men,And the renownless and obscure to fameShe raises, and brings low the exalted ones.Oft out of good is evil brought, and goodFrom evil, mid the travail and change of life.”
So spake they, who from far beheld the glareOf Troy’s great burning. Compassed were her folkWith wailing misery: through her streets the foeExulted, as when madding blasts turmoilThe boundless sea, what time the Altar ascendsTo heaven’s star-pavement, turned to the misty southOveragainst Arcturus tempest-breathed,And with its rising leap the wild winds forth,And ships full many are whelmed ’neath ravening seas;Wild as those stormy winds Achaea’s sonsRavaged steep Ilium while she burned in flame.As when a mountain clothed with shaggy woodsBurns swiftly in a fire-blast winged with winds,And from her tall peaks goeth up a roar,And all the forest-children this way and thatRush through the wood, tormented by the flame;So were the Trojans perishing: there was noneTo save, of all the Gods. Round these were stakedThe nets of Fate, which no man can escape.
Then were Demophoon and AcamasBy mighty Theseus’ mother Aethra met.Yearning to see them was she guided onTo meet them by some Blessed One, the while‘Wildered from war and fire she fled. They sawIn that red glare a woman royal-tall,Imperial-moulded, and they weened that thisWas Priam’s queen, and with swift eagernessLaid hands on her, to lead her captive thenceTo the Danaans; but piteously she moaned:“Ah, do not, noble sons of warrior Greeks,To your ships hale me, as I were a foe!I am not of Trojan birth: of Danaans cameMy princely blood renowned. In Troezen’s hallsPittheus begat me, Aegeus wedded me,And of my womb sprang Theseus glory-crowned.For great Zeus’ sake, for your dear parents’ sake,I pray you, if the seed of Theseus cameHither with Atreus’ sons, O bring ye meUnto their yearning eyes. I trow they beYoung men like you. My soul shall be refreshedIf living I behold those chieftains twain.”
Hearkening to her they called their sire to mind,His deeds for Helen’s sake, and how the sonsOf Zeus the Thunderer in the old time smoteAphidnae, when, because these were but babes,Their nurses hid them far from peril of fight;And Aethra they remembered—all she enduredThrough wars, as mother-in-law at first, and thrallThereafter of Helen. Dumb for joy were they,Till spake Demophoon to that wistful one:“Even now the Gods fulfil thine heart’s desire:We whom thou seest are the sons of him,Thy noble son: thee shall our loving handsBear to the ships: with joy to Hellas’ soilThee will we bring, where once thou wast a queen.”
Then his great father’s mother clasped him roundWith clinging arms: she kissed his shoulders broad,His head, his breast, his bearded lips she kissed,And Acamas kissed withal, the while she shedGlad tears on these who could not choose but weep.As when one tarries long mid alien men,And folk report him dead, but suddenlyHe cometh home: his children see his face,And break into glad weeping; yea, and he,His arms around them, and their little headsUpon his shoulders, sobs: echoes the homeWith happy mourning’s music-beating wings;So wept they with sweet sighs and sorrowless moans.
Then, too, affliction-burdened Priam’s child,Laodice, say they, stretched her hands to heaven,Praying the mighty Gods that earth might gapeTo swallow her, ere she defiled her handWith thralls’ work; and a God gave ear, and rentDeep earth beneath her: so by Heaven’s decreeDid earth’s abysmal chasm receive the maidIn Troy’s last hour. Electra’s self withal,The Star-queen lovely-robed, shrouded her formIn mist and cloud, and left the Pleiad-band,Her sisters, as the olden legend tells.Still riseth up in sight of toil-worn menTheir bright troop in the skies; but she aloneHides viewless ever, since the hallowed townOf her son Dardanus in ruin fell,When Zeus most high from heaven could help her not,Because to Fate the might of Zeus must bow;And by the Immortals’ purpose all these thingsHad come to pass, or by Fate’s ordinance.
Still on Troy’s folk the Argives wreaked their wrath,And battle’s issues Strife Incarnate held.