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42 Ye murderous altars, which I fled!

Ye fillets that adorned my head!

Bear witness, and behold me free

To break my Grecian fealty;

To hate the Greeks, and bring to light

The counsels they would hide in night,

Unchecked by all that once could bind,

All claims of country or of kind.

Thou, Troy, remember ne'er to swerve,

Preserved thyself, thy faith preserve,

If true the story I relate,

If these, my prompt returns, be great.

'The warlike hopes of Greece were stayed,

E'en from the first, on Pallas' aid:

But since Tydides, impious man,

And foul Ulysses, born to plan,

Dragged with red hands, the sentry slain,

Her fateful image from your fane,

Her chaste locks touched, and stained with gore

The virgin coronet she wore,

Thenceforth the tide of fortune changed,

And Greece grew weak, her queen estranged.

Nor dubious were the signs of ill

That showed the goddess' altered will.

The image scarce in camp was set,

Out burst big drops of saltest sweat

O'er all her limbs: her eyes upraised

With minatory lightnings blazed;

And thrice untouched from earth she sprang

With quivering spear and buckler's clang.

'Back o'er the ocean!' Calchas cries:

'We shall not make Troy's town our prize,

Unless at Argos' sacred seat

Our former omens we repeat,