Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/210

192 Her slacken'd Limbs sunk gently to the Ground, Dauntless her Looks, unalter'd by the Wound. And as she fell, she strove with decent Pride To hide, what suits a Virgin's Care to hide. The Trojan Matrons the pale Corpse receive, And the whole slaughter'd Race of Priam grieve. Sad they recount the long disastrous Tale; Then with fresh Tears, thee, Royal Maid, bewail; Thy widow'd Mother too, who flourish'd late The Royal Pride of Asia's happier State: A Captive Lot now to Ulysses born; Whom yet the Victor would reject with Scorn, Were she not Hectors Mother: Hectors Fame Scarce can a Master for his Mother claim! With strict Embrace the lifeless Coarse she view'd; And her fresh Grief that flood of Tears renew'd, With which she lately mourn'd so many dead; Tears for her Country, Sons, and Husband shed. With the thick gushing Stream she bath'd the Wound; Kiss'd her pale Lips; then weltring on the Ground, With wonted Rage her frantick Bosom tore; Sweeping her Hair amidst the clotted Gore; Whilst her sad Accents thus her Loss deplore. "Behold a Mother's last dear Pledge of Woe! "Yes, 'tis the last I have to suffer now. "Thou, my Polyxena, my Ills must crown: "Already in thy Fate, I feel my own. Tis thus, least haply of my num'rous Seed "One should unslaughter'd fall, even thou must bleed. "And yet I hop'd thy Sex had been thy Guard; "But neither has thy tender Sex been spar'd. "The same Achilles, by whose deadly Hate "Thy Brothers fell, urg'd thy untimely Fate! "The same Achilles, whose destructive Rage "Laid waste my Realms, has robb'd my Childless Age! "When