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74 Daughters of Troy, till on your ruined wall

The echo of my master's trumpet call

In signal breaks: then, forward to the sea,

Where the long ships lie waiting.

And for thee,

O ancient woman most unfortunate,

Follow: Odysseus' men be here, and wait

To guide thee. 'Tis to him thou go'st for thrall.

Ah, me! and is it come, the end of all,

The very crest and summit of my days?

I go forth from my land, and all its ways

Are filled with fire! Bear me, O aged feet,

A little nearer: I must gaze, and greet

My poor town ere she fall.

Farewell, farewell!

O thou whose breath was mighty on the swell

Of orient winds, my Troy! Even thy name

Shall soon be taken from thee. Lo, the flame

Hath thee, and we, thy children, pass away

To slavery God! O God of mercy! Nay:

Why call I on the Gods? They know, they know,

My prayers, and would not hear them long ago.

Quick, to the flames! O, in thine agony,

My Troy, mine own, take me to die with thee!

Back! Thou art drunken with thy miseries,

Poor woman!—Hold her fast, men, till it please