I get me down, and, Goddess-led, speed on 'twixt fire and foe, And point and edge give place to me, before me sinks the flame; But when unto my father's door and ancient house I came, And I was fain of all things first my father forth to bear Unto the mountain-tops, and first I sought to find him there, Still he gainsayed to spin out life now Troy was lost and dead, Or suffer exile: 'Ye whose blood is hale with youth,' he said, 'Ye other ones, whose might and main endureth and is stout, See ye to flight while yet ye may! 640 Full surely if the heavenly ones my longer life had willed, They would have kept me this abode: the measure is fulfilled In that the murder I have seen, and lived when Troy-town fell. O ye, depart, when ye have bid my body streaked farewell. My hand itself shall find out death, or pity of my foes, Who seek my spoils: the tomb methinks a little thing to lose. Forsooth I tarry overlong, God-cursed, a useless thing, Since when the Father of the Gods, the earth-abiders' King, Blew on me blast of thunder-wind and touched me with his flame.' His deed was stubborn as his word, no change upon him came. 650 But all we weeping many tears, my wife Creusa there, Ascanius, yea and all the house, besought him not to bear All things to wrack with him, nor speed the hastening evil tide. He gainsaith all, and in his will and home will yet abide. So wretchedly I rush to arms with all intent to die; For what availeth wisdom now, what hope in fate may lie? 'And didst thou hope, O father, then, that thou being left behind, My foot would fare? Woe worth the word that in thy mouth I find! But if the Gods are loth one whit of such a town to save, And thou with constant mind wilt cast on dying Troy-town's grave 660 Both thee and thine, wide is the door to wend adown such ways; For Pyrrhus, red with Priam's blood, is hard at hand, who slays The son before the father's face, the father slays upon The altar. Holy Mother, then, for this thou ledst me on Through fire and sword!--that I might see our house filled with the foe, My father old, Ascanius, Creusa lying low, All weltering in each other's blood, and murdered wretchedly. Arms, fellows, arms! the last day's light on vanquished men doth cry. Ah! give me to the Greeks again, that I may play the play Another while: not unavenged shall all we die today.' 670