The house is filled with loud laments and cries, And shrieks of women rend the vaulted skies. The fearful matrons run from place to place, And kiss the thresholds, and the posts embrace. The fatal work inhuman Pyrrhus plies, And all his father sparkles in his eyes. Nor bars, nor fighting guards, his force sustain: The bars are broken, and the guards are slain. In rush the Greeks, and all the apartments fill; Those few defendants whom they find, they kill. Not with so fierce a rage the foaming flood Roars, when he finds his rapid course withstood; Bears down the dams with unresisted sway, And sweeps the cattle and the cots away. These eyes beheld him, when he marched between The brother kings: I saw the unhappy queen, The hundred wives, and where old Priam stood, To stain his hallowed altar with his blood. The fifty nuptial beds, (such hopes had he, So large a promise, of a progeny,) The posts of plated gold, and hung with spoils, Fell the reward of the proud victor's toils. Where'er the raging fire had left a space, The Grecians enter, and possess the place. Perhaps you may of Priam's fate inquire. He--when he saw his regal town on fire, His ruined palace, and his entering foes, On every side inevitable woes-- In arms disused, invests his limbs, decayed, Like them, with age; a late and useless aid. His feeble shoulders scarce the weight sustain; } Loaded, not armed, he creeps along with pain, } Despairing of success, ambitious to be slain! } Uncovered but by heaven, there stood in view An altar: near the hearth a laurel grew, Dodder'd with age, whose boughs encompass round The household gods, and shade the holy ground. Here Hecuba, with all her helpless train Of dames, for shelter sought, but sought in vain. Driven like a flock of doves along the sky, Their images they hug, and to their altars fly. The queen, when she beheld her trembling lord, And hanging by his side a heavy sword, "What rage," she cried, "has seized my husband's mind? What arms are these, and to what use designed? These times want other aids! Were Hector here, Even Hector now in vain, like Priam, would appear. With us, one common shelter thou shalt find, Or in one common fate with us be joined." She said, and with a last salute embraced The poor old man, and by the laurel placed. Behold! Polites, one of Priam's sons, Pursued by Pyrrhus, there for safety runs. Through swords and foes, amazed and hurt, he flies Through empty courts, and open galleries. Him Pyrrhus, urging with his lance, pursues, And often reaches, and his thrusts renews. The youth transfixed, with lamentable cries, Expires before his wretched parents' eyes: Whom gasping at his feet when Priam saw, The fear of death gave place to nature's law; And, shaking more with anger than with age, "The gods," said he, "requite thy brutal rage!