The war is felt on high; the nodding crown Now threats a fall, and throws the leafy honours down. To their united force it yields, though late, And mourns with mortal groans the approaching fate: The roots no more their upper load sustain; But down she falls, and spreads a ruin through the plain. Descending thence, I 'scape through foes and fire: Before the goddess, foes and flames retire. Arrived at home, he, for whose only sake, Or most for his, such toils I undertake-- The good Anchises--whom, by timely flight, I purposed to secure on Ida's height-- Refused the journey, resolute to die, And add his funerals to the fate of Troy, Rather than exile and old age sustain. "Go you, whose blood runs warm in every vein. Had heaven decreed, that I should life enjoy, Heaven had decreed to save unhappy Troy. 'Tis, sure, enough, if not too much, for one, Twice to have seen our Ilium overthrown. Make haste to save the poor remaining crew, And give this useless corpse a long adieu. These weak old hands suffice to stop my breath; At least the pitying foes will aid my death, To take my spoils, and leave my body bare: As for my sepulchre, let heaven take care. 'Tis long since I, for my celestial wife, Loathed by the gods, have dragged a lingering life; Since every hour and moment I expire, Blasted from heaven by Jove's avenging fire." This oft repeated, he stood fixed to die: } Myself, my wife, my son, my family, } Entreat, pray, beg, and raise a doleful cry-- } "What! will he still persist, on death resolve, And in his ruin all his house involve?" He still persists his reasons to maintain; Our prayers, our tears, our loud laments, are vain. Urged by despair, again I go to try The fate of arms, resolved in fight to die. What hope remains, but what my death must give? "Can I, without so dear a father, live? You term it prudence, what I baseness call: Could such a word from such a parent fall? If Fortune please, and so the gods ordain, } That nothing should of ruined Troy remain, } And you conspire with Fortune to be slain; } The way to death is wide, the approaches near: For soon relentless Pyrrhus will appear, Reeking with Priam's blood--the wretch who slew } The son (inhuman) in the father's view, } And then the sire himself to the dire altar drew. } O goddess mother! give me back to Fate; Your gift was undesired, and came too late. Did you, for this, unhappy me convey Through foes and fires, to see my house a prey? Shall I my father, wife, and son, behold, Weltering in blood, each other's arms infold? Haste! gird my sword, though spent, and overcome: 'Tis the last summons to receive our doom. I hear thee, Fate! and I obey thy call! Not unrevenged the foe shall see me fall.