The customs of our country we pursue, And Trojan games on Actian shores renew. Our youth their naked limbs besmear with oil, And exercise the wrestlers' noble toil-- Pleased to have sailed so long before the wind, And left so many Grecian towns behind. The sun had now fulfilled his annual course, And Boreas on the seas displayed his force: I fixed upon the temple's lofty door The brazen shield which vanquished Abas bore; The verse beneath my name and action speaks:-- "These arms Æneas took from conquering Greeks." Then I command to weigh; the seamen ply Their sweeping oars; the smoking billows fly. The sight of high Phæacia soon we lost, And skimmed along Epirus' rocky coast. Then to Chaonia's port our course we bend, And, landed, to Buthrotus' heights ascend. Here wondrous things were loudly blazed by Fame-- How Helenus revived the Trojan name, And reigned in Greece; that Priam's captive son Succeeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne; And fair Andromache, restored by Fate, Once more was happy in a Trojan mate. I leave my galleys riding in the port, And long to see the new Dardanian court. By chance, the mournful queen, before the gate, Then solemnized her former husband's fate. Green altars, raised of turf, with gifts she crowned, } And sacred priests in order stand around, } And thrice the name of hapless Hector sound. } The grove itself resembles Ida's wood; And Simoïs seemed the well-dissembled flood. But when, at nearer distance, she beheld My shining armour and my Trojan shield, Astonished at the sight, the vital heat Forsakes her limbs, her veins no longer beat: She faints, she falls, and scarce recovering strength, Thus, with a faultering tongue, she speaks at length: "Are you alive, O goddess-born?" she said, "Or if a ghost, then where is Hector's shade?" At this she cast a loud and frightful cry.-- With broken words I made this brief reply: "All of me, that remains, appears in sight; I live, if living be to loath the light-- No phantom; but I drag a wretched life, My fate resembling that of Hector's wife. What have you suffered since you lost your lord? By what strange blessing are you now restored? Still are you Hector's? or is Hector fled, And his remembrance lost in Pyrrhus' bed?" With eyes dejected, in a lowly tone, After a modest pause, she thus begun:-- "Oh only happy maid of Priam's race, Whom death delivered from the foe's embrace! Commanded on Achilles' tomb to die, } Not forced, like us, to hard captivity, } Or in a haughty master's arms to lie. } In Grecian ships, unhappy we were borne, Endured the victor's lust, sustained the scorn: Thus I submitted to the lawless pride Of Pyrrhus, more a handmaid than a bride. Cloyed with possession, he forsook my bed, And Helen's lovely daughter sought to wed;