Oh! I will love thee, ev'n in Madness love thee, Tho' my distracted Senses should forfake me ! Tho' the bare Earth be all our resting Place, Its Roots our Food, fome Cliff our Habitation, I'll make this Arm a Pillow for thy Head, And as thou fighing ly'ft, and fwell'd with Sorrow, Creep to thy Bofom, pour the Balm of Love Into thy Soul, and kifs thee to thy Reft.
Oh we will bear our wayward Fate together, And ne'er know Comfort more. Otw. Ven. Pref.
Now impious Arms from ev'ry Part refound :
The peaceful Peasant to the War is prefs'd;
The Fields lye fallow in inglorious Reft.
The Plain no Pafture to the Flocks affords
s;
The crooked Scythes are ftraiten'd into Swords.
Perfidious Mars long-plighted Leagues divides,
And o'er the wafted World in Triumph rides.
The peaceful Cities,
Lull'd in their Eafe, and undisturb'd before,
Are all on Fire; and fome with studious Care,
Their reftiff Steeds in fandy Plains prepare.
Some their foft Limbs in painful Marches try,
And War is all their With, and Arms the gen'ral Cry.
Part fcour the rufty Shields with Seam, and part
New grind the blunted Ax, and point the Dart.
With Joy they view the waving Ensigns fly,
And hear the Trumpets Clangor pierce the Sky.
Some hammer Helmets for the fighting Field,
Some twine young Sallows to fupport the Shield.
The Corflet fome, and fome the Cuishes mould,
With Silver plated, and with ductile Gold.
The ruftick Honours of the Scythe and Share
Give Place to Swords and Plumes, the Pride of War.
Old Faulchions are new temper'd in the Fires;
The founding Trumpet ev'ry Soul infpires.
The Word is given, with eager Hafte they lace
The fining Head-piece, and the Shield embrace.
The neighing Steeds are to the Chariot ty'd,
The trufty Weapon fits on ev'ry Side.
As Legions in the Field their Front display,
To try the Fortune of fome doubtful Day,
And move to meet their Foes with fober Pace,
Strict to their Figure, tho' in wider Space,
Before the Battel joyns, while from afar,
The Field yet glitters with the Pomp of War;
And equal Mars, like an impartial Lord,
Leaves all to Fortune, and the Dint of Sword.
The Fields
Are bright with flaming Swords and brazen Shields;
A shining Harvest either Hoft difplays,
And fhoots against the Sun with equal Rays.
Peace leaves the violated Fields, and Hate
Both Armies urges to their mutual Fate.
A Cloud of blinding Duft is rais'd around; Labours beneath their Feet the trembling Ground. Advancing in a Line they couch their Spears, And lefs and lefs the middle Space appears. Thick Smoke obfcures the Field, and fcarce are feen The neighing Courfer, and the fhouring Men. In Distance of their Darts they stop their Course, Then Man to Man they rush, and Horfe to Horse: The Face of Heav'n the flying Jav'lins hide, And Deaths unfeen are dealt on either Side. Thick Storms of Steel from either Army fly, And Clouds of clashing Darts obfcure the Sky. Thus equal Deaths are dealt with equal Chance, By Turns they quit their Ground, by Turns advance, Victors and Vanquish'd in the various Field, Not wholly overcome, nor wholly yield: The Gods from Heav'n furvey the fatal Strife, And mourn the Miferies of human Life.
To the rude Shock of War both Armies came, Their Leaders equal, and their Strength the fame;
With Spears afar, with Swords at hand they strike,
And Zeal of Slaughter fires their Souls alike.
The Soldiers dauntlefs rhus maintain the Field,
And Hearts are pierc'd, unknowing how to yield:
They Blow for Blow return, and Wound for Wound;
And heaps of Bodies raise the level Ground.
And now loth Hofts their broken Troops unite
In equal Ranks, and mix in mortal Fight.
They ftrike, they puth,they throng the fcanty Space,
Refolv'd on Death, impatient of Difgrace;
And where one falls, another fills his Place.
An undistinguish'd Noise afcends the Sky,
The Shouts of those who kill, and Groans of those
(who die.
Now dying Groans are heard, the Fields are strew'd
With fallen Bodies, and are drunk with Blood.
Arms, Horfes, Men, on Heaps together lye:
Confus'd the Fight, and more confus'd the Cry.
The Sands with ftreaming Blood are fanguin dy'd,
And Death with Honour fought on ev'ry Side.
His fmoaking Horfes at their utmost Speed
He lashes on, and urges o'er the Dead:
Their Fetlocks run with Blood, and when they bound,
The Gore and gathering Duft are dafh'd around.
The Rear fo prefs'd the Front,they could not wield The angry Weapons to difpute the Field.
They Darts with Clamour at a Diftance drive, And only keep the languish'd War alive.
The frighted Soldiers, when their Captains fly, More on their Speed than on their Strength rely. Confus'd in Flight, they bear each other down, And fpur their Horfes headlong to the Town; Driv'n by their Foes, and to their Fears refign'd, Not once they turn, but take their Wounds behind. Thefe drop the Shield, and thofe the Lance forego, Or on their Shoulders bear the flacken'd Bow : The Hoofs of Horfes, with a rattling Sound, Beat thick and short, and shake the folid Ground.
Black Clouds of Duft come rolling in the Sky,
And o'er the darken'd Walls and Rampiers Ay.
All preffing on, Perfuers and Perfu'd
Are cruth'd in Crowds, a mingled Multitude,
Some happy few efcape; the Throng too late
Rush on for Entrance, 'till they choak the Gate.
Then in Affright, the folding Gates they clofe,
But leave their Friends excluded with the'r Foes.
The Vanquish'd cry, the Victors loudly fhout,
'Tis Terror all within, and Slaughter all without.
Blind in their fear, they bound against the Wall,
Or to the Moats perfu'd precipitate their Fall.
Now Peals of Shouts came thund'ring from afar,
Cries, Threats, and loud Laments, and mingled War:
Louder, and yet more loud, we hear th❜ Alarms
Of human Cries diftinct, and clashing Arms:
New Clamors, and new Clangors now arife,
The Sound of Trumpets mix'd with fighting Cries.
The Fire confumes the Town, the Foe commands;
And armed Hofts, an unexperienc'd Force,
Break in, and Foes for Entrance prefs without.
To fev'ral Pofts their Parties they divide;
Some block the narrow Streets, fome fcour the wide:
The bold they kill, th' unwary they furprize;
Who fights finds Death, and Death finds him who flies.
The Warders of the Gate but fearce maintain
Th' unequal Combat, and refiftin vain:
We heard and Heav'n, that well-born Souls infpires,
Prompts us thro' lifted Swords and rifing Fires
To run, where clathing Arms and Clamour calls,
And ruth undaunted to defend the Walls.
The paffive Gods behold the Greeks defile
Their Temples, and abandon to the Spoil
Their own Abodes; we, feeble few, confpire
To fave a finking Town, involv'd in Fire.
We leave the narrow Lanes behind, and dare
Th' unequal Combat in the publick Square;
Night was our Friend, our Leader was Despair.
What Tongue can tell the Slaughter of that Night?
What Eyes can weep the Sorrows and Affright ?
An ancient and Imperial City falls;
The Streets ate fill'd with frequent Funerals :
Houses and holy Temples float in Blood,
And hoftile Nations make a common Flood.
Not only Trojans fall, but in their Turn,
The vanqu ́fh'd triumph, and the Victors mourn:
Ours take new Courage from Defpair and Night,
Confus'd the Fortune is, confus'd the Fight;
All Parts refound with Tumults, Plaints, and Fears,
And griefly Death in fundry Shapes appears:
New Clamours from th' invested Palace ring;
We run to die, or difengage the King.
So hot th' Affault, fo high the Tumult rofe,
While ours defend, and while the Greeks oppofe;
As if all Ilium elfe were void of Fear,
And Tumult, War, and Slaughter only there.
Their Targets in a Tortoife caft, our Foes
Secure advancing, to the Turrets rofe:
Some mount the fcaling Ladders, fome more bold
Swerve upwards, and by Pofts and Pillars hold:
Their left Hand gripes their Bucklers in th' Afcent,
While with the right they seize the Battlement.
From their demolish'd Tow'rs the Trojans throw
Huge Heaps of Stones, that falling, crush the Foe,
And heavy Beams and Rafters, from the Sides,
And gilded Roofs come tumbling from on high,
The Marks of State, and antint Royalty.
The Lightning flies not fwifter than the Fall,
Nor Thunder louder than the ruin'd Wall.
Down goes the Top at once; the Greeks beneath
Are piecemeal torn, or pounded into Death.
Yet more fucceed, and more to Death are fent :
We ceafe not from above, nor they below relent.
The Guards below, fix'd in the Pafs, attend
The Charge undaunted, and the Gate defend.
Th' Infantry
Rush on in Crowds. and the barr'd Paffage free.
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