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He, having spoke, sat down; and arose Thestorian Calchas, Prophet supreme among all, in the secrets of augury foremost; He that to Ilion's borders conducted the ships of Achaia, Such was the lore of the Seer by the blessing of Phoebus Apollo.
Vain I seek alleviation; Knowing, seeing, suffering all, I must wait the consummation, In a foreign land must fall." While her solemn words are ringing, Hark! a dull and wailing tone From the temple's gate upspringing, Dead lies Thetis' mighty son! Eris shakes her snake-locks hated, Swiftly flies each deity, And o'er Ilion's walls ill-fated Thunder-clouds loom heavily!
The mediæval scribe in the fulness of a divinely-revealed cosmogony is wont to begin his story at the creation of the world or at the confusion of tongues, to trace the building of Troy by the descendants of Japheth, and the foundation of his own native city by one of the Trojan princes made a fugitive in Europe by proud Ilion's fall.
Wide o'er the level plains, his slanting beams Dart their long lines on Ilion's tower'd site; The distant Hellespont with morning gleams, And old Scamander winds his waves in light. All merry sound the camel bells, so gay, And merry beats fond Hamet's heart, for he, E'er the dim evening steals upon the day, His children, wife and happy home shall see.
The sides, transpierced, return a rattling sound, And groans of Greeks enclosed came issuing through the wound; And, had not Heaven the fall of Troy designed, Or had not men been fated to be blind, Enough was said and done t' inspire a better mind. Then had our lances pierced the treacherous wood, And Ilion's towers and Priam's empire stood."
O'er Ilion's plains, where once the warrior bled, And once the poet rais'd his deathless strain, O'er Ilion's plains a weary driver led His stately camels: For the ruin'd fane
For sensuous Cleopatra's smiles Mark Antony thought the world well lost; for false Helen's favors proud Ilion's temples blazed, and the world is strewn with broken altars and ruined fanes, with empty crowns and crumbling thrones blasted by the selfsame curse.
Lo! this was Hector's wife, who, when they fought On plains of Troy, was Ilion's bravest chief. But if any one should say that Homer was a master of painting, he would make no mistake. For some of the wise men said that poetry was speaking painting, and painting silent poetry.
"This was the inscription on the second: "'This the reward which grateful Athens gives! Here still the patriot and the hero lives! Here let the rising age with rapture gaze, And emulate the glorious deeds they praise. "On the third was the inscription: "'Mnes'the-us hence led forth his chosen train, And poured the war o'er hapless Ilion's plain. Such were our sons!