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Strange noises filled the air; we, all amazed,
Despatch Eurypylus t’inquire our fates,
Who thus the sentence of the gods relates: 
“A virgin’s slaughter did the storm appease,
When first t’wards Troy the Grecians took the seas;
Their safe retreat another Grecian’s blood 116
Must purchase.”  All at this confounded stood;
Each thinks himself the man, the fear on all
Of what the mischief but on one can fall. 
Then Calchas (by Ulysses first inspired)
Was urged to name whom th’angry god required;
Yet was I warn’d (for many were as well
Inspired as he) and did my fate foretell. 
Ten days the prophet in suspense remain’d,
Would no man’s fate pronounce; at last constrain’d
By Ithacus, he solemnly design’d
Me for the sacrifice; the people join’d
In glad consent, and all their common fear
Determine in my fate.  The day drew near,
The sacred rites prepared, my temples crown’d 130
With holy wreaths; then I confess I found
The means to my escape; my bonds I brake,
Fled from my guards, and in a muddy lake
Amongst the sedges all the night lay hid,
Till they their sails had hoist (if so they did). 
And now, alas! no hope remains for me
My home, my father, and my sons to see,
Whom they, enraged, will kill for my offence,
And punish, for my guilt, their innocence. 
Those gods who know the truths I now relate, 140
That faith which yet remains inviolate
By mortal men, by these I beg; redress
My causeless wrongs, and pity such distress.’—­
And now true pity in exchange he finds
For his false tears, his tongue his hands unbinds. 
Then spake the king, ’Be ours, whoe’er thou art;
Forget the Greeks.  But first the truth impart,
Why did they raise, or to what use intend
This pile? to a warlike or religious end?’
Skilful in fraud (his native art) his hands 150
T’ward heaven he raised, deliver’d now from bands. 
’Ye pure ethereal flames! ye powers adored
By mortal men! ye altars, and the sword
I ’scaped! ye sacred fillets that involved
My destined head! grant I may stand absolved
From all their laws and rights, renounce all name
Of faith or love, their secret thoughts proclaim;
Only, O Troy! preserve thy faith to me,
If what I shall relate preserveth thee. 
From Pallas’ favour all our hopes, and all 160
Counsels and actions took original,
Till Diomed (for such attempts made fit
By dire conjunction with Ulysses’ wit)
Assails the sacred tower, the guards they slay,
Defile with bloody hands, and thence convey
The fatal image; straight with our success
Our hopes fell back, whilst prodigies express
Her just disdain, her flaming eyes did throw
Flashes of lightning, from each part did flow
A briny sweat; thrice brandishing her spear,