The Story of Polyxena and Hecuba.
By Mr. Temple Stanyan.
The Victor with full Sails for Lemnos stood,
(Once stain'd by Matrons with their Husbands Blood)
Thence Great Alcides' fatal Shafts to bear,
Assign'd to Philoctetes' secret Care.
These with their Guardian to the Greeks convey'd,
Their ten Years Toil with wish'd Success repaid.
With Troy old Priam falls; his Queen survives;
Till all her Woes compleat, transform'd she grieves
In borrowed Sounds, nor with an human Face,
Barking tremendous o'er the Plains of Thrace.
Still Ilium's Flames their pointed Columns raise,
And the red Hellespont reflects the Blaze.
Shed on Jove's Altar are the poor Remains
Of Blood, which trickl'd from old Priam's Veins.
Cassandra lifts her Hands to Heav'n in vain,
Drag'd by her sacred Hair; the trembling Train
Of Matrons to their burning Temples fly;
There to their Gods for kind Protection cry;
And to their Statues cling, till forc'd away,
The Victor Greeks bear off th' invidious Prey.
From those high Tow'rs Astyanax is thrown,
Whence he was wont with pleasure to look down.
When oft his Mother with a fond Delight
Pointed to view his Father's Rage in sight,
To win Renown, and guard his Country's Right.
The Winds now call to Sea; brisk Northern Gales
Sing in the Shrowds, and court the spreading Sails.
