Have rich encerëment. 'Tis we, 'tis we,
That dream, we living and our vanity!
[The Women bear out the dead Child upon the shield, singing, when presently flames of fire and dim forms are seen among the ruins of the City.
Chorus.
Some Women.
Woe for the mother that bare thee, child,
Thread so frail of a hope so high,
That Time hath broken: and all men smiled
About thy cradle, and, passing by,
Spoke of thy father's majesty.
Low, low, thou liest!
Others.
Ha! Who be these on the crested rock?
Fiery hands in the dusk, and a shock
Or torches flung! What lingereth still
O wounded City, of unknown ill,
Ere yet thou diest?
Talthybius (coming out through the ruined Wall).
Ye Captains that have charge to wreck this keep
Of Priam's City, let your torches sleep
No more! Up, fling the fire into her heart!
Then have we done with Ilion, and may part
In joy to Hellas from this evil land.
And ye—so hath one word two faces—stand,
