ought I had [731-764]outsped
all the way; when suddenly the crowded trampling of feet came to our
ears, and my father, looking forth into the darkness, cries: "My son, my
son, fly; they draw near. I espy the gleaming shields and the flicker of
brass." At this, in my flurry and confusion, some hostile god bereft me
of my senses. For while I plunge down byways, and swerve from where the
familiar streets ran, Creuesa, alas! whether, torn by fate from her
unhappy husband, she stood still, or did she mistake the way, or sink
down outwearied? I know not; and never again was she given back to our
eyes; nor did I turn to look for my lost one, or cast back a thought,
ere we were come to ancient Ceres' mound and hallowed seat; here at
last, when all gathered, one was missing, vanished from her child's and
her husband's company. What man or god did I spare in frantic
reproaches? or what crueller sight met me in our city's overthrow? I
charge my comrades with Ascanius and lord Anchises, and the gods of
Teucria, hiding them in the winding vale. Myself I regain the city,
girding on my shining armour; fixed to renew every danger, to retrace my
way throughout Troy, and fling myself again on its perils. First of all
I regain the walls and the dim gateway whence my steps had issued; I
scan and follow back my footprints with searching gaze in the night.
Everywhere my spirit shudders, dismayed at the very silence. Thence I
pass on home, if haply her feet (if haply!) had led her thither. The
Grecians had poured in, and filled the palace. The devouring fire goes
rolling before the wind high as the roof; the flames tower over it, and
the heat surges up into the air. I move on, and revisit the citadel and
Priam's dwelling; where now in the spacious porticoes of Juno's
sanctuary, Phoenix and accursed Ulysses, chosen sentries, were guarding
the spoil. Hither from all quarters is flung in masses the treasure of
Troy torn from burning shrines, [765-798]tables of the gods, bowls of
solid gold, and raiment of the captives. Boys and cowering mothers in
long file stand round. . . . Yes, and I dared to cry abroad through the
darkness; I filled the streets with calling, and again and yet again
with vain reiterance cried piteously on Creuesa. As I stormed and sought
her endlessly among the houses of the town, there rose before mine eyes
a melancholy phantom, the ghost of very Creuesa, in likeness larger than
her wont. I was motionless; my hair stood up, an