o! now one of Priam's sons, Polites, having fled
From Pyrrhus' murder through the swords and through the foeman's throng,
Runs wounded through the empty hall from out the cloister long,
And burning Pyrrhus, hard at heel, the deadly hurt doth bear,
And grip of hand is on him now, and now the point of spear. 530
But as he rushed before their eyes, his parents' face beneath
He fell, and with most plenteous blood shed forth his latest breath;
Then Priam, howsoever nigh the very death might grip,
Refrained him nothing at the sight, but voice and wrath let slip:
'Ah, for such wickedness,' he cried, 'for daring such a deed,
If aught abide in heaven as yet such things as this to heed,
May the Gods give thee worthy thanks, and pay thee well-earned prize,
That thou hast set the death of sons before my father's eyes,
That thou thy murder's fouling thus in father's face hast flung.
Not he, Achilles, whence indeed thou liar hast never sprung, 540
Was such a foe to Priam erst; for shamfast meed he gave
To law and troth of suppliant men, and rendered to the grave
The bloodless Hector dead, and me sent to mine own again.'

So spake the elder, and cast forth a toothless spear and vain,
That forthwith from the griding brass was put aback all spent,
And from the shield-boss' outer skin hung down, for nothing sent.
Then Pyrrhus cried: 'Yea tell him this, go take the tidings down
To Peleus' son my father then, of Pyrrhus worser grown
And all these evil deeds of mine! take heed to tell the tale!
Now die!'
And to the altar-stone him quivering did he hale, 550
And sliding in his own son's blood so plenteous: in his hair
Pyrrhus his left hand wound, his right the gleaming sword made bare,
That even to the hilts thereof within his flank he hid.
Such was the end of Priam's day, such faring forth fate bid,
Troy all aflame upon the road, all Pergamus adown.
He, of so many peoples once the mighty lord and crown,
So many lands of Asia once, a trunk beside the sea
Huge with its headless shoulders laid, a nameless corpse is he.

Then first within the compassing of bitter fear I was;
The image of my father dear by me all mazed did pass, 560
When I beheld the like-aged king gasping his life away
Through cruel wound: upon mine eyes forlorn Creusa lay,
T