CHAPTER THE EIGHTY-NINTH.
"But I see that your whole attention is held by that picture which portrays the destruction of Troy, so I will attempt to unfold the story in verse: And now the tenth harvest beheld the beleaguered of Troia Worn out with anxiety, fearing the honor of Calchas The prophet, hung wavering deep in the blackest despair.
Apollo commanded! The forested peaks of Mount Ida Were felled and dragged down; the hewn timbers were fitted to fashion A war-horse.

Unfilled is a cavity left, and this cavern, Roofed over, capacious enough for a camp.

Here lie hidden The raging impetuous valor of ten years of warfare.
Malignant Greek troops pack the recess, lurk in their own offering.
Alas my poor country! We thought that their thousand grim war-ships Were beaten and scattered, our arable lands freed from warfare! Th' inscription cut into the horse, and the crafty behavior Of Sinon, his mind ever powerful for evil, affirmed it.
Delivered from war, now the crowd, carefree, hastens to worship And pours from the portals.

Their cheeks wet with weeping, the joy Of their tremulous souls brings to eyes tears which terror Had banished.

Laocoon, priest unto Neptune, with hair loosed, An outcry evoked from the mob: he drew back his javelin And launched it! The belly of wood was his target.