There sate the seniors of the Trojan race,
(Old Priam's chiefs, and most in Priam's grace)
The king the first; Thymoetes at his side;
Lampus and Clytius, long in council try'd;
Panthus, and Hicetaon, once the strong,
And next the wisest of the rev'rend throng,
Antenor grave, and sage Ucalegon,
Lean'd on the walls, and bask'd before the sun.
Chiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage,
But wise thro' time, and narrative with age,
In summer-days like grasshoppers rejoice,
A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.
These, when the Spartan queen approach'd the tow'r,
In secret own'd resistless beauty's pow'r;
They cry'd, "No wonder such celestial charms
For nine long years have set the world in arms;
What winning graces! what majestick mien!
She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen!
Yet hence oh Heav'n! convey that fatal face,
And from destruction save the Trojan race."