ACT II. SCENE 1

Night. The chamber of Æneas. He lies sleeping calmly upon his couch. Enter Ghost of Hector, wan and terrible, bearing in his hands the sacred images of the Penates.

_Æneas_, starting up to a sitting posture, as if talking in a dream (281-286):

O light of Troy, O prop of Trojan hopes, What slow delays have held thee from our sight, O long awaited one? Whence com’st thou here? We see thee now, with hardships overborne, But only after many of thy friends Have met their doom, and after struggles vast Of city and of men.—But what, alas, Has so defiled thy features? Whence these wounds And horrid scars I see?

_Hector_, with deep sighs and groans (289-295):

Oh, get thee hence, Thou son of Venus, flee these deadly flames. Our foemen hold the walls; our ancient Troy Is fallen from her lofty pinnacle Enough for king and country has been done; If Troy could have been saved by any hand, This hand of mine would have defended her. But now to thee she trusts her sacred gods And all their sacred rites; take these with thee As comrades of thy fates; seek walls for these, Which, when the mighty deep thou hast o’ercome, Thou shalt at length in lasting empire set.

He makes as if to give the sacred images to Æneas, and vanishes.

A confused sound of distant shouting and clashing of arms fills the room. Æneas leaps from his couch, now fully awake, and stands with strained and attentive ears. The truth dawns upon him as the sounds grow clearer, and as he can see from his window the red flames of burning Troy. He snatches up his arms and is rushing from the room when Panthus hurries in bearing sacred images in his hands and leading his little grandson.

_Æneas_ (322):

My friend, where lies the battle’s central point? What stronghold do we keep against the foe?

_Panthus_ (324-335):

The last, the fated day of Troy is come. The mighty glory of the Trojan state Is of the past, and we, alas, no more May call ourselves of Ilium; for lo, The cruel gods have given all to Greece, And foemen lord it in our blazing town; The great horse stands upon our citadel, And from his roomy side pours armed men; While Sinon, gloating o’er his victory, With blazing torch is busy everywhere. Down at the double gates still others press For entrance, all Mycenæ’s clamorous hosts, And weapons thick beset the narrow streets. In battle order stand the long drawn lines Of gleaming steel prepared for deadly strife. Scarce do the sturdy watchmen of the gates Attempt to hold their posts against the foe, But in the smothering press fight blindly on.

At this, Æneas joins Panthus and together they rush out into the city.