University of Virginia Library

“In seyr placis throu the cite wyth this
The murmur rayss, ay mair and mair I wyss,
And clerar wolx the rumour and the dyne,
So that, supposs Anchyss my faderis in
With treys abowt stude secrete by the way,
So bustuus grew the noys and furyus fray
And ratlyng of thar armour on the streit,
Affrayit, I glystnyt of sleip and start on feit,
Syne to the howssis hed ascendis onone,
With eris prest stude thar als stil as stone.
A sownd or swowch I hard thar at the last,
Lyke quhen the fyre be fellon wyndis blast
Is drevyn amyd the flat of cornys rank,
Or quhen the burn on spait hurlys down the bank,
Owder throu a watir brek or spait of flude,
Ryvand vp rede erd as it war wod,
Down dyngand cornys, all the pleuch laubour atanys,
And dryvis on swyftly stokkis, treis and stanys:
The sylly hyrd, seand this grysly syght,
Set on a pynnakill of sum cragis hycht
Al abasit, nocht knawand quhat this may meyn,
Wondris of the sovnd and ferly at he has seyn.
Rycht so I than by cleyr takynnys enew
Manifestly al the Grekis falshed knew—
Thair hyd dissait wolx patent than to wss.
The nobil lugyng of worthy Deyphobus
Was fal to grond, the fyre vpspred onone;
The nixt howss byrnys of Vcalegon;
The large seys and costis Sygean,
Throu lycht of flambis and brycht fyris, schane.
Vpsprang the cry of men and trumpys blist;
As out of mynd, myne armour on I thryst,
Thocht be na rayson persave I mycht, but fail,
Quhat than the forss of armys couth avail,
Ȝit hand for hand to thryng out throw the press
With my feris, and rynnyng or we cess
To the castel, our hartis brynt for desyre.
The fury cachit our myndis hait as fyre,
So that we thocht maist semly in a feld
To de feghtand, enarmyt vnder scheld.
Bot lo, Panthus, slippit the Grekis speris,
Panthus Othriades son, that mony ȝheris
Was of the strenth and Phebus tempill preste,
Into his armys lappit to his breist
The haly rellykkis of the sanctuary,
And eik our venquist goddis by and by
With hym beryng, and in his hand alsso
Harlyng hym efter his litil nevo,
Cummys lyke a wodman til our ȝet rynnyng.
‘How now, Panthus, quhat tythingis do ȝe bryng?
In quhat estait is sanctuary and haly geir?
To quhilk other fortress sall we speir?’
Skars said I this, quhen gowlyng petuusly
With thir wordis he answerd me in hy:
‘The lattir day is cummyn of Dardanus end,
The fatale tyme quham na walyng may mend.
We war Troianys, vmquhile was Ilion,
The schynand glory of Phrygianys now is gone,
Fers Iupiter to Grece all hass translait.
Our al the cite, kyndillit in flambis hait,
The Grekis now ar lordis but ony forss.
Within the wallis ȝone mekil standand horss
Ȝettis furth armyt men, and now Synon
Is victour haill, kyndilland eueron
The new fyris glaidly, as it war sport.
At athir ȝet beyn ruschit in sik a sort,
Sa mony thousandis come neuer from Myce nor Arge.
Sum cumpanyis with speris, lance and targe
Walkis wachand in rewis and narow stretis;
Arrayit batalis with drawyn swerdis at gletis
Standis reddy forto styk, gor and sla.
Skarsly the wachis of the portis twa
Begouth defens and melle as thai mycht,
Quhen blyndlyngis in the batail fey iha fyght.’
Throu thir wordis of Panthus and goddis heste,
Amyd the flambis and armour in I preste,
Ruschand thidder quhar sorofull Erynnys,
The noys and brute me drew, and quhar I wyss
The clamour hard I ryss vp to the ayr.
And of our fallowis to me come twa pair,
Repheus fyrst, be the lycht of the moyn,
Valiant in armys Ephitus followit soyn;
Hypanys syne and eik Dymas in hy
Fast to our syde adionyt by and by,
Mygdoneus son alsso, Chorebus ȝyng,
Quhilk in tha days, for fey luf hait byrnyng
Of Cassandra, to Troy was cummyn that ȝeir
To help Priam and Troianys in the weir—
Onhappy he was, wald not beleif fermly
Hys sayd spowsis command and prophecy.
Quhen I thame saw this wyss adionyt to me
And wilful forto stryke in the melle,
Thus I begouth thame forthirmar to steir:
‘O ȝe maist forsy ȝong men that beyn heir,
Wyth brestis strang and sa bald curage hie,
Invayn ȝe press to succur this cite
Quhilk byrnys al in fyre and flambys rede:
The goddis al ar fled out of this stede
Throu quhais mycht stude our empyre mony day,
Now all thar templis and altaris waist leif thai.
Bot gif ȝour desyre be sa fermly prest
To follow me dar tak the vtyrmest,
Quhat fortune is betyd, al thingis ȝe se.
Thar is na mair—lat ws togidder de,
And in amyd our ennemyis army schute.
To venquist folkis is a comfort and bute
Nane hope of help tobeleif, or reskew.’
Swa with thir wordis the ȝong menis curage grew
That in the dyrk lyke ravenus wolffis on rawis
Quham the blynd fury of thar empty mawis
Dryvis furth of thar den to seik thar pray—
Thar litil quhelpis left with dry throtis quhil day—
So throw the wapynnys and our fays went we,
Apon the ded ondowtit, and wald nocht fle.
Amyd the cite we held the master streit,
The dyrk nycht hyd ws with cloyss schaddowis meit.”