“‘Son, what pain is great enough to rouse such uncontrollable anger? Why are you raging, and what has become of your care for me? Will you not first consider where you have left your father, worn with age, and whether Creusa your wife and your boy Iulus are living still, whom all the Greek army are roving around and, if I were not preventing it, the flames would have taken, and whose blood the swords of the enemy would have drunk already? I tell you it is not the hated beauty of Spartan Helen or Paris’s fault that is to blame, it is lack of mercy from the Gods, the Gods, that has toppled this rich city and is razing Troy from the top down. Look – for I will take away all the cloud that now draws over your sight, dulls your human vision and cloaks you in dank darkness – fear nothing, and refuse nothing that your mother tells you to do – look here, where you see mighty works torn apart, stones ripped from stones and billowing smoke mingled with the dust! Neptune is shaking the walls and their stricken foundations with his great trident and has rent the whole city from its seat; here Juno, fiercest of all, leading the onset, holds the Scaean gate, rages, her sword girded on, and calls the Greek army from the ships! Now, look, Tritonian Minerva sits upon the citadel, blazing with cloud and dire with the Gorgon on her aegis! Father Jupiter himself summons the Gods to arms against the Trojans, rouses the spirits of the Greeks and gives them strength to prevail! Fly at once, my son, put an end to your labours. I will always be with you, and bring you safe to your father’s house.’ And she vanished into the dense shadows of the night. There appeared, as enemies of Troy, the dread forms and sacred powers of the Gods; then truly I saw the whole of Troy, built by Neptune himself, overthrown from top to bottom, subsiding in flames. Just as when farmers attack an ancient ash in the mountains with steel to chop it down and beset it closely, raining blows from the axe in turn, it looms above them, its crown nods and its top is stricken until, gradually overcome by its wounds, it gives its last groan and, hewn from the ridge, falls in ruin. I leave the citadel and, a god as my guide, pick my way through fire and foes: arms give place and the flames draw back.”