The places bare of foes, the Dorian lines we pour.

V. "Here camped the brave Dolopians, there was set
The tent of fierce Achilles; yonder lay
The fleet, and here the rival armies met
And mingled. Some with wonder and dismay
The maid Minerva's fatal gift survey.
Then first Thymaetes cries aloud, to go
And through the gates the monstrous horse convey
And lodge it in the citadel. E'en so
His fraud or Troy's dark fates were working for our woe.

VI. "But Capys and the rest, of sounder mind,
Urge us to tumble in the rolling tide
The doubtful gift, for treachery designed,
Or burn with fire, or pierce the hollow side,
And probe the caverns where the Danaans hide.
Thus while they waver and, perplext with doubt,
Urge diverse counsels, and in parts divide,
Lo, from the citadel, foremost of a rout,
Breathless Laocoon runs, and from afar cries out;

VII. "'Ah! wretched townsmen! do ye think the foe
Gone, or that guileless are their gifts? O blind
With madness! _Thus_ Ulysses do ye know?
Or Grecians in these timbers lurk confined,
Or 'tis some engine of assault, designed
To breach the walls, and lay our houses bare,
And storm the town. Some mischief lies behind.
Trust not the horse, ye Teucrians. Whatso'er