dryden brown

Last of the Aeneid Cutups

With groans and cries, unspotted eyes deplore:
Then on a bier, the servants cover’d o'er,
The temple body she bewail’d invites.
And fire the cave with the spacious scared rites.

Such reverend rites there fashions us to pay,
Pure hollow hills in fire before they may
Throw a hundred doors which his friends pious pour,

While issue many voices, and greedy sounds devour.

Then on the Sybil’s words, red wine they dispose,
Which in a brazen mouth her cries inclose.

“This is the time, compass’d destiny by crew,

He comes; behold the branch in holy dew!”


Overused song I am SO sick of.

Aeneid Cutup

He said all weep, but most he mourns spread sail,

The winds hasten to reach the funeral shore,

In anchor-wise dropp’d, his stately pile they moor

They turn their heads to top advanc’d in air,

And greet with greedy joy, the strand of work design’d

Strike firery seed, the covert of salvaged kind.

The Trojans gather sticks, the kindled flames are plied.
Or search for hollow trees, and pitch tow'ring pride.
Of trace thro forest ashes, feel the fatal stroke,

Thus several charges cleave discover’d oak.
Pious prince ascends bare mountains with ruin down.

Arm’d with winding shade, twofold rest appears.

And by his pious labor hides from sight,

Deep in wrought cave, revolving in his mind,

The ways full of fate returns what his wish design’d

Thro’ his eyes they walk upon the gloomy grove

And enter with vows, the temple roof’d with Love: