Greeks, descending on the shore, Hew'd the green forests, and the bodies bore. And now from forth the chambers of the main, To shed his sacred light on earth again, Arose the golden chariot of the day, And tipp'd the mountains with a purple ray. In mingled throngs the Greek and Trojan train Through heaps of carnage search'd the mournful plain. Scarce could the friend his slaughter'd friend explore, With dust dishonour'd, and deformed with gore. The wounds they wash'd, their pious tears they shed, And, laid along their cars, deplored the dead. Sage Priam check'd their grief: with silent haste The bodies decent on the piles were placed: With melting hearts the cold remains they burn'd, And, sadly slow, to sacred Troy return'd. Nor less the Greeks their pious sorrows shed, And decent on the pile dispose the dead; The cold remains consume with equal care; And slowly, sadly, to their fleet repair. Now, ere the morn had streak'd with reddening light The doubtful confines of the day and night, About the dying flames the Greeks appear'd, And round the pile a general tomb they rear'd. Then, to secure the camp and naval powers, They raised embattled walls with lofty towers:(186) From space to space were ample gates around, For passing chariots, and a trench profound Of large extent; and deep in earth below, Strong piles infix'd stood adverse to the foe. So toil'd the Greeks: meanwhile the gods above, In shining circle round their father Jove, Amazed beheld the wondrous works of man: Then he, whose trident shakes the earth, began: "What mortals henceforth shall our power adore, Our fanes frequent, our oracles implore, If the proud Grecians thus successful boast Their rising bulwarks on the sea-beat coast? See the long walls extending to the main, No god consulted, and no victim slain! Their fame shall fill the world's remotest ends, Wide as the morn her golden beam extends; While old Laomedo