Christopher

“Priam before the altars, with his blood Drenching the fires that he himself had blessed. Those fifty bridal chambers, hope of a line So flourishing; those doorways high and proud, Adorned with takings of barbaric gold, Were all brought low: fire had them, or the Greeks." 2.654”
― Virgil, The Aeneid (Penguin Classics) [Paperback] [2003] (Author) Virgil, David West

“the old man threw his spear With feeble impact; blocked by the ringing bronze, It hung there harmless from the jutting boss. Then Pyrrhus answered: 'You'll report the news To Pelides, my father; don't forget My sad behavior, the degeneracy Of Neoptolemus. Now die.' With this, To the altar step itself he dragged him trembling, Slipping in the pooled blood of his son, And took him by the hair with his left hand. The sword flashed in his right; up to the hilt He thrust it in his body. That was the end Of Priam's age, the doom that took him off, With Troy in flames before his eyes, his towers Headlong fallen—he that in other days Had ruled in pride so many lands and peoples, The power of Asia. On the distant shore. The vast trunk headless lies without a name." 2.702”
― Virgil, The Aeneid

“and in the end the port of Drepanum took me in, a landing without joy. for after storms at sea had buffeted me so often, here, alas, i lost my father, solace in all affliction and mischance; o best of fathers, in my weariness-- though you had been delivered from so many perils in vain -- alas here you forsook me." 3.935”
― Virgil, The Aeneid (Penguin Classics) [Paperback] [2003] (Author) Virgil, David West

“There the Tyrians Were hard at work: laying courses for walls, Rolling up stones to build the citadel, citadel While others picked out building sites and plowed but his A boundary furrow. Laws were being enacted, Magistrates and a sacred senate chosen. Here men were dredging harbors, there they laid The deep foundation of a theatre, And quarried massive pillars to enhance The future stage- as bees in early summer In sunlight in the flowering fields Hum at their work, and bring along the young Full-grown to beehood; as they cram their combs With honey, brimming all the cells with nectar, Or take newcomers' plunder, or like troops Alerted, drive away the lazy drones, And labor thrives and sweet thyme scents the honey." line580”
― Virgil, The Aeneid