In thronging crowds they issue to the plains; Nor man nor woman in the walls remains; In every face the self-same grief is shown; And Troy sends forth one universal groan. At Scæa’s gates they meet the mourning wain, Hang on the wheels, and grovel round the slain. The wife and mother, frantic with despair, Kiss his pale cheek, and rend their scatter’d hair: Thus wildly wailing, at the gates they lay; And there had sigh’d and sorrow’d out the day; But godlike Priam from the chariot rose: “Forbear (he cried) this violence of woes; First to the palace let the car proceed, Then pour your boundless sorrows o’er the dead.”