“O daughter of that god, whose arm can wield The avenging bolt, and shake the sable shield! Now, in this moment of her last despair, Shall wretched Greece no more confess our care, Condemn’d to suffer the full force of fate, And drain the dregs of heaven’s relentless hate? Gods! shall one raging hand thus level all? What numbers fell! what numbers yet shall fall! What power divine shall Hector’s wrath assuage? Still swells the slaughter, and still grows the rage!”