Green altars, rais’d of turf, with gifts she crown’d, And sacred priests in order stand around, And thrice the name of hapless Hector sound.
Now, spent, the goal they almost reach at last, When eager Nisus, hapless in his haste, Slipp’d first, and, slipping, fell upon the plain, Soak’d with the blood of oxen newly slain.
Here hapless Icarus had found his part, Had not the father’s grief restrain’d his art.
Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke, That, were I not resolv’d against the yoke Of hapless marriage, never to be curst With second love, so fatal was my first, To this one error I might yield again; For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain, This only man is able to subvert The fix’d foundations of my stubborn heart.
When Troy with Grecian arms was closely pent, Old Priam, fearful of the war’s event, This hapless Polydore to Thracia sent: Loaded with gold, he sent his darling, far From noise and tumults, and destructive war, Committed to the faithless tyrant’s care; Who, when he saw the pow’r of Troy decline, Forsook the weaker, with the strong to join; Broke ev’ry bond of nature and of truth, And murder’d, for his wealth, the royal youth.
But when, with blood and paleness all o’erspread, The pious prince beheld young Lausus dead, He griev’d; he wept; the sight an image brought Of his own filial love, a sadly pleasing thought: Then stretch’d his hand to hold him up, and said: "Poor hapless youth! what praises can be paid To love so great, to such transcendent store Of early worth, and sure presage of more?