Quintus, Posthomerica 13.122-133

“….the boundless grief shook from sleep
The young children whose hearts had previously felt no pain.

People were dying all over, mixed among one another.
Some faded away seeing their death alongside dreams. And their Deaths
Took some kind of shrill joy in their pitiful passing.

They were killed by the thousands like pigs lined up
For an endless banquet for friends in a rich man’s home.

The wine that was left over in their cups was mixed with
Bloody gore and there was no one at all who could have carried
An iron weapon out of the slaughter–and so the Trojans were dying.”

οἰμωγὴ δ’ ἀταλάφρονας ἔκβαλεν ὕπνου
νηπιάχους τῶν οὔ πω ἐπίστατο κήδεα θυμός.
Ἄλλοι δ’ ἀμφ’ ἄλλοισιν ἀπέπνεον· οἳ δ’ ἐκέχυντο
πότμον ὁμῶς ὁρόωντες ὀνείρασιν· ἀμφὶ δὲ λυγραὶ
Κῆρες ὀιζυρῶς ἐπεγήθεον ὀλλυμένοισιν.
οἳ δ’ ὥς τ’ ἀφνειοῖο σύες κατὰ δώματ’ ἄνακτος
εἰλαπίνην λαοῖσιν ἀπείριτον ἐντύνοντος
μυρίοι ἐκτείνοντο, λυγρῷ δ’ ἀνεμίσγετο λύθρῳ
οἶνος ἔτ’ ἐν κρητῆρσι λελειμμένος. οὐδέ τις ἦεν
ὅς κεν ἄνευθε φόνοιο φέρε στονόεντα σίδηρον,
οὐδ’ εἴ τις μάλ’ ἄναλκις ἔην. ὀλέκοντο δὲ Τρῶες·