Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/72

He said, and from the temple brings
Dread Vesta, with her holy things,
Her awful fillets, and the fire
Whose sacred embers ne'er expire.

Meantime throughout the city grow
The agonies of wildering woe:
And more and more, though deep in shade
My father's palace stood embayed,
The tumult rises on the ear,
And clashing armour hurtles fear.
I start from sleep, the roof ascend,
And with quick heed each noise attend.
E'en as, while southern winds conspire,
On standing harvests falls the fire,
Or as a mountain torrent spoils
Field, joyous crop, and oxen's toils,
And sweeps whole woods: the swain spell-bound
Hears from a rock the unwonted sound.
O, then I saw the tale was true:
The Danaan fraud stood clear to view.
Thy halls already, late so proud,
Deiphobus, to fire have bowed:
Ucalegon has caught the light:
Sigeum's waves gleam broad and bright.
Then come the clamour and the blare,
And shouts and clarions rend the air:
I clutch my arms with reeling brain,
But reason whispers, arms are vain:
Yet still I bum to raise a power,
And, rallying, muster at the tower:
Fury and wrath within me rave,
And tempt me to a warrior's grave.

Lo! Panthus, scaped from death by flight,
Priest of Apollo on the height,