secrete,
Embowered in foliage, nearer and more near
Peals the dire clang of arms, and loud and clear,
Borne on fierce echoes that in tumult blend,
War-shout and wail come thickening on the ear.
I start from sleep, the parapet ascend,
And from the sloping roof with eager ears attend.

XLI. "Like as a fire, when Southern gusts are rude,
Falls on the standing harvest of the plain,
Or torrent, hurtling with a mountain flood,
Whelms field and oxens' toil and smiling grain,
And rolls whole forests headlong to the main,
While, weetless of the noise, on neighbouring height,
Tranced in mute wonder, stands the listening swain,
Then, then I see that Hector's words were right,
And all the Danaan wiles are naked to the light.

XLII. "And now, Deiphobus, thy halls of pride,
Bowed by the flames, come ruining through the air;
Next burn Ucalegon's, and far and wide
The broad Sigean reddens with the glare.
Then come the clamour and the trumpet's blare.
Madly I rush to arms; though vain the fight,
Yet burns my soul, in fury and despair,
To rally a handful and to hold the height:
Sweet seems a warrior's death and danger a delight.

XLIII. "Lo, Panthus, flying from the Grecian bands,
Panthus, the son of Othrys, Phoebus' seer,
Bearing the sacred vessels in his hands,
And vanquished home-gods, to the door draws near,
His grandchild clinging to his side in fear.
'Panthus,' I cry, 'how fares the fight? what tower
Still hold we?'--Sighing, he replies ''Tis here,
The final end of all the Dardan power,
The last, sad day has come, the inevitable hour.

XLIV. "'Troy was, and we were Trojans, now, alas!
No more, for perished is the Dardan fame.
Fierce Jove to Argos biddeth all to pass,
And Danaans rule a city wrapt in flame.
High in the citadel the monstrous frame
Pours forth an armed deluge to the day,
And Sinon, puffed with triumph, spreads the flame.
Part throng the gates, part block each narrow way;
Such hosts Mycenae sends, such thousands to the fray.

XLV. "'Athwart the streets stands ready the array
Of steel, and bare is every blade and bright.
Scarce the first warders of the gates essay
To stand and battle in the blinding night.'
So spake the son of Othrys, and forthright,
My spirit stirred with impulse from on high,
I rush to arms amid the flames and fight,
Where yel