ls of the Ilian women are startled and their wits amazed.
At this one of their multitude, and she the eldest, Pyrgo, nurse in the
palace to all Priam's many children: 'This is not Beroe, I tell you, O
mothers; this is not the wife of Doryclus of Rhoeteum. Mark the
lineaments of divine grace and the gleaming eyes, what a breath is hers,
what a countenance, and the sound of her voice and the steps of her
going. I, I time agone left Beroe apart, sick and fretting that she
alone must have no part in this our service, nor pay Anchises his due
sacrifice.' So spoke she. . . . But the matrons at first, dubious and
wavering, gazed on the ships with malignant eyes, between the wretched
longing for the land they trod and the fated realm that summoned them:
when the goddess rose through the sky on poised wings, and in her flight
drew a vast bow beneath the clouds. Then indeed, amazed at the tokens
and driven by madness, they raise a cry and snatch fire from the
[661-694]hearths within; others plunder the altars, and cast on
brushwood boughs and brands. The Fire-god rages with loose rein over
thwarts and oars and hulls of painted fir. Eumelus carries the news of
the burning ships to the grave of Anchises and the ranges of the
theatre; and looking back, their own eyes see the floating cloud of dark
ashes. And in a moment Ascanius, as he rode gaily before his cavalry,
spurred his horse to the disordered camp; nor can his breathless
guardians hold him back. 'What strange madness is this?' he cries;
'whither now hasten you, whither, alas and woe! O citizens? not on the
foe nor on some hostile Argive camp; it is your own hopes you burn.
Behold me, your Ascanius!' and he flung before his feet the empty
helmet, put on when he roused the mimicry of war. Aeneas and the Trojan
train together hurry to the spot. But the women scatter apart in fear
all over the beach, and stealthily seek the woods and the hollow rocks
they find: they loathe their deed and the daylight, and with changed
eyes know their people, and Juno is startled out of their breast. But
not thereby do the flames of the burning lay down their unconquered
strength; under the wet oak the seams are alive, spouting slow coils of
smoke; the creeping heat devours the hulls, and the destroyer takes deep
hold of all: nor does the heroes' strength avail nor the floods they
pour in. Then good Aeneas rent away the raiment from his shoulders and
called the gods to aid, stretching forth his ha