ooses for herself a habitation on the
top[6] of a tower, and has added innumerable avenues, and a thousand
openings to her house, and has closed the entrances with no gates. Night
and day are they open. It is all of sounding brass; it is all
resounding, and it reechoes the voice, and repeats what it hears. Within
there is no rest, and silence in no part. Nor yet is there a clamour,
but the murmur of a low voice, such as is wont to arise from the waves
of the sea, if one listens at a distance, or like the sound which the
end of the thundering {makes} when Jupiter has clashed the black clouds
together. A crowd occupies the hall; the fickle vulgar come and go; and
a thousand rumours, false mixed with true, wander up and down, and
circulate confused words. Of these, some fill the empty ears with
conversation; some are carrying elsewhere what is told them; the measure
of the fiction is ever on the increase, and each fresh narrator adds
something to what he has heard. There, is Credulity, there, rash
Mistake, and empty Joy, and alarmed Fears, and sudden Sedition, and
Whispers of doubtful origin. She sees what things are done in heaven and
on the sea, and on the earth; and she pries into the whole universe.

She has made it known that Grecian ships are on their way, with valiant
troops: nor does the enemy appear in arms unlooked for. The Trojans
oppose their landing, and defend the shore, and thou, Protesilaues,[7]
art, by the decrees of fate, the first to fall by the spear of
Hector;[8] and the battles {now} commenced, and the courageous spirits
of {the Trojans}, and Hector, {till then} unknown, cost the Greeks dear.
Nor do the Phrygians experience at small expense of blood what the
Grecian right hand can do. And now the Sigaean shores are red {with
blood}: now Cygnus, the son of Neptune, has slain a thousand men. Now is
Achilles pressing on in his chariot, and levelling the Trojan ranks,
with the blow of his Peleian spear; and seeking through the lines either
Cygnus or Hector, he engages with Cygnus: Hector is reserved for the
tenth year. Then animating the horses, having their white necks pressed
with the yoke, he directed his chariot against the enemy, and
brandishing his quivering spear with his arm, he said, "O youth, whoever
thou art, take this consolation in thy death, that thou art slain by the
Haemonian Achilles."

Thus far the grandson of AEacus. His heavy lance followed his words. But,
although there was no missin