Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/198

174 Haste, doom ye to the victim-stroke

Seven bulls, unconscious of the yoke,

Seven ewes of choicest breed.'

This to Æneas; nor his band

Neglects the priestess' high command;

And now she bids the Teucrian train

Attend her to the lofty fane.

Within the mountain's hollow side

A cavern stretches high and wide:

A hundred entries thither lead;

A hundred voices thence proceed,

Each uttering forth the Sibyl's rede.

The sacred threshold now they trod:

'Pray for an answer! pray! the God,'

She cries, 'the God is nigh!'

And as before the doors in view

She stands, her visage pales its hue,

Her locks dishevelled fly,

Her breath comes thick, her wild heart glows,

Dilating as the madness grows,

Her form looks larger to the eye,

Unearthly peals her deep-toned cry,

As breathing nearer and more near

The God comes rushing on his seer.

'So slack' cries she 'at work divine?

Pray, Trojan, pray! not else the shrine

Its spell-bound silence breaks.'

A shudder through the Dardans stole:

Their chieftain from his inmost soul

His supplication makes:

'Phœbus, who ever hadst a heart

For Ilium's woe to feel,

Who guided Paris' Dardan dart

True to Achilles' heel,