Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/331

Rh Since otherwise I may not break

This life of bitter tears!'

That wail the hearts of Troy congealed;

From rank to rank the infection ran;

Each sickens of the battle-field,

And feels no longer man.

Still raves the miserable dame,

Still higher piles grief's frantic flame:

Iulus, shedding tears like rain,

And old Ilioneus call their train,

And Actor and Idæus come

And bear her from the rampart home.

Now shrills the trump its dire alarms:

At once the warriors cry to arms:

Heaven thunders back the note.

The Volscian host a penthouse form,

And strive the palisade to storm

And choke the gaping moat:

Some try the approach, and ladders plant

Where most the battle-line looks scant,

And the dark ring that crowns the wall

Presents a glimmering interval.

With equal zeal the sons of Troy

Stout poles and missile darts employ,

Taught by experience long and hard

How best a leaguered wall to guard.

Stones too with cruel weight they throw

In hope to break the shielded foe:

Sure on such fence the heaviest blow

Must fall like idle hail!

See, see, at length it yields, it yields!

Where threats the densest mass of shields

A rock the Trojans topple o'er:

Down on the Rutule host it bore,

Dashed wide their ranks behind, before,

And burst their quilted mail.