Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/428

404 The deathful onset of the foe

None further dares sustain:

Each slings behind his unstrung bow,

And horse-hoof beat in quick retreat

Recurrent shakes the plain.

Townward there rolls a dusty cloud;

The matrons catch the sight

Prom their high station, shriek aloud,

And on their bosoms smite.

Who gain the open portals first

Are whelmed beneath a following burst

Of foemen in their rear:

No scaping from their piteous fate:

E'en at the entry of the gate,

'Mid those dear homes they left so late,

They feel the fatal spear.

The wildered townsmen close the gates:

Nor yield admittance to their mates,

For all they beg and pray:

E'en foemen might that carnage weep,

Where these in arms the pass would keep

And those would force the way.

Sad fathers from the strong redoubt

Look forth, and see their sons shut out:

Some down the moat's steep sides amain

In helpless ruin crash:

Some with blind haste and loosened rein

'Gainst door and doorpost dash.

Nay, even the dames on rampart high,

Camilla's glories in their eye,

With might and main the artillery ply,

So true their patriot flame:

Make truncheons seared and knotty wood

For lack of steel do service good,

And 'mid the first would shed their blood,

To save their walls from shame.