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I grudge thee not due homage to the gods;

But lest faint-hearted ye the burghers make,

Tranquil abide, nor yield o'ermuch to tear.

Hearing unwonted din,

In tumult and in fear,

Trembling my heart within,

I drew this fortress near;

This seat of gods above.

If now of dying or of wounded men

Ye hear, bear them not off with loud laments,

For 'tis on human slaughter Ares feeds.

But hark! the snorting of the steeds I hear.

Hear, if thou must; but hear not over-loud.

Groans from its base our fort, girt round by foes.

Mine is the task to counsel in this strait.