brazen scales set plume-wise. He, in the blaze of foreign purple, was launching Gortynian shafts from a Lycian bow; golden was the bow that rang from his shoulder, golden the 35 helm on his sacred head; his saffron scarf with its rustling gauzy folds was gathered up by a golden brooch, and his tunic and his hose decked with barbaric broidery. He it was that the maiden, eager, it may be, to fasten on the temple-gate the arms of Troy, or to flaunt herself in the golden spoil, singled out from all the battle, and was following with a hunter’s blind devotion, raging recklessly through the ranks, enkindled with a woman’s love for prey 5 and plunder; when at length, seizing his opportunity, Arruns awakes his dart from its ambush, and thus prays aloud to heaven: “Greatest of gods, Apollo, guardian of divine Soracte, whom we are the first to worship, for whom the pine-tree glow is fed by heaps of wood, while ourselves, 10 thy votaries, strong in our piety, walk through the flame over living embers, grant, all-powerful sire, that my arms may wipe this scandal away. I seek no plunder or spoil, no trophy for the conquest of a maid; the rest of my deeds shall secure my fame; let but this terrible fiend fall vanquished 15 by wound of mine, I will return to the cities of my fathers an unhonoured man.” Phœbus heard, and vouchsafed in his heart that half the vow should speed, while half he scattered among the flying breezes: to strike and slay Camilla with sudden death-wound, so much he grants 20 the suppliant: to return and meet the eyes of his noble fatherland, this he allows not; the gusts of air turned the accents into wind. So when the spear, launched from the hand, was heard along the sky, each keen Volscian mind flew to one centre, every Volscian eye was bent on the 25 queen. She alone had no thought for wind or sound or weapon sweeping down from heaven, till the spear had made its passage and lodged beneath her protruded breast, and deeply driven, drank her maiden blood. Her comrades run together in alarm, and support their falling mistress. 30 Arruns, more terrified than all, flies away, half joy, half fear, nor puts further confidence in his lance, nor dares to meet the darts of the maiden. Even as the caitiff wolf, ere the weapons of vengeance can follow him, has fled at once to the pathless privacy of the mountain steep, 35 on slaying a shepherd or mighty bullock, conscious of his daring deed, and drawing back his quivering tail with lithe action has clapped it to his belly and made for the woods, in like manner Arruns all wildered has stolen away from sight, and contented to escape has plunged into the thick of the battle. With dying hand the maiden pulls at the spear; but the steely point stands lodged among the bones at the ribs in the deep wound it made.