“Meanwhile the city in its various quarters is being convulsed with agony—and ever more and more, though my father Anchises’ palace was retired in the privacy of embosoming trees, the sounds deepen, and the alarm of 15 battle swells. I start up from sleep, mount the sloping roof, and stand intently listening—even as, when among standing corn a spark falls with a fierce south wind to fan it, or the impetuous stream of a mountain torrent sweeps the fields, sweeps the joyous crops and the bullocks’ 20 toil, and drives the woods headlong before it, in perplexed amazement a shepherd takes in the crash from a rock’s tall summit. Then, indeed, all doubt was over, and the wiles of the Danaans stood confessed. Already Deiphobus’ palace has fallen with a mighty overthrow 25 before the mastering fire-god—already his neighbour Ucalegon is in flames—the expanse of the Sigean sea shines again with the blaze. Up rises at once the shouting of men and the braying of trumpets. To arms I rush in frenzy.—not that good cause is shown for arms—but 30 to muster a troop for fight, and run to the citadel with my comrades is my first burning impulse—madness and rage drive my mind headlong, and I think how glorious to die with arms in my hand. “But see! Panthus, escaped from an Achæan volley, 35 Panthus, Othrys’ son, priest of Phœbus in the citadel, comes dragging along with his own hand the vanquished gods of his worship and his young grandchild, and making distractedly for my door. ‘How goes the day, Panthus? What hold have we of the citadel?’ The words were scarcely uttered when with a groan he replies, ‘It is come, the last day, the inevitable hour—on Dardan land no more Trojans; no more of Ilion, and the great renown 5 of the sons of Teucer; Jove, in his cruelty, has carried all over to Argos; the town is on fire, and the Danaans are its masters. There, planted high in the heart of the city, the horse is pouring out armed men, and Sinon is flinging about fire in the insolence of conquest; some are 10 crowding into the unfolded gates—thousands, many as ever came from huge Mycenæ: some are blocking up the narrow streets, with weapons pointed at all comers; the sharp steel with its gleaming blade stands drawn, ready for slaughter; hardly, even on the threshold, the sentinels 15 of the gates are attempting resistance, in a struggle where the powers of war are blind.’