Now Chloreus, bond of Cybele and priest upon a while, Afar as happed in Phrygian gear gleamed out upon his steed, Foaming and goodly: clad was he in skin-wrought battle-weed, 770 With brazen scales done feather-wise, and riveted with gold, And grand was he in outland red and many a purple fold; Gortynian arrows from afar with Lycian horn he sped; Gold rang the bow upon his back; gold-mitred was his head In priestly wise; his saffron scarf, the crackling folds of it Of linen fine, in knot about a red-gold buckle knit; His kirtle was embroidered fair, his hosen outland-wrought. The maiden, whether Trojan gear for temple-gate she sought, Or whether she herself would wend, glorious in war-got gold, Amidst of all the press of arms this man in chase must hold 780 Blind as a hunter; all unware amidst the war-array She burned with all a woman's lust for spoil of men and prey: When now, the time at last being seized, from out its lurking-place Arruns drew forth his spear, and prayed the Gods above for grace: "Highest of Gods, Apollo, ward of dear Soracte's stead, Whom we first honour, unto whom the piny blaze is fed; Whom worshipping, we, waxen strong in might of godliness, The very midmost of the fire with eager foot-soles press-- Almighty Father, give me grace to do away our shame! No battle-gear, no trophies won from vanquished maid I claim, 790 No spoils I seek; my other deeds shall bring me praise of folk; Let but this dreadful pest of men but fall beneath my stroke, And me wend back without renown unto my father's place!" Apollo heard, and half the prayer he turned his heart to grace, The other half he flung away adown the wind to go. That he by sudden stroke of death should lay Camilla low,-- He granted this: that his high house should see his safe return, He granted not: the hurrying gusts that word to breezes turn.