_Manto_: Not one appearance only had the flame. As when the tempest-bringing Iris spreads Her varying colors on the vault of heaven, 315 And with her painted bow adorns the sky; So to the sacred fire thou wouldst not tell What hue is wanting there and what prevails. Dark blue it flickered first, with yellow spots; Then bloody red, and then it vanished quite. 320 But see! the flame is rent in rival parts, And the glowing embers of one sacred pile Are cleft in double heaps and fall apart! O father, horror fills me as I gaze; For, as I pour the sacred liquid forth, It changes straight to blood--Oh, horrible! 325 And stifling smoke surrounds the royal head. And now in denser gloom it settles down Upon his face, and, with its veiling cloud, It shuts away from him the fading light. Oh, speak, and tell us what it doth portend. _Tiresias_: How can I speak, who halting stand amazed Amid conflicting voices of the soul? What shall I say? Dire ills are here, indeed, But hidden yet in deepest mystery. 330 With signs well known the wrath of heaven is wont To be made manifest: but what is that Which now they would disclose, and then, again, With changing and destructive purpose hide? Some deed so vile, it shameth heaven to tell. But quickly set the chosen victims here, And sprinkle salted meal upon their heads. 335 With peaceful face do they endure the rites, And hands outstretched to smite? _Manto_: His lofty head The bull uplifted to the eastern sky, Then shunned the light of day, and quickly turned In terror from the newly risen sun. _Tiresias_: With one blow, smitten, do they fall to earth? 340 _Manto_: The heifer threw herself upon the steel, And with one blow has fallen; but the bull, Though smitten by a double deadly blow, Distracted wanders here and there in pain, And scarce can force his struggling life away. _Tiresias_: Driven through a narrow opening spurts the blood, 345 Or, sluggish, does it water deeper wounds? _Manto_: The blood of one, through that same welcome thrust, Doth flow in generous streams; but of the bull, Those yawning wounds are stained with scanty drops, While, turning backward, through his eyes and mouth The plenteous current flows. 350 _Tiresias_: These unblest rites Some dreadful ills portend. But come, describe The trusty markings of the viscera.