Restore me to the yet unfinished fight: My death is wanting to conclude the night." Armed once again, my glittering sword I wield, } While the other hand sustains my weighty shield, } And forth I rush to seek the abandoned field. } I went; but sad Creüsa stopped my way, And 'cross the threshold in my passage lay, Embraced my knees, and, when I would have gone, Shewed me my feeble sire, and tender son. "If death be your design--at least," said she, "Take us along to share your destiny. If any farther hopes in arms remain, This place, these pledges of your love, maintain. To whom do you expose your father's life, Your son's, and mine, your now forgotten wife?" While thus she fills the house with clamorous cries, Our hearing is diverted by our eyes: For, while I held my son, in the short space Betwixt our kisses and our last embrace, (Strange to relate!) from young Iülus' head } A lambent flame arose, which gently spread } Around his brows, and on his temples fed. } Amazed, with running water we prepare To quench the sacred fire, and slake his hair; But old Anchises, versed in omens, reared His hands to heaven, and this request preferred:-- "If any vows, almighty Jove, can bend } Thy will--if piety can prayers commend-- } Confirm the glad presage which thou art pleased to send." } Scarce had he said, when, on our left, we hear A peal of rattling thunder roll in air: There shot a streaming lamp along the sky, Which on the winged lightning seemed to fly: From o'er the roof the blaze began to move, And, trailing, vanished in the Idæan grove. It swept a path in heaven, and shone a guide, Then in a steaming stench of sulphur died. The good old man with suppliant hands implored The gods' protection, and their star adored. "Now, now," said he, "my son, no more delay! I yield, I follow where heaven shews the way. Keep (O my country gods!) our dwelling-place, And guard this relique of the Trojan race, This tender child!--These omens are your own, And you can yet restore the ruined town. At least accomplish what your signs foreshow: I stand resigned, and am prepared to go." He said.--The crackling flames appear on high, And driving sparkles dance along the sky. With Vulcan's rage the rising winds conspire, And near our palace roll the flood of fire. "Haste, my dear father! ('tis no time to wait,) And load my shoulders with a willing freight. Whate'er befalls, your life shall be my care; One death, or one deliverance, we will share. My hand shall lead our little son; and you, My faithful consort, shall our steps pursue. Next you, my servants, heed my strict commands: Without the walls a ruined temple stands, To Ceres hallowed once; a cypress nigh Shoots up her venerable head on high,