streaming hair from the temple and shrine of Minerva, vainly uplifting to heaven her blazing eyes – her eyes, for bonds confined her tender hands.

Maddened in soul, Coroebus brooked not this sight, but flung himself to death into the midst of the band. We all follow and charge with serried arms. Here first from the high temple roof we are overwhelmed with the weapons of our friends, the piteous slaughter arises from the appearance of our arms and the confusion of our Greek crests. Then the Danaans, with a shout of rage at the maiden’s rescue, mustering from all sides, fall upon us, Ajax most fiercely, the two sons of Atreus, and the whole Dolopian host: even as at times, when a hurricane bursts forth, diverse winds clash, West and South and East, proud of his orient steeds; the forests groan and Nereus,