But she looked, down, turning her face aside,
A face as unresponsive to appeal
As a hard flint or a high marble mountain.
Then darting back, down the dark grove she flies
Unfriendly, where Sichæus, her old spouse,
His gentleness love’s proxy, tends her still.
Æneas, victim of a chance unfair
Still follows, weeps, and pities as she flies.
But now, their journey’s settled path pursuing,
On to the ultimate secret fields they move,
Where walk the mighty Captains. Tydeus here
He saw, and Parthenopæus, warrior bold,
And one that seemed Adrastus, and so pale,
And all the war-mown Trojans, for whose fate
Such tears had been shed in the face of heaven.
Rank upon rank he, sorrowful, saw them,–
Glaucus and Medon and Thersilochus,
Antenor’s son and Polyphuates, vowed
Demeter’s, and still armed, still charioted
Idaeus. Right and left the Spirits crowd
To their eyes’ festival, to dally pleased,
Or step beside, or ask him all his tale.
But when the Danaan phalanx and great hosts
Of Agamemnon saw a Man and Arms
That flashed among the shadows, terrible fear
Set them aquiver: as to the ships of old,
Some turned to flee: some raised a little cry,
So thin its echoes mocked their gaping mouths.
Here saw he Priam’s son, Deiphobus,
With all his body rent, all his face torn
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