Expect each hour to see him safe again,
Loaded with spoils of foes in battle slain.
Snatch we the lucky minute while we may;
Nor can we be mistaken in the way;
For, hunting in the vales, we both have seen
The rising turrets, and the stream between,
And know the winding course, with every ford."
He ceased; and old Aletes took the word:—
"Our country gods, in whom our trust we place,
Will yet from ruin save the Trojan race,