Roll in his breast, and rouse him to the fight.
Then fixing on the queen his ardent eyes,
Firm to his first intent, he thus replies:—
"O mother! do not by your tears prepare
Such boding omens, and prejudge the war.
Resolved on fight, I am no longer free
To shun my death, if heaven my death decree."—
Then turning to the herald, thus pursues:
"Go, greet the Trojan with ungrateful news;
Denounce from me, that, when to-morrow's light