No Fortune guides the course of skill, no patron Phœbus 10
lends his aid; and meanwhile the fierce alarms of the field
grow louder and louder, and the mischief is nearer at
hand. They see dust-clouds propping the sky, the horsemen
gallop in, darts fall thick in the midst of the camp,
and heavenward mounts the cruel din of warriors battling 15
or falling in the stern affray:—when, lo! Venus, struck
to the heart by her son’s undeserved suffering, with a
mother’s care plucks dittany[284] from Cretan Ida, a plant
with downy leaves and a purple flower: wild goats know