die with arms in my hand.
“But see! Panthus, escaped from an Achæan volley, 35
Panthus, Othrys’ son, priest of Phœbus in the citadel,
comes dragging along with his own hand the vanquished
gods of his worship and his young grandchild, and making
distractedly for my door. ‘How goes the day, Panthus?
What hold have we of the citadel?’ The words
were scarcely uttered when with a groan he replies, ‘It is
come, the last day, the inevitable hour—on Dardan land
no more Trojans; no more of Ilion, and the great renown 5