home’s sanctuary, poor old man! helplessly and hopelessly
he puts about his shoulders, trembling with age,
his armour, long disused, and girds on his unavailing sword,
and is going to his doom among the thick of the foe. In 30
the midst of the palace, under the naked height of the sky,
stood a great altar, and by it a bay tree of age untold,
leaning over the altar and enfolding the household gods
in its shade. Here about the altar Hecuba and her
daughters, all helpless, like doves driven headlong down 35
by a murky tempest, huddled together and clinging to