the statues of the gods, were sitting. But when she saw
Priam—yes, Priam—wearing the arms of his youth—‘What
monstrous thought,’ cries she, ‘my most wretched
spouse, has moved you to gird on these weapons? or to
what are you hurrying? It is not help like this, not protections
like those you wear, that the crisis needs. No,
not even if my lost Hector were now at our side. Come, 5
join us here at last; this altar shall be a defence for us all,
or we will die together.’ With these words she took him
to where she was, and lodged his aged frame in the hallowed