made at your home. To whom, think you, are you leaving
your little Iulus—your father, and me who was once
styled your wife?’
“Thus she was crying, while her moaning filled the
house, when a portent appears, sudden and marvellous to
relate. Even while the hands and eyes of his grieving 5
parents were upon him, lo, a flickering tongue of flame
on the top of Iulus’ head was seen to shoot out light,
playing round his soft curly locks with innocuous contact
and pasturing about his temples. We are all hurry and