these my words, and print them there. The prophecy 35
which the Almighty Sire imparted to Phœbus, Phœbus
Apollo to me, I, the chief of the Furies, make known to you.
For Italy, I know, you are crowding all sail: well, the winds
shall be at your call as you go to Italy, and you shall be
free to enter its harbours: but you shall not build walls
round your fated city, before fell hunger and your murderous
wrong against us drive you to gnaw and eat up your
very tables.’[155] She said, and her wings carried her swiftly 5
into the wood. But for my friends, a sudden terror curdled