offering of sorrow, to the dead, and invoking her Hector’s
shade at a tomb called by his name, an empty mound of 20
green turf which she had consecrated to him with two
altars, that she might have the privilege of weeping.
Soon as her wild eye saw me coming with the arms of
Troy all about me, scared out of herself by the portentous
sight, she stood chained to earth while yet gazing—life’s 25
warmth left her frame—she faints, and after long time
scarce finds her speech:—‘Is it a real face that I see?
are those real lips that bring me news? Goddess-born,