mouth the sanctity of the cake’s fated circle, nor respect
the square impressed on its surface. “What! eating our
tables[242] as well?” cries Iulus, in his merry vein; that and no
more. That utterance first told the hearers that their 20
toils were over: even as it fell from the boy’s mouth his
father caught it up and broke it short, wondering in himself
at the power of Heaven. Then anon: “Hail to thee,
promised land of my destiny! hail to you,” he cries, “Troy’s
faithful gods! Yes, here is our home—this our country. 25
It was my father—these, I remember, were the mystic