and share, all the passion for the plough are swallowed
up in this; they bring out their father’s swords, and smelt
them anew in the furnace. Here, in wild haste, is one
snatching his helm from the chamber-wall; there is another
bringing his snorting steeds to the yoke, clothing
himself with shield and corslet of three-plied gold, and
girding to his side his trusty sword. 5
[F][249]Now, Muses, ope your Helicon,
The gates of song unfold,
What chiefs, what tribes to war came on