ablaze with their shrieks. But Evander—no force can
hold him back; he rushes into the midst: there as they
lay down the bier he has flung himself upon Pallas, and is
clinging to him with tears and groans, till choking grief
at last lets speech find her way: “No, my Pallas! this was 25
not your promise to your sire, to trust yourself with caution
in the War-god’s savage hands. I knew what a spell
there lay in the young dawn of a soldier’s glory, the enrapturing
pride of the first day of battle. Alas for the
ill-starred first-fruits of youth, the cruel foretaste of the 30