"Arm," cry the young men, "arm!" LIX.

The old men weep and mutter.

Clamours rend The startled skies, and discord reigns supreme, E'en as when birds on lofty woods descend In flocks, or in Padusa's fishful stream The swans sing hoarsely, and the wild-fowl scream Along the babbling waters.

Turnus straight The moment snatched.

"Ah! townsmen, sooth, ye deem This hour an hour to chatter and debate; Sit on, and praise sweet peace, while foemen storm the gate." LX.