He spake, and from the council dashed with speed.
"Go, Volusus," he cries, "and arm amain The Volscians; hither the Rutulians lead.
Messapus, go, with horsemen in thy train, And Coras, with thy brother scour the plain.
Let these all entrance at the gate forestall, And man the turrets; let the rest remain In arms, and wait my bidding." One and all, The townsmen throng the streets, and hurry to the wall.
LXI.

Then, sore distrest, the aged king proclaims The council closed, and for a happier tide Puts off debate; and oft himself he blames, Who welcomed not AEneas to his side, Nor graced his city with a Dardan's bride.
But hark! to battle peals the clarion's call.
These by the gate dig trenches, those provide Sharp stakes and stones.

Along the girdling wall Pale boys and matrons stand: the last hour cries for all.
LXII.

To Pallas' rock-built temple rides the queen, Bearing her gifts.

The matrons march in line, And by her side is fair Lavinia seen, The war's sad authoress, with down-dropt eyne.
They, entering in, with incense fume the shrine, And from the threshold pour the mournful strain: "O strong in arms, Tritonian maid divine! Break thou the Phrygian robber's spear in twain, And 'neath the gates strike down and stretch him on the plain." LXIII.