But now a new adversity befell the weary Latins, which with common woe shook the whole city to its heart. The Queen, when at her hearth she saw the close assault of enemies, the walls beset, and fire spreading from roof to roof, but no defence from the Rutulian arms, nor front of war with Turnus leading,—she, poor soul, believed her youthful champion in the conflict slain; and, mad with sudden sorrow, shrieked aloud against herself, the guilty chief and cause of all this ill; and, babbling her wild woe in endless words, she rent her purple pall, and with her own hand from the rafter swung a noose for her foul death. The tidings dire among the moaning wives of Latium spread, and young Lavinia's frantic fingers tore her rose-red cheek and hyacinthine hair. Then all her company of women shrieked in anguish, and the wailing echoed far along the royal seat; from whence the tale of sorrow through the peopled city flew; hearts sank; Latinus rent his robes, appalled to see his consort's doom, his falling throne; and heaped foul dust upon his hoary hair. Meanwhile the warrior Turnus far afield pursued a scattered few; but less his speed, for less and less his worn steeds worked his will; and now wind-wafted to his straining ear a nameless horror came, a dull, wild roar, the city's tumult and distressful cry. “Alack,” he cried, “what stirs in yonder walls such anguish? Or why rings from side to side such wailing through the city?” Asking so, he tightened frantic grasp upon the rein. To him his sister, counterfeiting still the charioteer Metiscus, while she swayed rein, steeds, and chariot, this answer made: “Hither, my Turnus, let our arms pursue the sons of Troy . Here lies the nearest way to speedy triumph. There be other swords to keep yon city safe. Aeneas now storms against Italy in active war; we also on this Trojan host may hurl grim havoc. Nor shalt thou the strife give o'er in glory second, nor in tale of slain.” Turnus replied, “O sister, Iong ago I knew thee what thou wert, when guilefully thou didst confound their treaty, and enlist thy whole heart in this war. No Ionger now thy craft divine deceives me. But what god compelled thee, from Olympus fallen so far, to bear these cruel burdens? Wouldst thou see thy wretched brother slaughtered? For what else is in my power? What flattering hazard still holds forth deliverance? My own eyes have seen Murranus (more than any now on earth my chosen friend) who, calling on my name, died like a hero by a hero's sword. Ill-fated Ufens fell, enduring not to Iook upon my shame; the Teucrians divide his arms for spoil and keep his bones. Shall I stand tamely, till my hearth and home are levelled with the ground? For this would be the only blow not fallen. Shall my sword not give the lie to Drances' insolence? Shall I take flight and let my country see her Turnus renegade? Is death a thing so much to weep for? O propitious dead, O spirits of the dark, receive and bless me whom yon gods of light have cast away! Sacred and guiltless shall my soul descend to join your company; I have not been unworthy offspring of my kingly sires.”