Full sure I ween Immortal birth her sparkling eyes proclaim.
What breathing beauty! what celestial sheen! Mark her majestic voice, and more than mortal mien! LXXXIX.

"Myself but now left Beroe, worn out With sickness, grieving in her heart to miss These funeral honours to our Sire."-- In doubt They waver, and with eyes that bode amiss Look towards the vessels and the blue abyss Of ocean, torn in spirit 'twixt the love Of realms that shall be and the land that is.
On even wings the goddess soared above, And with her rainbow vast the cloudy drift she clove.
XC.

Then, by the monstrous prodigy dismayed, And driven by madness, forth the matrons fare With shouts and shrieks.

The houses they invade, And living embers from the hearthstones tear, With impious hands these strip the altars bare, And boughs, and leaves and lighted brands they cast In heaps, and fuel for the flames prepare.
O'er bench and oar, from painted keel to mast, The Fire-god raves at will, and rides upon the blast.
XCI.

Meanwhile, with tidings of the fleet in flames, Swift posts Eumelus.