Yet did they as he bade, in grudging wise,

And heralds call'd the host unto the hill

Heap'd of sharp stones, where ancient Ilus lies.

And forth the people flock'd, as throng'd as flies

That buzz about the milking-pails in spring,

When life awakens under April skies,

And birds from dawning into twilight sing.

Then Helen through the camp was driven and thrust,