ultro flens ipse videbar compellare virum et maestas expromere voces: o lux Dardaniae, spes o fidissima Teucrum, quae tantae tenuere morae? quibus Hector ab oris exspectate venis? ut te post multa tuorum funera, post varios hominumque urbisque labores defessi aspicimus! quae causa indigna serenos foedavit vultus? aut cur haec vulnera cerno? ille nihil, nec me quaerentem vana moratur, sed graviter gemitus imo de pectore ducens, heu! fuge, nate dea, teque his, ait, eripe flammis.
I dreamed I wept myself, hailing him first, and uttering words of grief: O light of the Dardan land, surest hope of the Trojans, what long delay has held you? From what shores, Hector, the long looked for, do you come? Oh, how gladly after the many deaths of your kin, after woes untold of citizens and city, our weary eyes behold you! What shameful cause has marred that unclouded face? Why do I see these wounds? He answers not, nor heeds my idle questioning, but drawing heavy sighs from his bosoms depths, Ah, flee, goddess-born, he cries, and escape from these flames.