ventum erat ad limen, cum virgo, poscere fata tempus ait: deus, ecce, deus! cui talia fanti ante fores subito non vultus, non color unus, non comptae mansere comae, sed pectus anhelum, et rabie fera corda tument, maiorque videri nec mortale sonans, adflata est numine quando    iam propiore dei.
They had come to the threshold, when the maiden cries: Tis time to ask the oracles; the god, lo! the god! As thus she spoke before the doors, suddenly not countenance nor colour was the same, nor stayed her tresses braided; but her bosom heaves, her heart swells with wild frenzy, and she is taller to behold, nor has her voice a mortal ring, since now she feels the nearer breath of deity.