iCry (icry)

My son, what pain stirs such uncontrollable anger? Why this rage? Where has your care for what is ours vanished? First will you not see whether Creusa, your wife, and your child Ascanius still live, and where you have left your father Anchises worn-out with age? The Greek ranks surround them on all sides, and if my love did not protect them, the flames would have caught them before now, and the enemy swords drunk of their blood.