Upward they look: again and yet again

Comes the loud crash of thunder, and between

A cloud that frets the firmamental plain,

With bright, red flash amid the sky serene,

The glitter of resounding arms is seen.

All tremble; but Æneas hails the sign

Long-promised. "Ask not," he exclaims, "what mean

These prodigies and portents; they are mine.

Me great Olympus calls; I hear the voice divine.

The Aeneid of Virgil