Meanwhile the Teucrian legions to the walldraw near, with Tuscan lords and cavalryin numbered troops arrayed. Loud-footed steedsprance o'er the field, to manage of the reinrebellious, but turned deftly here or there.The iron harvest of keen spears spreads far,and all the plain burns bright with lifted steel.Messapus and swift Latin cavalry,Coras his brother, and th' attending trainof the fair maid Camilla, form their linesin the opposing field. Their poised right handspoint the long lances forward, and light shaftsare brandished in the air; the warrior hostson steeds of fire come kindling as they ride.One instant, at a spear-throw's space, each lineits motion stays; then with one sudden crythey rush forth, spurring on each frenzied steed.From-every side the multitudinous spearspour down like snowflakes, mantling heaven in shade.Now with contending spears and straining thews,Tyrrhenus, and Aconteus, champion bold,ride forward; with the onset terrible loudly their armor rings; their chargers twaincrash breast to breast, and like a thunderboltAconteus drops, or like a ponderous stonehurled from a catapult; full length he falls,surrend'ring to the winds his fleeting soul.
Now all is panic: holding their light shieldsbehind their backs, the Latin horse wheel round,retreating to the wall, the Trojan foein close pursuit. Asilas, chieftain proud,led on th' assault. Hard by the city gatesthe Latins wheeled once more and pressed the reinstrong on the yielding neck; the charging foetook flight and hurried far with loose-flung rein.'T was like the shock and onset of the seathat landward hurls the alternating floodand hides high cliffs in foam,—the tawny sandsupflinging as it rolls; then, suddenlywhirled backward on the reingulfing waves,it quits the ledges, and with ebbing flowfar from the shore retires. The Tuscans twicedrive back the flying Rutules to the town;and twice repulsed, with shields to rearward thrown,glare back at the pursuer; but conjoinedin the third battle-charge, both armies mergeconfusedly together in grim fightof man to man; then follow dying groans,armor blood-bathed and corpses, and strong steedsinextricably with their masters slain,so fierce the fray. Orsilochus—afraidto front the warrior's arms—launched forth a spearat Remulus' horse, and left the fatal steelclinging below its ear; the charger plungedmadly, and tossed its trembling hoofs in air,sustaining not the wound; the rider fell,flung headlong to the ground. Catillus slewIollas; and then struck Herminius down,great-bodied and great-hearted, who could wielda monster weapon, and whose yellow hairfrom naked head to naked shoulder flowed.By wounds unterrified he dared opposehis huge bulk to the foe: the quivering spearpierced to his broad back, and with throes of painbowed the man double and clean clove him through.Wide o'er the field th' ensanguined horror flowed,where fatal swords were crossed and cut their waythrough many a wound to famous death and fair.
Swift through the midmost slaughter proudly stridesthe quiver-girt Camilla, with one breastthrust naked to the fight, like Amazon.Oft from her hand her pliant shafts she rains,or whirls with indefatigable arma doughty battle-axe; her shoulder bearsDiana's sounding arms and golden bow.Sometimes retreating and to flight compelled,the maiden with a rearward-pointing bowshoots arrows as she flies. Around her moveher chosen peers, Larina, virgin brave,Tarpeia, brandishing an axe of bronze,and Tulla, virgins out of Italy
whom the divine Camilla chose to beher glory, each a faithful servitressin days of peace or war. The maids of Thrace
ride thus along Thermodon's frozen flood,and fight with blazoned Amazonian armsaround Hippolyta; or when returnsPenthesilea in triumphal car'mid acclamations shrill, and all her hostof women clash in air the moon-shaped shield. What warrior first, whom last, did thy strong spear,fierce virgin, earthward fling? Or what thy taleof prostrate foes laid gasping on the ground?Eunaeus first, the child of Clytius' Ioins,whose bared breast, as he faced his foe, she piercedwith fir-tree javelin; from his lips outpouredthe blood-stream as he fell; and as he bitthe gory dust, he clutched his mortal wound.Then Liris, and upon him Pagasusshe slew: the one clung closer to the reinsof his stabbed horse, and rolled off on the ground;the other, flying to his fallen friend,reached out a helpless hand; so both of thesefell on swift death together. Next in lineshe smote Amastrus, son of Hippotas;then, swift-pursuing, pierced with far-flung spearTereus, Harpalycus, Demophoon,and Chromis; every shaft the virgin threwlaid low its Phrygian warrior. From afarrode Ornytus on his Apulian steed,bearing a hunter's uncouth arms; for cloakhe wore upon his shoulders broad a hidefrom some wild bull stripped off; his helmet wasa wolf's great, gaping mouth, with either jawfull of white teeth; the weapon in his hand,a farmer's pole. He strode into the throng,head taller than them all. But him she seizedand clove him through (his panic-stricken troopgave her advantage), and with wrathful heartshe taunted thus the fallen: “Didst thou deemthis was a merry hunting in the woodin chase of game? Behold, thy fatal daybefalls thee at a woman's hand, and thusthy boasting answers. No small glory thouunto the ghosts of thy dead sires wilt tell,that 't was Camilla's javelin struck thee down.”
The turn of Butes and Orsilochuscame next, who were the Trojans, hugest twain:yet Butes with her javelin-point she clovefrom rearward, 'twixt the hauberk and the helm,just where the horseman's neck showed white, and wherefrom shoulder leftward slung the light-weight shield.From swift Orsilochus she feigned to fly,through a wide circle sweeping, craftilytaking the inside track, pursuing soher own pursuer; then she raised herselfto her full height, and through the warrior's helmdrove to his very skull with doubling blowsof her strong battle-axe,—while he imploredher mercy with loud prayers: his cloven brainspilt o'er his face. Next in her pathway came—but shrank in startled fear—the warrior sonof Aunus, haunter of the Apennine,not least of the Ligurians ere his doomcut short a life of lies. He, knowing wellno flight could save him from the shock of armsnor turn the royal maid's attack, beganwith words of cunning and insidious guile:“What glory is it if a girl be bold,on sturdy steed depending? Fly me not!But, venturing with me on this equal ground,gird thee to fight on foot. Soon shalt thou seewhich one of us by windy boast achievesa false renown.” He spoke; but she, to pangsof keenest fury stung, gave o'er her steedin charge of a companion, and opposedher foe at equal vantage, falchion drawn,on foot, and, though her shield no blazon bore,of fear incapable. But the warrior fled,thinking his trick victorious, and rode offfull speed, with reins reversed,—his iron heelgoading his charger's flight. Camilla cried:“Ligurian cheat! In vain thy boastful heartpuffs thee so large; in vain thou hast essayedthy father's slippery ways; nor shall thy trickbring thee to guileful Aunus safely home.”Herewith on winged feet that virgin boldflew past the war-horse, seized the streaming rein,and, fronting him, took vengeance on her foein bloody strokes: with not less ease a hawk,dark bird of omen, from his mountain cragpursues on pinions strong a soaring doveto distant cloud, and, clutching with hooked claws,holds tight and rips,—while through celestial airthe torn, ensanguined plumage floats along.
But now not blindly from Olympian thronethe Sire of gods and men observant sawhow sped the day. Then to the conflict direthe god thrust Tarchon forth, the Tyrrhene King,goading the warrior's rage. So Tarchon rodethrough slaughter wide and legions in retreat,and roused the ranks with many a wrathful cry:he called each man by name, and toward the foedrove back the routed lines. “What terrors now,Tuscan cowards, dead to noble rage,have seized ye? or what laggard sloth and vileunmans your hearts, that now a woman's armpursues ye and this scattered host confounds?Why dressed in steel, or to what purpose wearyour futile swords? Not slackly do ye jointhe ranks of Venus in a midnight war;or when fantastic pipes of Bacchus callyour dancing feet, right venturesome ye flyto banquets and the flowing wine—what zeal,what ardor then! Or if your flattering priestbegins the revel, and to Iofty grovesfat flesh of victims bids ye haste away!”So saying, his steed he spurred, and scorning deathdashed into the mid-fray, where, frenzy-driven,he sought out Venulus, and, grappling himwith one hand, from the saddle snatched his foe,and, clasping strongly to his giant breast,exultant bore away. The shouting roseto heaven, and all the Latins gazed his way,as o'er the plain the fiery Tarchon flewbearing the full-armed man; then, breaking offthe point of his own spear, he pried a waythrough the seam'd armor for the mortal wound;the other, struggling, thrust back from his throatthe griping hand, full force to force opposing.As when a golden eagle high in airknits to a victim—snake his clinging feetand deeply-thrusting claws; but, coiling back,the wounded serpent roughens his stiff scalesand stretches high his hissing head; whereatthe eagle with hooked beak the more doth rendher writhing foe, and with swift stroke of winglashes the air: so Tarchon, from the ranksof Tibur's sons, triumphant snatched his prey.The Tuscans rallied now, well pleased to viewtheir king's example and successful war.Then Arruns, marked for doom, made circling linearound Camilla's path, his crafty spearseeking its lucky chance. Where'er the maidsped furious to the battle, Arruns therein silence dogged her footsteps and pursued;or where triumphant from her fallen foesshe backward drew, the warrior stealthilyturned his swift reins that way: from every sidehe circled her, and scanned his vantage hereor vantage there, his skilful javelinstubbornly shaking. But it soon befellthat Chloreus, once a priest of Cybele,shone forth in far-resplendent Phrygian arms,and urged a foaming steed, which wore a robeo'erwrought with feathery scales of bronze and gold;while he, in purples of fine foreign stain,bore light Gortynian shafts and Lycian bow;his bow was gold; a golden casque he woreupon his priestly brow; the saffron cloak,all folds of rustling cambric, was enclaspedin glittering gold; his skirts and tunics gaywere broidered, and the oriental garbswathed his whole leg. Him when the maiden spied,(Perchance she fain on temple walls would hangthe Trojan prize, or in such captured goldher own fair shape array), she gave mad chase,and reckless through the ranks her prey pursued,desiring, woman-like, the splendid spoil.Then from his ambush Arruns seized at lastthe fatal moment and let speed his shaft,thus uttering his vow to heavenly powers:“Chief of the gods, Apollo, who dost guardSoracte's hallowed steep, whom we reverefirst of thy worshippers, for thee is fedthe heap of burning pine; for thee we passthrough the mid-blaze in sacred zeal secure,and deep in glowing embers plant our feet.O Sire Omnipotent, may this my spearour foul disgrace put by. I do not askfor plunder, spoils, or trophies in my name,when yonder virgin falls; let honor's crownbe mine for other deeds. But if my strokethat curse and plague destroy, may I unpraisedsafe to the cities of my sires return.”
Apollo heard and granted half the prayer,but half upon the passing breeze he threw:granting his votary he should confoundCamilla by swift death; but 't was deniedthe mountain-fatherland once more to see,or safe return,—that prayer th' impetuous windsswept stormfully away. Soon as the spearwhizzed from his hand, straight-speeding on the air,the Volscians all turned eager thought and eyestoward their Queen. She only did not heedthat windy roar, nor weapon dropped from heaven,till in her bare, protruded breast the speardrank, deeply driven, of her virgin blood.Her terror-struck companians swiftly throngaround her, and uplift their sinking Queen.But Arruns, panic-stricken more than all,makes off, half terror and half joy, nor dareshazard his lance again, nor dares opposea virgin's arms. As creeps back to the hillsin pathless covert ere his foes pursue,from shepherd slain or mighty bull laid low,some wolf, who, now of his bold trespass ware,curls close against his paunch a quivering tailand to the forest tries: so Arruns speedsfrom sight of men in terror, glad to fly,and hides him in the crowd. But his keen speardying Camilla from her bosom drew,though the fixed barb of deeply-wounding steelclung to the rib. She sank to earth undone,her cold eyes closed in death, and from her cheeksthe roses fled. With failing breath she calledon Acca—who of all her maiden peerswas chiefly dear and shared her heart's whole pain—and thus she spoke: “O Acca, sister mine,I have been strong till now. The cruel woundconsumes me, and my world is growing dark.Haste thee to Turnus! Tell my dying words!'T is he must bear the battle and hold backthe Trojan from our city wall. Farewell!”So saying, her fingers from the bridle-reinunclasped, and helpless to the earth she fell;then, colder grown, she loosed her more and moreout of the body's coil; she gave to deathher neck, her drooping head, and ceased to heedher war-array. So fled her spirit forthwith wrath and moaning to the world below.Then clamor infinite uprose and smotethe golden stars, as round Camilla slainthe battle newly raged. To swifter chargethe gathered Trojans ran, with Tuscan lordsand King Evander's troops of Arcady.
Fair Opis, keeping guard for Triviain patient sentry on a lofty hill, beheldunterrified the conflict's rage. Yet when,amid the frenzied shouts of soldiery,she saw from far Camilla pay the doomof piteous death, with deep-drawn voice of sightshe thus complained: “O virgin, woe is me!Too much, too much, this agony of thine,to expiate that thou didst lift thy spearfor wounding Troy. It was no shield in war,nor any vantage to have kept thy vowto chaste Diana in the thorny wild.Our maiden arrows at thy shoulder slungavailed thee not! Yet will our Queen divinenot leave unhonored this thy dying day,nor shall thy people let thy death remaina thing forgot, nor thy bright name appeara glory unavenged. Whoe'er he bethat marred thy body with the mortal woundshall die as he deserves.” Beneath that hillan earth-built mound uprose, the tombof King Dercennus, a Laurentine old,by sombre ilex shaded: thither hiedthe fair nymph at full speed, and from the moundlooked round for Arruns. When his shape she sawin glittering armor vainly insolent,“Whither so fast?” she cried. “This way, thy path!This fatal way approach, and here receivethy reward for Camilla! Thou shalt fall,vile though thou art, by Dian's shaft divine.”She said; and one swift-coursing arrow tookfrom golden quiver, like a maid of Thrace,and stretched it on her bow with hostile aim,withdrawing far, till both the tips of horntogether bent, and, both hands poising well,the left outreached to touch the barb of steel,the right to her soft breast the bowstring drew:the hissing of the shaft, the sounding air,Arruns one moment heard, as to his fleshthe iron point clung fast. But his last groanhis comrades heeded not, and let him lie,scorned and forgotten, on the dusty field, while Opis soared to bright Olympian air. Camilla's light-armed troop, its virgin chiefnow fallen, were the first to fly; in flightthe panic-stricken Rutule host is seenand Acer bold; his captains in dismaywith shattered legions from the peril fly,and goad their horses to the city wall.Not one sustains the Trojan charge, or standsin arms against the swift approach of death.Their bows unstrung from drooping shoulder fall,and clatter of hoof-beats shakes the crumbling ground.On to the city in a blinding cloudthe dust uprolls. From watch-towers Iooking forth,the women smite their breasts and raise to heavenshrill shouts of fear. Those fliers who first passedthe open gates were followed by the foe,routed and overwhelmed. They could not flya miserable death, but were struck downin their own ancient city, or expiredbefore the peaceful shrines of hearth and home.Then some one barred the gates. They dared not nowgive their own people entrance, and were deafto all entreaty. Woeful deaths ensued,both of the armed defenders of the gate,and of the foe in arms. The desperate band,barred from the city in the face and eyesof their own weeping parents, either droppedwith headlong and inevitable plungeinto the moat below; or, frantic, blind,battered with beams against the stubborn doorand columns strong. Above in conflict wildeven the women (who for faithful loveof home and country schooled them to be braveCamilla's way) rained weapons from the walls,and used oak-staves and truncheons shaped in flame,as if, well-armed in steel, each bosom boldwould fain in such defence be first to die.
Meanwhile th' unpitying messenger had flownto Turnus in the wood; the warrior heardfrom Acca of the wide confusion spread,the Volscian troop destroyed, Camilla slain,the furious foe increasing, and, with Marsto help him, grasping all, till in that hourfar as the city-gates the panic reigned.Then he in desperate rage (Jove's cruel powerdecreed it) from the ambushed hills withdrewand pathless wild. He scarce had passed beyondto the bare plain, when forth Aeneas marchedalong the wide ravine, climbed up the ridge,and from the dark, deceiving grove stood clear.Then swiftly each with following ranks of warmoved to the city-wall, nor wide the spacethat measured 'twixt the twain. Aeneas sawthe plain with dust o'erclouded, and the linesof the Laurentian host extending far;Turnus, as clearly, saw the war arrayof dread Aeneas, and his ear perceivedloud tramp of mail-clad men and snorting steeds.Soon had they sped to dreadful shock of arms,hazard of war to try; but Phoebus now,glowing rose-red, had dipped his wearied wheeldeep in Iberian seas, and brought back nightabove the fading day. So near the townboth pitch their camps and make their ramparts strong. When Turnus marks how much the Latins quailin adverse war, how on himself they callto keep his pledge, and with indignant eyesgaze all his way, fierce rage implacableswells his high heart. As when on Libyan plaina lion, gashed along his tawny breastby the huntsman's grievous thrust, awakens himunto his last grim fight, and gloriouslyshaking the great thews of his maned neck,shrinks not, but crushes the despoiler's spearwith blood-sprent, roaring mouth,—not less than soburns the wild soul of Turnus and his ire.Thus to the King he spoke with stormful brow:“The war lags not for Turnus' sake. No causeconstrains the Teucrian cowards and their Kingto eat their words and what they pledged refuse.On his own terms I come. Bring forward, sire,the sacrifice, and seal the pact I swear:either to deepest hell this hand shall flingyon Trojan runaway—the Latins allmay sit at ease and see!—and my sole swordefface the general shame; or let him claimthe conquest, and Lavinia be his bride.”
To him Latinus with unruffled mindthus made reply: “O youth surpassing brave!The more thy sanguinary valor burnsbeyond its wont, the more with toilsome careI ponder with just fear what chance may fall,weighing it well. Thy father Daunus' throne,and many a city by thy sword subdued,are still thy own. Latinus also boastsmuch golden treasure and a liberal hand.Other unwedded maids of noble stemin Latium and Laurentine land are found.Permit me, then, to tell thee without guilethings hard to utter; let them deeply fillthy listening soul. My sacred duty 'twasto plight my daughter's hand to nonesoe'erof all her earlier wooers—so declaredthe gods and oracles; but overcomeby love of thee, by thy dear, kindred blood,and by the sad eyes of my mournful Queen,I shattered every bond; I snatched awaythe plighted maiden from her destined lord,and took up impious arms. What evil caseupon that deed ensued, what hapless wars,thou knowest, since thyself dost chiefly bearthe cruel burden. In wide-ranging fighttwice-conquered, our own city scarce upholdsthe hope of Italy. Yon Tiber's wavestill runs warm with my people's blood; the plainsfar round us glisten with their bleaching bones.Why tell it o'er and o'er? What maddening dreamperverts my mind? If after Turnus slainI must for friendship of the Trojan sue,were it not better to suspend the fraywhile Turnus lives? For what will be the wordof thy Rutulian kindred—yea, of allItalia, if to death I give thee o'er—(Which Heaven avert!) because thou fain wouldst winmy daughter and be sworn my friend and son?Bethink thee what a dubious work is war;have pity on thy father's reverend years,who even now thy absence daily mournsin Ardea, his native land and thine.”But to this pleading Turnus' frenzied soulyields not at all, but rather blazes forthmore wildly, and his fever fiercer burnsbeneath the healer's hand. In answer he,soon as his passion gathered voice, began:“This keen solicitude for love of me,I pray, good sire, for love of me put by!And let me traffic in the just exchangeof death for glory. This right hand, O King,can scatter shafts not few, nor do I wielduntempered steel. Whene'er I make a woundblood follows. For my foeman when we meetwill find no goddess-mother near, with handto hide him in her woman's skirt of cloud,herself in dim, deluding shade concealed.” But now the Queen, whose whole heart shrank in fearfrom these new terms of duel, wept aloud,and like one dying clasped her fiery son:“O Turnus, by these tears-if in thy heartthou honorest Amata still—O thouwho art of our distressful, dark old agethe only hope and peace, the kingly nameand glory of Latinus rests in thee;thou art the mighty prop whereon is stayedour falling house. One favor I implore:give o'er this fight with Trojans. In such strifethy destined doom is destined to be mineby the same fatal stroke. For in that hourthis hated life shall cease, nor will I lookwith slave's eyes on Aeneas as my son.”Lavinia heard her mother's voice, and tearso'erflowed her scarlet cheek, where blushes spreadlike flame along her warm, young face and brow:as when the Indian ivory must wearensanguined crimson stain, or lilies palemingled with roses seem to blush, such huesher virgin features bore; and love's desiredisturbed his breast, as, gazing on the maid,his martial passion fiercer flamed; whereonin brief speech he addressed the Queen: “No tears!No evil omen, mother, I implore!Make me no sad farewells, as I departto the grim war-god's game! Can Turnus' handdelay death's necessary coming? Go,Idmon, my herald, to the Phrygian King,and tell him this—a word not framed to please:soon as Aurora from her crimson carflushes to-morrow's sky, let him no moreagainst the Rutule lead the Teucrian line;let Teucrian swords and Rutule take repose,while with our own spilt blood we twain will makean end of war; on yonder mortal fieldlet each man woo Lavinia for his bride.”
So saying, he hied him to his lordly halls,summoned his steeds, and with pleased eye surveyedtheir action proud: them Orithyia, brideof Boreas, to Sire Pilumnus gave,which in their whiteness did surpass the snowin speed the wind. The nimble charioteersstood by and smote with hollowed hand and palmthe sounding chests, or combed the necks and manes.But he upon his kingly shoulders claspedhis corselet, thick o'erlaid with blazoned goldand silvery orichalch; he fitted himwith falchion, shield, and helm of purple plume,that falchion which the Lord of Fire had madefor Daunus, tempering in the Stygian wavewhen white it glowed; next grasped he the good spearwhich leaned its weight against a column tall in the mid-court, Auruncan Actor's spoil,and waved it wide in air with mighty cry:“O spear, that ne'er did fail me when I called,the hour is come! Once mighty Actor's hand,but now the hand of Turnus is thy lord.Grant me to strike that carcase to the ground,and with strong hand the corselet rip and rendfrom off that Phrygian eunuch: let the dustbefoul those tresses, tricked to curl so finewith singeing steel and sleeked with odorous oil.”Such frenzy goads him: his impassioned browis all on flame, the wild eyes flash with fire.Thus, bellowing loud before the fearful fray,some huge bull proves the fury of his horns,pushing against a tree-trunk; his swift thrustswould tear the winds in pieces; while his hoofstoss up the turf and sand, rehearsing war.
That self-same day with aspect terribleAeneas girt him in the wondrous armshis mother gave; made sharp his martial steel,and roused his heart to ire; though glad was heto seal such truce and end the general war.Then he spoke comfort to his friends; and soothedIulus' fear, unfolding Heaven's intent;but on Latinus bade his heralds layunyielding terms and laws of peace impose.
Soon as the breaking dawn its glory threwalong the hills, and from the sea's profoundleaped forth the horses of the sun-god's car,from lifted nostrils breathing light and fire,then Teucrian and Rutulian measured outa place for duel, underneath the wallsof the proud city. In the midst were setaltars of turf and hearth-stones burning brightin honor of their common gods. Some broughtpure waters and the hallowed flame, their thighsin priestly skirt arrayed, and reverend browswith vervain bound. Th' Ausonians, spear in hand,out from the city's crowded portals movedin ordered column: next the Trojans all,with Tuscan host in various martial guise,equipped with arms of steel, as if they heardstern summons to the fight. Their captains, too,emerging from the multitude, in prideof gold and purple, hurried to and fro:Mnestheus of royal stem, Asilas brave;and Neptune's offspring, tamer of the steed,Messapus. Either host, at signal given,to its own ground retiring, fixed in earththe long shafts of the spears and stacked the shields.Then eagerly to tower and rampart flythe women, the infirm old men, the throngof the unarmed, and sit them there at gaze,or on the columned gates expectant stand.
But Juno, peering from that summit proudwhich is to-day the Alban (though that timenor name nor fame the hallowed mountain knew),surveyed the plain below and fair arrayof Trojan and Laurentine, by the wallsof King Latinus. Whereupon straightwaywith Turnus' sister she began converse,goddess with goddess; for that nymph divineo'er Alba's calm lakes and loud rivers reigns;Jove, the high monarch of th' ethereal sky,gave her such glory when he stole awayher virgin zone. “O nymph“, she said, “who artthe pride of flowing streams, and much belovedof our own heart! thou knowest thou alonehast been my favorite of those Latin maidsthat to proud Jove's unthankful bed have climbed;and willingly I found thee place and sharein our Olympian realm. So blame not me,but hear, Juturna, what sore grief is thine:while chance and destiny conceded aughtof strength to Latium's cause, I shielded wellboth Turnus and thy city's wall; but nowI see our youthful champion make his warwith fates adverse. The Parcae's day of doomimplacably impends. My eyes refuseto Iook upon such fight, such fatal league.If for thy brother's life thou couldst be boldto venture some swift blow, go, strike it now!'T is fit and fair! Some issue fortunatemay tread on sorrow's heel.” She scarce had said,when rained the quick tears from Juturna's eyes.Three times and yet again her desperate handsmote on her comely breast. But Juno cried,“No tears to-day! But haste thee, haste and findwhat way, if way there be, from clutch of deathto tear thy brother free; arouse the war;their plighted peace destroy. I grant thee leavesuch boldness to essay.” With this commandshe left the nymph dismayed and grieving sore. Meanwhile the kings ride forth: Latinus first,looming tall-statured from his four-horse car;twelve rays of gold encircle his bright brow,sign of the sun-god, his progenitor;next Turnus, driving snow-white steeds, is seen,—two bread-tipped javelins in his hand he bears;Aeneas, of Rome's blood the source and sire,with star-bright shield and panoply divine, far-shining comes; Ascanius by his side—of Roman greatness the next hope is he. To camp they rode, where, garbed in blameless white,with youngling swine and two-year sheep unshorn,the priest before the flaming altars drovehis flock and offering: to the rising sunall eyes are lifted, as with careful handthe salted meal is scattered, while with knivesthey mark each victim's brow, outpouring winefrom shallow bowls, the sacrifice to bless. Then good Aeneas, his sword drawn, put forththis votive prayer: “O Sun in heaven; and thou,Italia, for whom such toils I bear,be witness of my orison. On thee,Father omnipotent, I call; on thee,his Queen Saturnia,—now may she bemore gracious to my prayer! O glorious Mars,beneath whose godhead and paternityall wars begin and end, on thee I call;hail, all ye river-gods and haunted springs;hail, whatsoever gods have seat of awein yonder distant sky, and ye whose poweris in the keeping of the deep, blue sea:if victory to Ausonian Turnus fall,then let my vanquished people take its wayunto Evander's city! From these plainsIulus shall retire—so stands the bond;nor shall the Trojans with rebellious swordbring after-trouble on this land and King.But if on arms of ours success shall shine,as I doubt not it shall (may gods on hightheir will confirm!), I purpose not to chainItalian captive unto Teucrian lord,nor seek I kingly power. Let equal lawsunite in federation without endthe two unconquered nations; both shall sharemy worshipped gods. Latinus, as my sire,shall keep his sword, and as my sire receiveinviolable power. The Teucriansshall build my stronghold, but our citadelshall bear forevermore Lavinia's name.” Aeneas thus: then with uplifted eyesLatinus swore, his right hand raised to heaven:“I too, Aeneas, take the sacred vow.By earth and sea and stars in heaven I swear,by fair Latona's radiant children twain,and two-browed Janus; by the shadowy powersof Hades and th' inexorable shrinesof the Infernal King; and may Jove hear,who by his lightnings hallows what is sworn!I touch these altars, and my lips invokethe sacred altar-fires that 'twixt us burn:we men of Italy will make this peaceinviolate, and its bond forever keep,let come what will; there is no power can changemy purpose, not if ocean's waves o'erwhelmthe world in billowy deluge and obscurethe bounds of heaven and hell. We shall remainimmutable as my smooth sceptre is“(By chance a sceptre in his hand he bore),“which wears no more light leaf or branching shade;for long since in the grove 't was plucked awayfrom parent stem, and yielded to sharp steelits leaves and limbs; erewhile 't was but a tree,till the wise craftsman with fair sheath of bronzeencircled it and laid it in the handsof Latium's royal sires.” With words like thesethey swore the bond, in the beholding eyesof gathered princes. Then they slit the throatsof hallowed victims o'er the altar's blaze,drew forth the quivering vitals, and with fleshon loaded chargers heaped the sacrifice.