Such worship o'er, all take the homeward wayback to the town. The hospitable King,though bowed with weight of years, kept at his sideAeneas and his son, and as they fared,with various discourse beguiled the way.Aeneas scanned with quick-admiring eyesthe region wide, and lingered with delightnow here, now there, inquiring eagerlyof each proud monument of heroes gone.Then King Evander, he who builded firstOn Palatine, spoke thus: “These groves erewhiletheir native nymphs and fauns enjoyed, with menfrom trees engendered and stout heart of oak.Nor laws nor arts they knew; nor how to tameburls to the yoke, nor fill great barns with storeand hoard the gathered grain; but rudely faredon wild fruits and such food as hunters find.Then Saturn from Olympian realms came down,in flight from Jove's dread arms, his sceptre lost,and he an exiled King. That savage racehe gathered from the mountain slopes; and gavewise laws and statutes; so that latent landwas Latium, ‘hid land’, where he hid so long.The golden centuries by legends toldwere under that good King, whose equal swayuntroubled peace to all his peoples gave.But after slow decline arrived an agedegenerate and of a darker hue,prone to insensate war and greed of gain.Then came Sicanian and Ausonian tribes,and oft the land of Saturn lost its name.New chieftains rose, and Thybris, giant Kingand violent, from whom th' Italians namedthe flooding Tiber, which was called no morethe Albula, its true and ancient style.Myself, in exile from my fatherlandsailing uncharted seas, was guided hereby all-disposing Chance and iron lawsof Destiny. With prophecy severeCarmentis, my nymph-mother, thrust me on,warned by Apollo's word.” He scarce had said,when near their path he showed an altar fairand the Carmental gate, where Romans seememorial of Carmentis, nymph divine,the prophetess of fate, who first foretoldwhat honors on Aeneas' sons should falland lordly Pallanteum, where they dwell.Next the vast grove was seen, where Romulusordained inviolable sanctuary;then the Lupercal under its cold crag,Wolf-hill, where old Arcadians reveredtheir wolf-god, the Lycaean Pan. Here toothe grove of Argiletum, sacred name,where good Evander told the crime and deathof Argus, his false guest. From this they climbedthe steep Tarpeian hill, the Capitol,all gold to-day, but then a tangled wildof thorny woodland. Even then the placewoke in the rustics a religious awe,and bade them fear and tremble at the viewof that dread rock and grove. “This leafy wood,which crowns the hill-top, is the favored seatof some great god,” said he, “but of his namewe know not surely. The Arcadians sayjove's dread right hand here visibly appearsto shake his aegis in the darkening storm,the clouds compelling. Yonder rise in viewtwo strongholds with dismantled walls, which noware but a memory of great heroes gone:one father Janus built, and Saturn one;their names, Saturnia and Janiculum.”'Mid such good parley to the house they cameof King Evander, unadorned and plain,whence herds of browsing cattle could be seenranging the Forum, and loud-bellowingin proud Carinae. As they entered there,“Behold,” said he, “the threshold that receivedAlcides in his triumph! This abodehe made his own. Dare, O illustrious guest,to scorn the pomp of power. Shape thy soulto be a god's fit follower. Enter here,and free from pride our frugal welcome share.”So saying, 'neath his roof-tree scant and lowhe led the great Aeneas, offering hima couch of leaves with Libyan bear-skin spread.Now night drew near, enfolding the wide worldin shadowy wings. But Venus, sore disturbed,vexed not unwisely her maternal breast,fearing Laurentum's menace and wild stirof obstinate revolt, and made her pleato Vulcan in their nuptial bower of gold,outbreathing in the music of her wordscelestial love: “When warring Argive kingsbrought ruin on Troy's sacred citadeland ramparts soon to sink in hostile flames,I asked not thee to help that hopeless woe,nor craved thy craft and power. For, dearest lord,I would not tax in vain shine arduous toil,though much to Priam's children I was bound,and oft to see Aeneas burdened soreI could but weep. But now by will of Jovehe has found foothold in Rutulian lands.Therefore I come at last with lowly suitbefore a godhead I adore, and prayfor gift of arms,—a mother for her son.Thou wert not unrelenting to the tearsof Nereus' daughter or Tithonus' bride.Behold what tribes conspire, what cities strongbehind barred gates now make the falchion keento ruin and blot out both me and mine!”So spake the goddess, as her arms of snowaround her hesitating spouse she threwin tender, close embrace. He suddenlyknew the familiar fire, and o'er his frameits wonted ardor unresisted ran,swift as the glittering shaft of thunder cleavesthe darkened air and on from cloud to cloudthe rift of lightning runs. She, joyful wife;felt what her beauty and her guile could do;as, thralled by love unquenchable, her spousethus answered fair: “Why wilt thou labor sowith far-fetched pleas? my goddess, hast thou lostthy faith in me? Had such a prayer been shine,I could have armed the Teucrians. Neither Jovenor Destiny had grudged ten added yearsof life to Troy and Priam. If to-daythou hast a war in hand, and if thy heartdetermine so, I willingly engageto lend thee all my cunning; whatsoevermolten alloy or welded iron can,whate'er my roaring forge and flames achieve,I offer thee. No more in anxious prayerdistrust thy beauty's power.” So saying, he gaveembrace of mutual desire, and founddeep, peaceful sleep, on her fond heart reclined. Night's course half run, soon as the first reposehad banished sleep,—what time some careful wifewhose distaff and Minerva's humble toilmust earn her bread, rekindling her warm hearth,adds a night-burden to her laboring day,and by the torch-light cheers her maidens onto their long tasks; that so her husband's bedshe may in honor keep, and train to powerher dear men-children—at such prime of morn,with not less eager mind the Lord of Firefled his soft couch and to his forges tried.An island near Aeolian Liparanot far from a Sicilian headland lies,where smoking rocks precipitously towerabove a vast vault, which the Cyclops' skillouthollowed large as Aetna's thunderous caves.There ring the smitten anvils, and the roofre-echoes, roaring loud. Chalybian oreshiss in the gloom, and from the furnace mouthspuff the hot-panting fires. 'T is Vulcan's seat,and all that island is Vulcania.Thither descended now the god of firefrom height of heaven. At their task were foundthe Cyclops in vast cavern forging steel,naked Pyracmon and gigantic-limbedBrontes and Steropes; beneath their blowsa lightning-shaft, half-shaped, half-burnished lay,such as the Thunderer is wont to flingin numbers from the sky, but formless still.Three strands of whirling storm they wove with threeof bursting cloud, and three did interfuseof ruddy-gleaming fires and winged winds;then fearful lightnings on the skilful forgethey welded with loud horror, and with flamesthat bear swift wrath from Jove. Elsewhere a crewtoiled at the chariot and winged wheelwherewith the war-god wakens from reposeheroes and peopled cities. Others wroughtthe awful Aegis, herald of dismay,by angry Pallas worn; they burnished brightthe golden serpent-scales and wreathing snakes,till from the corselet of the goddess glaredthe Gorgon's severed head and rolling eyes.“Cyclops of Aetna,” Vulcan cried, “have done!Leave ev'ry task unfinished, and receivemy new command! Good armor must be forgedfor warrior brave. For this I need to useyour utmost sinew and your swiftest hand,with all your master skill. No lingering now!”Swift the command, and swiftly they divideto each his portion, and united urge the common task. Forth fow the molten streamsof brass and gold, and, melted in fierce fiame,the deeply-wounding steel like liquid flows.A mighty shield took shape, its single orbsufficient to withstand the gathered shockof all the Latin arms; for seven timesthey welded ring with ring. Some deftly plythe windy bellows, which receive and givethe roaring blasts; some plunge in cooling pondthe hissing metal, while the smithy floorgroans with the anvil's weight, as side by sidethey lift their giant arms in numbered blowsand roll with gripe of tongs the ponderous bars. While thus the Lemnian god his labor spedin far Aeolian isle, the cheerful mornwith voice of swallows round his lowly eavessummoned Evander. From his couch arosethe royal sire, and o'er his aged framea tunic threw, tying beneath his feetthe Tuscan sandals: an Arcadian sword,girt at his left, was over one shoulder slung,his cloak of panther trailing from behind.A pair of watch-dogs from the lofty doorran close, their lord attending, as he soughthis guest Aeneas; for his princely soulremembered faithfully his former word,and promised gift. Aeneas with like mindwas stirring early. King Evander's sonPallas was at his side; Achates tooaccompanied his friend. All these conjoinin hand-clasp and good-morrow, taking seatsin midcourt of the house, and give the hourto converse unrestrained. First spoke the King:
“Great leader of the Teucrians, while thy lifein safety stands, I call not Trojan powervanquished or fallen. But to help thy warmy small means match not thy redoubled name.Yon Tuscan river is my bound. That wayRutulia thrusts us hard and chafes our wallwith loud, besieging arms. But I proposeto league with thee a numerous arrayof kings and mighty tribes, which fortune strangenow brings to thy defence. Thou comest herebecause the Fates intend. Not far from oursa city on an ancient rock is seen,Agylla, which a warlike Lydian clanbuilt on the Tuscan hills. It prospered wellfor many a year, then under the proud yokeof King Mezentius it came and borehis cruel sway. Why tell the loathsome deedsand crimes unspeakable the despot wrought?May Heaven requite them on his impious headand on his children! For he used to chaindead men to living, hand on hand was laidand face on face,—torment incredible!Till, locked in blood-stained, horrible embrace,a lingering death they found. But at the lasthis people rose in furious despair,and while he blasphemously raged, assailedhis life and throne, cut down his guardsand fired his regal dwellings; he, the while,escaped immediate death and fied awayto the Rutulian land, to find defencein Turnus hospitality. To-dayEtruria, to righteous anger stirred,demands with urgent arms her guilty King.To their large host, Aeneas, I will givean added strength, thyself. For yonder shoresre-echo with the tumult and the cryof ships in close array; their eager lordsare clamoring for battle. But the songof the gray omen-giver thus declarestheir destiny: ‘O goodly princes bornof old Maeonian lineage! Ye that arethe bloom and glory of an ancient race,whom just occasions now and noble rageenflame against Mezentius your foe,it is decreed that yonder nation proudshall never submit to chiefs Italian-born.Seek ye a king from far!’ So in the fieldinert and fearful lies Etruria's force,disarmed by oracles. Their Tarchon sentenvoys who bore a sceptre and a crowneven to me, and prayed I should assumethe sacred emblems of Etruria's king,and lead their host to war. But unto mecold, sluggish age, now barren and outworn,denies new kingdoms, and my slow-paced powersrun to brave deeds no more. Nor could I urgemy son, who by his Sabine mother's lineis half Italian-born. Thyself art he, whose birth illustrious and manly prime fate favors and celestial powers approve.Therefore go forth, O bravest chief and Kingof Troy and Italy! To thee I givethe hope and consolation of our throne,pallas, my son, and bid him find in theea master and example, while he learnsthe soldier's arduous toil. With thy brave deedslet him familiar grow, and reverence theewith youthful love and honor. In his traintwo hundred horsemen of Arcadia,our choicest men-at-arms, shall ride; and hein his own name an equal band shall bringto follow only thee.” Such the discourse.With meditative brows and downcast eyesAeneas and Achates, sad at heart,mused on unnumbered perils yet to come.But out of cloudless sky Cythera's Queengave sudden signal: from th' ethereal domea thunder-peal and flash of quivering firetumultuous broke, as if the world would fall,and bellowing Tuscan trumpets shook the air.All eyes look up. Again and yet againcrashed the terrible din, and where the skylooked clearest hung a visionary cloud,whence through the brightness blazed resounding arms.All hearts stood still. But Troy's heroic sonknew that his mother in the skies redeemedher pledge in sound of thunder: so he cried,“Seek not, my friend, seek not thyself to readthe meaning of the omen. 'T is to meOlympus calls. My goddess-mother gavelong since her promise of a heavenly signif war should burst; and that her power would bringa panoply from Vulcan through the air,to help us at our need. Alas, what deathsover Laurentum's ill-starred host impend!O Turnus, what a reckoning thou shalt payto me in arms! O Tiber, in thy wavewhat helms and shields and mighty soldiers slainshall in confusion roll! Yea, let them leadtheir lines to battle, and our league abjure!” He said: and from the lofty throne uprose.Straightway he roused anew the slumbering firesacred to Hercules, and glad at heartadored, as yesterday, the household godsrevered by good Evander, at whose sidethe Trojan company made sacrificeof chosen lambs, with fitting rites and true.Then to his ships he tried him, and rejoinedhis trusty followers, of whom he tookthe best for valor known, to lend him aidin deeds of war. Others he bade returndown stream in easy course, and tidings bearto young Ascanius of the new event,and of his father. Horses then were broughtfor all the Teucrians to Etruria bound;and for Aeneas one of rarest breed,o'er whom a tawny robe descended low,of lion-skin, with claws of gleaming gold.
Noised swiftly through the little town it fliesthat to the precinct of the Tuscan Kingarmed horsemen speed. Pale mothers in great fearunceasing pray; for panic closely runsin danger's steps; the war-god drawing nighlooms larger; and good sire Evander nowclings to the hand of his departing sonand, weeping without stay, makes sad farewell:“O, that great Jove would give me once againmy vanished years! O, if such man I were,as when beneath Praeneste's wall I slewthe front ranks of her sons, and burned for spoiltheir gathered shields on my triumph day;or when this right hand hurled king Erulusto shades below, though—terrible to tell —Feronia bore him with three lives, that thricehe might arise from deadly strife o'erthrown,and thrice be slain—yet all these lives took I,and of his arms despoiled him o'er and o'er:not now, sweet son (if such lost might were mine),should I from thy beloved embrace be torn;nor could Mezentius with insulting sworddo murder in my sight and make my landdepopulate and forlorn. O gods in Heaven,and chiefly thou whom all the gods obey,have pity, Jove, upon Arcadia's King,and hear a father's prayer: if your intentbe for my Pallas a defence secure,if it be writ that long as I shall live,my eyes may see him, and my arms enfold,I pray for life, and all its ills I bear.But if some curse, too dark to tell, impendfrom thee, O Fortune blind! I pray thee breakmy thread of miserable life to-day;to-day, while fear still doubts and hope still smileson the unknown to-morrow, as I holdthee to my bosom, dearest child, who artmy last and only joy; to-day, beforeth' intolerable tidings smite my ears.”Such grief the royal father's heart outpouredat this last parting; the strong arms of slaveslifted him, fallen in swoon, and bore him home.
Now forth beneath the wide-swung city-gatesthe mounted squadron poured; Aeneas rode,companioned of Achates, in the van;then other lords of Troy. There Pallas shoneconspicuous in the midmost line, with cloakand blazoned arms, as when the Morning-star(To Venus dearest of all orbs that burn),out of his lucent bath in ocean wavelifts to the skies his countenance divine,and melts the shadows of the night away.Upon the ramparts trembling matrons standand follow with dimmed eyes the dusty cloudwhence gleam the brazen arms. The warriors ridestraight on through brake and fell, the nearest way;loud ring the war-cries, and in martial linethe pounding hoof-beats shake the crumbling ground.By Caere's cold flood lies an ample groverevered from age to age. The hollowing hillsenclasp it in wide circles of dark fir,and the Pelasgians, so the legends tell,primaeval settlers of the Latin plains,called it the haunt of Silvan, kindly godof flocks and fields, and honoring the grovegave it a festal day. Hard by this spothad Tarchon with the Tuscans fortifiedhis bivouac, and from the heights afarhis legions could be seen in wide arrayoutstretching through the plain. To meet them thereAeneas and his veteran chivalrymade sure advance, and found repose at evefor warrior travel-worn and fainting steed. But now athwart the darkening air of heavencame Venus gleaming bright, to bring her sonthe gifts divine. In deep, sequestered valeshe found him by a cooling rill retired,and hailed him thus: “Behold the promised gift,by craft and power of my Olympian spousemade perfect, that my son need never fearLaurentum's haughty host, nor to provokefierce Turnus to the fray.” Cythera's Queenso saying, embraced her son, and hung the arms,all glittering, on an oak that stood thereby.The hero, with exultant heart and proud,gazing unwearied at his mother's gift,surveys them close, and poises in his handsthe helmet's dreadful crest and glancing flame,the sword death-dealing, and the corselet strong,impenetrable brass, blood-red and large,like some dark-lowering, purple cloud that gleamsbeneath the smiting sun and flashes farits answering ray; and burnished greaves were there,fine gold and amber; then the spear and shield —the shield—of which the blazonry divineexceeds all power to tell. Thereon were seenItalia's story and triumphant Rome,wrought by the Lord of Fire, who was not blindto lore inspired and prophesying song,fore-reading things to come. He pictured thereIulus' destined line of glorious sonsmarshalled for many a war. In cavern green,haunt of the war-god, lay the mother-wolf;the twin boy-sucklings at her udders played,nor feared such nurse; with long neck backward thrownshe fondled each, and shaped with busy tonguetheir bodies fair. Near these were pictured well the walls of Rome and ravished Sabine wivesin the thronged theatre violently seized,when the great games were done; then, sudden warof Romulus against the Cures grimand hoary Tatius; next, the end of strifebetween the rival kings, who stood in armsbefore Jove's sacred altar, cup in hand,and swore a compact o'er the slaughtered swine.Hard by, behold, the whirling chariots toreMettus asunder (would thou hadst been true,false Alban, to thy vow!); and Tullus trailedthe traitor's mangled corse along the hills,the wild thorn dripping gore. Porsenna, next,sent to revolted Rome his proud commandto take her Tarquin back, and with strong siegeassailed the city's wall; while unsubduedAeneas' sons took arms in freedom's name.there too the semblance of the frustrate King,a semblance of his wrath and menace vain,when Cocles broke the bridge, and Cloelia bursther captive bonds and swam the Tiber's wave.Lo, on the steep Tarpeian citadelstood Manlius at the sacred doors of Jove,holding the capitol, whereon was seenthe fresh-thatched house of Romulus the King.There, too, all silver, through arcade of goldfluttered the goose, whose monitory callrevealed the foeman at the gate: outsidebesieging Gauls the thorny pathway climbed,ambushed in shadow and the friendly darkof night without a star; their flowing hairwas golden, and their every vesture gold;their cloaks were glittering plaid; each milk-white neckbore circlet of bright gold; in each man's handtwo Alpine javelins gleamed, and for defencelong shields the wild northern warriors bore.There, graven cunningly, the Salian choirwent leaping, and in Lupercalian feastthe naked striplings ran; while others, crownedwith peaked cap, bore shields that fell from heaven;and, bearing into Rome their emblems old,chaste priestesses on soft-strewn litters passed.But far from these th' artificer divinehad wrought a Tartarus, the dreadful doorsof Pluto, and the chastisements of sin;swung o'er a threatening precipice, was seenthy trembling form, O Catiline, in fearof fury-faces nigh: and distant farth' assemblies of the righteous, in whose midstwas Cato, giving judgment and decree. Encircled by these pictures ran the wavesof vast, unrestful seas in flowing gold,where seemed along the azure crests to flythe hoary foam, and in a silver ringthe tails of swift, emerging dolphins lashedthe waters bright, and clove the tumbling brine.For the shield's central glory could be seengreat fleets of brazen galleys, and the fightat Actium; where, ablaze with war's array,Leucate's peak glowed o'er the golden tide.Caesar Augustus led Italia's sonsto battle: at his side concordant movedSenate and Roman People, with their godsof hearth and home, and all Olympian Powers.Uplifted on his ship he stands; his browsbeneath a double glory smile, and brightover his forehead beams the Julian star.in neighboring region great Agrippa leads,by favor of fair winds and friendly Heaven,his squadron forth: upon his brows he wearsthe peerless emblem of his rostral crown.Opposing, in barbaric splendor shinethe arms of Antony: in victor's garbfrom nations in the land of morn he rides,and from the Red Sea, bringing in his trainEgypt and Syria, utmost Bactria's horde,and last—O shameless!—his Egyptian spouse.All to the fight make haste; the slanted oarsand triple beaks of brass uptear the wavesto angry foam, as to the deep they speedlike hills on hill-tops hurled, or Cyclades
drifting and clashing in the sea: so vastthat shock of castled ships and mighty men!Swift, arrowy steel and balls of blazing towrain o'er the waters, till the sea-god's worldflows red with slaughter. In the midst, the Queen,sounding her native timbrel, wildly callsher minions to the fight, nor yet can seetwo fatal asps behind. Her monster-gods,barking Anubis, and his mongrel crew,on Neptune, Venus, and Minerva flingtheir impious arms; the face of angry Mars,carved out of iron, in the centre frowns,grim Furies fill the air; Discordia stridesin rent robe, mad with joy; and at her side,bellona waves her sanguinary scourge.There Actian Apollo watched the war,and o'er it stretched his bow; which when they knew, Egyptian, Arab, and swart Indian slave,and all the sons of Saba fled awayin terror of his arm. The vanquished Queenmade prayer to all the winds, and more and moreflung out the swelling sail: on wind-swept waveshe fled through dead and dying; her white browthe Lord of Fire had cunningly portrayedblanched with approaching doom. Beyond her laythe large-limbed picture of the mournful Nile,who from his bosom spread his garments wide,and offered refuge in his sheltering streamsand broad, blue breast, to all her fallen power.But Caesar in his triple triumph passedthe gates of Rome, and gave Italia's gods,for grateful offering and immortal praise,three hundred temples; all the city streetswith game and revel and applauding songrang loud; in all the temples altars burnedand Roman matrons prayed; the slaughtered herdsstrewed well the sacred ground. The hero, thronedat snow-white marble threshold of the faneto radiant Phoebus, views the gift and spoilthe nations bring, and on the portals proudhangs a perpetual garland: in long filethe vanquished peoples pass, of alien tongues,of arms and vesture strange. Here Vulcan showedungirdled Afric chiefs and Nomads bold,Gelonian bowmen, men of Caria,and Leleges. Euphrates seemed to flowwith humbler wave; the world's remotest men,Morini came, with double-horned Rhine,and Dahae, little wont to bend the knee,and swift Araxes, for a bridge too proud. Such was the blazoned shield his mother gavefrom Vulcan's forge; which with astonished eyesAeneas viewed, and scanned with joyful mindsuch shadows of an unknown age to be;then on his shoulder for a burden borethe destined mighty deeds of all his sons.