While thus in distant region moves the war,down to bold Turnus Saturn's daughter sendscelestial Iris. In a sacred vale,the seat of worship at his grandsire's tomb,Pilumnus, Faunus' son, the hero mused.And thus the wonder-child of Thaumas calledwith lips of rose: “O Turnus, what no goddared give for reward of thy fondest vow,has come unbidden on its destined day.Behold, Aeneas, who has left behindthe city with his fleet and followers,is gone to kingly Palatine, the homeof good Evander. Yea, his march invadesthe far Etrurian towns, where now he armsthe Lydian rustics. Wilt thou longer muse?Call for thy chariot and steeds! Away!Take yonder tents by terror and surprise!”She spoke; and heavenward on poising wingssoared, cleaving as she fled from cloud to clouda vast, resplendent bow. The warrior saw,and, lifting both his hands, pursued with prayerthe fading glory: “Beauteous Iris, hail!Proud ornament of heaven! who sent thee hereacross yon cloud to earth, and unto me?Whence may this sudden brightness fall? I seethe middle welkin lift, and many a star,far-wandering in the sky. Such solemn signI shall obey, and thee, O god unknown!”So saying, he turned him to a sacred stream,took water from its brim, and offered Heavenmuch prayer, with many an importuning vow.