Aeneid

and laboring long against the stubborn stem,

Aeneas with his whole strength could but fail

to Ioose the clasping tree. While fiercely thus

he strove and strained, Juturna once again,

wearing the charioteer Metiscus' shape,

ran to her brother's aid, restoring him

his own true sword. But Venus, wroth to see

what license to the dauntless nymph was given,

herself came near, and plucked from that deep root

the javelin forth. So both with lofty mien

strode forth new-armed, new-hearted: one made bold

by his good sword, the other, spear in hand,

uptowered in wrath, and with confronting brows

they set them to the war-god's breathless game.

Meanwhile th' Olympian sovereign supreme

to Juno speaks, as from an amber cloud

the strife she views: “My Queen, what end shall be?

What yet remains? Thou seest Aeneas' name

numbered with tutelary gods of power;

and well thou know'st what station in the sky

his starward destiny intends. What scheme

vexes thy bosom still? What stubborn hope,

fostered in cloud and cold? O, was it well

to desecrate a god with mortal wound;

or well (what were a nymph unhelped by thee?)

to give back Turnus his lost sword, and lend

strength unavailing to the fallen brave?

Give o'er, and to our supplication yield;

let not such grief thy voiceless heart devour;

nor from thy sweet lips let thy mournful care

so oft assail my mind. For now is come

the last decisive day. Thy power availed

to vex the Trojans upon land and sea,

to wake abominable war, bring shame

upon a royal house, and mix the songs

of marriage and the grave: but further act

I thee refuse.” Such was the word of Jove.

Thus Saturn's daughter answered, drooping low

her brows divine: “Because, great Jove, I knew

thy pleasure, I from yonder earth retired

and Turnus' cause, tho, with unwilling mind.

Else shouldst thou not behold me at this hour

Upon my solitary throne of air

enduring fair and foul; I should be found

flame-girded on the battle's deadly verge,

tempting the Teucrians to a hated war.

Yea, 't was my motion thrust Juturna forth

to help her hapless brother. I approved—

to save his life—that she should be too bold;

but bade no whirl of spear nor bending bow:

I swear it by th' inexorable fount

whence flow the Stygian rivers, the sole seat

where gods of light bow down in awful prayer.

I yield me now; heart-sick I quit the war.

But ask one boon, which in the book of fate

is not denied; for Latium's good I sue,

and high prerogatives of men that be

thy kith and kin: when happy wedlock vows

(aye, be it so!) shall join them by strong laws

of chartered peace, let not the Latins Iose

their ancient, native name. Bid them not pass

for Trojans, nor be hailed as Teucer's sons;

no alien speech, no alien garb impose.

Let it be Latium ever; let the lords

of Alba unto distant ages reign;

let the strong, master blood of Rome receive

the manhood and the might of Italy.

Troy perished: let its name and glory die!”

The Author of mankind and all that is,

smiling benignant, answered thus her plea:

“Jove's sister true, and Saturn's second child,

what seas of anger vex thy heart divine!

But come, relinquish thy rash, fruitless rage:

I give thee this desire, and yield to thee

free submission. The Ausonian tribes

shall keep the speech and customs of their sires;

the name remains as now; the Teucrian race,

abiding in the land, shall but infuse

the mixture of its blood. I will bestow

a league of worship, and to Latins give

one language only. From the mingled breed

a people shall come forth whom thou shalt see

surpass all mortal men and even outvie

the faithfulness of gods; for none that live

shall render to thy name an equal praise.”

So Juno bowed consent, and let her will

be changed, as with much comfort in her breast

she left Olympus and her haunt of cloud.

After these things Jove gave his kingly mind

to further action, that he might forthwith

cut off Juturna from her brother's cause.

Two plagues there be, called Furies, which were spawned

at one birth from the womb of wrathful Night

with dread Megaera, phantom out of hell;

and of their mother's gift, each Fury wears

grim-coiling serpents and tempestuous wings.

These at Jove's throne attend, and watch the doors

of that stern King—to whet the edge of fear

for wretched mortals, when the King of gods

hurls pestilence and death, or terrifies