Aeneid

of Latium from its foe! Such is the word

which, while in night and slumber thou wert laid,

Saturnia's godhead, visibly revealed,

bade me declare. Up, therefore, and array

thy warriors in arms! Swift sallying forth

from thy strong city-gates, on to the fray

exultant go! Assail the Phrygian chiefs

who tent them by thy beauteous river's marge,

and burn their painted galleys! 't is the will

of gods above that speaks. Yea, even the King

Latinus, if he will not heed thy plea,

or hear thy wooing, shall be taught too late

what Turnus is in panoply of war.”

In mocking answer to the prophetess

the warrior thus replied: “That stranger fleet

in Tiber moored, not, as thy folly prates,

of me unnoted lies. Vex me no more

with thy fantastic terror. Juno's power

is watchful of my cause. 'T is mere old age,

gone to decay and dotage, fills thy breast

with vain foreboding, and, while kings contend,

scares and deceives thy visionary eye.

Guard thou in yonder temple's holy shade

the images divine! Of peace and war

let men and warriors the burden bear!”

So kindled he Alecto's wrath to flame;

and even as he spoke a shudder thrilled

the warrior's body, and his eyeballs stood

stonily staring at the hydra hair

which hissed and writhed above the grisly head

of the large-looming fiend. With eyes of fire

horribly rolling, she repelled him far,

while he but faltered speechless. She upraised

two coiling snakes out of her tresses, cracked

the lashes of her scourge, and wrathfully,

with raving lips replied: “Look well on me,

gone to decay and dotage of old age!

And mocked with foolish fear while kings contend!

Wilt hearken now! Behold me, hither flown

from where my sister-furies dwell! My hands

bring bloody death and war.” She spoke, and hurled

her firebrand at the hero, thrusting deep

beneath his heart her darkly smouldering flame.

Then horror broke his sleep, and fearful sweat

dripped from his every limb. He shrieked aloud

for arms; and seized the ready arms that lay

around his couch and hall. Then o'er his soul

the lust of battle and wild curse of war

broke forth in angry power, as when the flames

of faggots round the bubbling cauldron sing,

and up the waters leap; the close-kept flood

brims over, streaming, foaming, breaking bound,

and flings thick clouds in air. He, summoning

his chieftains, bade them on Latinus move,

break peace, take arms, and, over Italy

their shields extending, to thrust forth her foe:

himself for Teucrian with Latin joined

was more than match. He called upon the gods

in witness of his vows: while, nothing loth,

Rutulia's warriors rushed into array;

some by his youth and noble beauty moved,

some by his kingly sires and fame in arms.

While Turnus stirred Rutulia's valiant souls,

Alecto on her Stygian pinions sped

to where the Teucrians lay. She scanned the ground

with eager guile, where by the river's marge

fair-browed Iulus with his nets and snares

rode fiercely to the chase. Then o'er his hounds

that hell-born virgin breathed a sudden rage,

and filled each cunning nostril with the scent

of stags, till forth in wild pursuit they flew.

Here all the woe began, and here awoke

in rustic souls the swift-enkindling war.

For a fair stag, tall-antlered, stolen away

even from its mother's milk, had long been kept

by Tyrrhus and his sons—the shepherd he

of all the royal flocks, and forester

of a wide region round. With fondest care

their sister Silvia entwined its horns

with soft, fresh garlands, tamed it to run close,

and combed the creature, or would bring to bathe

at a clear, crystal spring. It knew the hands

of all its gentle masters, and would feed

from their own dish; or wandering through the wood,

come back unguided to their friendly door,

though deep the evening shade. Iulus' dogs

now roused this wanderer in their ravening chase,

as, drifted down-stream far from home it lay,

on a green bank a-cooling. From bent bow

Ascanius, eager for a hunter's praise,

let go his shaft; nor did Alecto fail

his aim to guide: but, whistling through the air,

the light-winged reed pierced deep in flank and side.

Swift to its cover fled the wounded thing,

and crept loud-moaning to its wonted stall,

where, like a blood-stained suppliant, it seemed

to fill that shepherd's house with plaintive prayer.

Then Silvia the sister, smiting oft

on breast and arm, made cry for help, and called

the sturdy rustics forth in gathering throng.