O more than madmen! you yourselves shall bear The guilt of blood and sacrilegious war:
Thou, Turnus, shalt atone it by thy fate, And pray to Heav'n for peace, but pray too late.
For me, my stormy voyage at an end, I to the port of death securely tend.
The fun'ral pomp which to your kings you pay, Is all I want, and all you take away."He said no more, but, in his walls confin'd, Shut out the woes which he too well divin'd Nor with the rising storm would vainly strive, But left the helm, and let the vessel drive.
A solemn custom was observ'd of old, Which Latium held, and now the Romans hold, Their standard when in fighting fields they rear Against the fierce Hyrcanians, or declare The Scythian, Indian, or Arabian war;Or from the boasting Parthians would regain Their eagles, lost in Carrhae's bloody plain.
Two gates of steel (the name of Mars they bear, And still are worship'd with religious fear)Before his temple stand: the dire abode, And the fear'd issues of the furious god, Are fenc'd with brazen bolts; without the gates, The wary guardian Janus doubly waits.
Then, when the sacred senate votes the wars, The Roman consul their decree declares, And in his robes the sounding gates unbars.
The youth in military shouts arise, And the loud trumpets break the yielding skies.
These rites, of old by sov'reign princes us'd, Were the king's office; but the king refus'd, Deaf to their cries, nor would the gates unbar Of sacred peace, or loose th' imprison'd war;But hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms, Abhorr'd the wicked ministry of arms.
Then heav'n's imperious queen shot down from high:
At her approach the brazen hinges fly;
The gates are forc'd, and ev'ry falling bar;And, like a tempest, issues out the war.
The peaceful cities of th' Ausonian shore, Lull'd in their ease, and undisturb'd before, Are all on fire; and some, with studious care, Their restiff steeds in sandy plains prepare;Some their soft limbs in painful marches try, And war is all their wish, and arms the gen'ral cry.
Part scour the rusty shields with seam; and part New grind the blunted ax, and point the dart:
With joy they view the waving ensigns fly, And hear the trumpet's clangor pierce the sky.
Five cities forge their arms: th' Atinian pow'rs, Antemnae, Tibur with her lofty tow'rs, Ardea the proud, the Crustumerian town:
All these of old were places of renown.
Some hammer helmets for the fighting field;Some twine young sallows to support the shield;The croslet some, and some the cuishes mold, With silver plated, and with ductile gold.
The rustic honors of the scythe and share Give place to swords and plumes, the pride of war.
Old fauchions are new temper'd in the fires;The sounding trumpet ev'ry soul inspires.
The word is giv'n; with eager speed they lace The shining headpiece, and the shield embrace.
The neighing steeds are to the chariot tied;The trusty weapon sits on ev'ry side.
And now the mighty labor is begun Ye Muses, open all your Helicon.
Sing you the chiefs that sway'd th' Ausonian land, Their arms, and armies under their command;What warriors in our ancient clime were bred;What soldiers follow'd, and what heroes led.
For well you know, and can record alone, What fame to future times conveys but darkly down.
Mezentius first appear'd upon the plain:
Scorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain, Defying earth and heav'n.Etruria lost, He brings to Turnus' aid his baffled host.
The charming Lausus, full of youthful fire, Rode in the rank, and next his sullen sire;To Turnus only second in the grace Of manly mien, and features of the face.
A skilful horseman, and a huntsman bred, With fates averse a thousand men he led:
His sire unworthy of so brave a son;
Himself well worthy of a happier throne.
Next Aventinus drives his chariot round The Latian plains, with palms and laurels crown'd.
Proud of his steeds, he smokes along the field;His father's hydra fills his ample shield:
A hundred serpents hiss about the brims;
The son of Hercules he justly seems By his broad shoulders and gigantic limbs;Of heav'nly part, and part of earthly blood, A mortal woman mixing with a god.
For strong Alcides, after he had slain The triple Geryon, drove from conquer'd Spain His captive herds; and, thence in triumph led, On Tuscan Tiber's flow'ry banks they fed.
Then on Mount Aventine the son of Jove The priestess Rhea found, and forc'd to love.
For arms, his men long piles and jav'lins bore;And poles with pointed steel their foes in battle gore.
Like Hercules himself his son appears, In salvage pomp; a lion's hide he wears;About his shoulders hangs the shaggy skin;The teeth and gaping jaws severely grin.
Thus, like the god his father, homely dress'd, He strides into the hall, a horrid guest.
Then two twin brothers from fair Tibur came, (Which from their brother Tiburs took the name,)Fierce Coras and Catillus, void of fear:
Arm'd Argive horse they led, and in the front appear.
Like cloud-born Centaurs, from the mountain's height With rapid course descending to the fight;They rush along; the rattling woods give way;The branches bend before their sweepy sway.
Nor was Praeneste's founder wanting there, Whom fame reports the son of Mulciber:
Found in the fire, and foster'd in the plains, A shepherd and a king at once he reigns, And leads to Turnus' aid his country swains.
His own Praeneste sends a chosen band, With those who plow Saturnia's Gabine land;Besides the succor which cold Anien yields, The rocks of Hernicus, and dewy fields, Anagnia fat, and Father Amasene-A num'rous rout, but all of naked men:
Nor arms they wear, nor swords and bucklers wield, Nor drive the chariot thro' the dusty field, But whirl from leathern slings huge balls of lead, And spoils of yellow wolves adorn their head;The left foot naked, when they march to fight, But in a bull's raw hide they sheathe the right.
Messapus next, (great Neptune was his sire,)Secure of steel, and fated from the fire, In pomp appears, and with his ardor warms A heartless train, unexercis'd in arms:
