My Pallas were more fit to mount the throne, And should, but he's a Sabine mother's son, And half a native; but, in you, combine A manly vigor, and a foreign line.
Where Fate and smiling Fortune shew the way, Pursue the ready path to sov'reign sway.
The staff of my declining days, my son, Shall make your good or ill success his own;In fighting fields from you shall learn to dare, And serve the hard apprenticeship of war;Your matchless courage and your conduct view, And early shall begin t' admire and copy you.
Besides, two hundred horse he shall command;Tho' few, a warlike and well-chosen band.
These in my name are listed; and my son As many more has added in his own."Scarce had he said; Achates and his guest, With downcast eyes, their silent grief express'd;Who, short of succors, and in deep despair, Shook at the dismal prospect of the war.
But his bright mother, from a breaking cloud, To cheer her issue, thunder'd thrice aloud;Thrice forky lightning flash'd along the sky, And Tyrrhene trumpets thrice were heard on high.
Then, gazing up, repeated peals they hear;And, in a heav'n serene, refulgent arms appear:
Redd'ning the skies, and glitt'ring all around, The temper'd metals clash, and yield a silver sound.
The rest stood trembling, struck with awe divine;Aeneas only, conscious to the sign, Presag'd th' event, and joyful view'd, above, Th' accomplish'd promise of the Queen of Love.
Then, to th' Arcadian king: "This prodigy (Dismiss your fear) belongs alone to me.
Heav'n calls me to the war: th' expected sign Is giv'n of promis'd aid, and arms divine.
My goddess mother, whose indulgent care Foresaw the dangers of the growing war, This omen gave, when bright Vulcanian arms, Fated from force of steel by Stygian charms, Suspended, shone on high: she then foreshow'd Approaching fights, and fields to float in blood.
Turnus shall dearly pay for faith forsworn;And corps, and swords, and shields, on Tiber borne, Shall choke his flood: now sound the loud alarms;And, Latian troops, prepare your perjur'd arms."He said, and, rising from his homely throne, The solemn rites of Hercules begun, And on his altars wak'd the sleeping fires;Then cheerful to his household gods retires;There offers chosen sheep.Th' Arcadian king And Trojan youth the same oblations bring.
Next, of his men and ships he makes review;Draws out the best and ablest of the crew.
Down with the falling stream the refuse run, To raise with joyful news his drooping son.
Steeds are prepar'd to mount the Trojan band, Who wait their leader to the Tyrrhene land.
A sprightly courser, fairer than the rest, The king himself presents his royal guest:
A lion's hide his back and limbs infold, Precious with studded work, and paws of gold.
Fame thro' the little city spreads aloud Th' intended march, amid the fearful crowd:
The matrons beat their breasts, dissolve in tears, And double their devotion in their fears.
The war at hand appears with more affright, And rises ev'ry moment to the sight.
Then old Evander, with a close embrace, Strain'd his departing friend; and tears o'erflow his face.
"Would Heav'n," said he, "my strength and youth recall, Such as I was beneath Praeneste's wall;Then when I made the foremost foes retire, And set whole heaps of conquer'd shields on fire;When Herilus in single fight I slew, Whom with three lives Feronia did endue;And thrice I sent him to the Stygian shore, Till the last ebbing soul return'd no more-Such if I stood renew'd, not these alarms, Nor death, should rend me from my Pallas' arms;Nor proud Mezentius, thus unpunish'd, boast His rapes and murthers on the Tuscan coast.
Ye gods, and mighty Jove, in pity bring Relief, and hear a father and a king!
If fate and you reserve these eyes, to see My son return with peace and victory;If the lov'd boy shall bless his father's sight;If we shall meet again with more delight;Then draw my life in length; let me sustain, In hopes of his embrace, the worst of pain.
But if your hard decrees- which, O! I dread-Have doom'd to death his undeserving head;This, O this very moment, let me die!
While hopes and fears in equal balance lie;While, yet possess'd of all his youthful charms, I strain him close within these aged arms;Before that fatal news my soul shall wound!"He said, and, swooning, sunk upon the ground.
His servants bore him off, and softly laid His languish'd limbs upon his homely bed.
The horsemen march; the gates are open'd wide;Aeneas at their head, Achates by his side.
Next these, the Trojan leaders rode along;Last follows in the rear th' Arcadian throng.
Young Pallas shone conspicuous o'er the rest;Gilded his arms, embroider'd was his vest.
So, from the seas, exerts his radiant head The star by whom the lights of heav'n are led;Shakes from his rosy locks the pearly dews, Dispels the darkness, and the day renews.
The trembling wives the walls and turrets crowd, And follow, with their eyes, the dusty cloud, Which winds disperse by fits, and shew from far The blaze of arms, and shields, and shining war.
The troops, drawn up in beautiful array, O'er heathy plains pursue the ready way.
Repeated peals of shouts are heard around;The neighing coursers answer to the sound, And shake with horny hoofs the solid ground.
A greenwood shade, for long religion known, Stands by the streams that wash the Tuscan town, Incompass'd round with gloomy hills above, Which add a holy horror to the grove.
The first inhabitants of Grecian blood, That sacred forest to Silvanus vow'd, The guardian of their flocks and fields; and pay Their due devotions on his annual day.
Not far from hence, along the river's side, In tents secure, the Tuscan troops abide, By Tarchon led.Now, from a rising ground, Aeneas cast his wond'ring eyes around, And all the Tyrrhene army had in sight, Stretch'd on the spacious plain from left to right.
Thether his warlike train the Trojan led, Refresh'd his men, and wearied horses fed.
Meantime the mother goddess, crown'd with charms, Breaks thro' the clouds, and brings the fated arms.
