But now the frantic queen, on these alarms,
Half-dead with fear, hung trembling on his arms:
"Oh! grant me, Turnus, grant this one request;
If ever love or rev'rence touch'd thy breast
For lost Amata, to these sorrows yield!
Nor meet thy rival in the fatal field.
Regard, dear youth, regard my streaming tears,
Thou only prop of my declining years!
Our sinking house relies on thee alone;

On thee, our fame, our empire, and the throne.
In thy misfortune must Amata join;
Her fate and welfare are involv'd in thine.
With thee to death, for refuge, will I run,
Nor live a captive to a Trojan son."

With pity touch'd, the fair Lavinia hears
Her mother's cries, and answers with her tears.
A lovely blush the modest virgin warms,
Glows in her cheek, and lights up all her charms.
So looks the beauteous iv'ry, stain'd with red:
So roses, mixt with lilies in the bed,
Blend their rich hues-then, gazing on the fair,
The hero rag'd, more eager for the war.
And thus-" O royal mother! cease your fears,
Nor send me to the fight with boding tears.
'Tis not in me, if Heav'n has fix'd my date,
To check th' unalterable course of fate.
Go, faithful herald, go! and instant bear
This dreaded message to the Phrygian's ear:
"Soon as Aurora's rays the mountain gild,
He need not lead his forces to the field:
Our single valour shall dispute the day
(The hosts in peace the combat shall survey).
Thus shall his death or mine the war decide,
And the proud victor gain the royal bride."

He said; and furious to the palace speeds; There, at his call, rush forth the fiery steeds, Of matchless spirit, and immortal kind, White as the snow, and swifter than the wind. Of old, to great Pilumnus, bold and brave, The sires of these Erectheus' daughter gave. Before their lord the gen'rous coursers bound, Neigh, foam, and fly, and paw the trembling ground; The grooms with combs their flowing manes divide, And gently stroke their chests, and soothe their noble pride.

Meantime the hero drew his armour on ;
With gold and burnish'd brass the cuirass shone.
The glitt'ring helmet next bis temple spread;
The crimson crest plays dreadful o'er his head:
"He grasps the pond'rous shield, and flaming blade,
The sword that Vulcan for his father made,
Of matchless temper; which the fiery god
Had plung'd red-hissing in the Stygian flood.
Last the bright spear he seiz'd, large, strong, and
tall,

Propp'd on a column 'midst the lofty hall;
The mighty Actor's spoil. The hero shook
The beamy jav'lin; and with fury spoke :

My trusty spear, still faithful to my hand! Still wing'd with death, to answer my command: Which once brave Actor's arm was wont to wield! And mine now throws; the terrour of the field! In this great moment fly, nor fly in vain, But stretch yon Phrygian eunuch on the plain: Oh! give me, thro' his heart thy point to thrust, And soil his scented tresses in the dust, The costly cuirass from his breast to tear, And by one noble stroke to terminate the war !" Thus, fir'd with fury, to the fight he flies; Keen flash the flames, and lighten from his eyes.

So the fierce bull, collected in his might,
Roars for his rival, and demands the fight;
Impatient for the war, with fury burns,
And tries on every tree his angry horns;
Bends his stern brows, and pushes at the air;
And paws the flying sands, the prelude of the war.
As fierce and eager for the dire alarms,
The Trojan blazes in celestial arms;
To meet his rival in the field prepares,
Pleas'd with the fight to terminate the wars.
He sets his sorrowing friends and son at ease;
Expounds the fates' unchangeable decrees;
And instant bids the messengers report
The terms of combat to the Latian court.

Scarce had the morn (all beauteous to behold!) Tipt the blue mountains with a gleam of gold; The Sun's fierce steeds, high-bounding o'er the

sea,

From their wide nostrils snort the beams of day;
When for the chiefs they drew a line around,
And in just limits close the listed ground:
Then verdant altars raise to all the pow'rs
Of Earth or Heav'n, whom either host adores.
In linen robes, with vervain crown'd, they bring
The sacred fire, and water from the spring.

Here, with bright lances, all th' Ausonian train
Pour through the op'ning portals to the plain:
The Trojans there, and Tuscans in array,
And ranks embattled bend their eager way.
Amid the thousands, with a grace divine,
In gold and purple gay, the leaders shine.
Here, tow'ring o'er the troops Asylas stood;
Great Mnestheus there, of Troy's imperial blood;
There, brave Messapus, of immortal strain,
Sprung from the mighty monarch of the main.
The sign now giv'n through each impatient host,
Each chief retires to his appointed post.
At ease the soldiers fall their pond'rous shields,
And pitch their idle jav'lins in the fields.
Old sires and matrons, with the vulgar throng,
Lean'd o'er the walls, and from the turrets hung.
With longing eyes the great event they wait,
And crowds on crowds press forward thro' the gate,

But from the fam'd Albano's shady brows, (Though then without a name the mountain rose) The queen of Heav'n the Latian town beheld, The hosts embattled, and the crowded field. Then to brave Turnus' sister, who presides O'er lakes and streams, and awes the roaring tides, (On the fair nymph that province was bestow'd, For her lost honour, by the thund'ring god) Her fears the goddess of the skies express'd; And thus the regent of the floods address'd:

"Queen of the founts and streams, and far above The race of Latian nymphs in Juno's love, Those nymphs, who, by my wand'ring lord misled, Presum'd to mount our own imperial bed; Yet thee I suffer'd in his grace to rise, And share th' immortal honours of the skies. With deep concern sad tidings must I bear, What I must grieve to speak, and you to hear. The Latian state and Turnus, in the war, While fortune favour'd, were my constant care. Now his inevitable hour draws nigh; On terms unequal is he doom'd to die. But from the fatal field, th' appointed fight, Lo! 1 retire; nor can I bear the sight. If thou can'st save him yet from death, descend: Some better fate thy efforts may attend; Fly-and exert the sister and the friend."

war.

"Thou land, for which I wage the war, and thou,
Great source of day, be witness to my vow!
Almighty king of Heav'n, and queen of air,
(Propitious now, and reconcil'd, by pray'r)
Thou Mars, enthron'd on great Olympus' height,
Lord of the field, and master of the fight;
Ye springs, ye floods, ye various pow'rs who lie
Beneath the deeps, or tread the golden sky;
Hear, and attest! if, victor in the fray,
The Daunian leader gains the glorious day,
My son his claim of empire shall release;
My Trojan subjects shall depart in peace.
But should the conquest prove my happy lot,
(For so I think, and Heav'n confirm the thought!)
The Latians never shall my rule obey;
Already I disclaim th' imperial sway.
From fight let each unconquer'd nation cease,
And join in leagues of everlasting peace.
To king Latinus I resign the care,

The pomp of state, with all concerns of war,
And ev'ry regal claim :-the rites divine,
And the religious province, shall be mine.
For me my Trojan friends a town shall frame,
And grace the tow'rs with fair Lavinia's name."
Thus be. Then old Latinus lifts his eyes,
And his right band, with rev'rence, to the skies.
66 By the same oath, by Heav'n, and earth, and
main,

And all the pow'rs, that all the three contain;
Latona's twins, that grace the bright abode;
Janus, the mighty, double-fronted god!
Th' infernal monarch, and the fiends below,
And Jove, whose bolts avenge the broken vow!
To sanctify my word, behold! I stand,
And on these hallow'd altars lay my hand:
Whate'er ensues, misfortune or success,

No time shall break this solemn league of peace,
Nor shake my purpose; but entire, and whole,
I'll keep the sacred tenour of my soul;
VOL XIX,

No art shall win me, and no pow'r compel ;
Not, tho' the golden skies should plunge to Hell;
Yon starry splendours from their spheres should fall
And Ocean spread his waters o'er the ball.
Firm is the sword, and sure the oath I swore ;
Sure, as this sceptre ne'er shall flourish more;
No more its verdant honours shall renew,
Lopt from the mother-tree where once it grews
Now by the artist's hand adorn'd with brass,
And worn successive by our regal race!"

The princes thus the solemn compact bound
By mutual oaths, with all the peers around.
The priests before the fires the victims slay;
Eager the smoking entrails rend away;
And, on the altars rang'd, the loaded chargers lay,
But the Rutulians griev'd, by fears opprest,,
And various tumults work'd in ev'ry breast.
Long since they saw their prince o'ermatch'd in
might,

And curs'd the terms of such unequal fight.
Their dread increases, as the chiefs draw near,
And Turnus' looks augment the gen'ral fear.
Trembling, aghast, he moves with silent pace
A deadly paleness spreads o'er all his face.
Close by the altar's side, in care profound,
His pensive eyes he fix'd upon the ground.
Soon as the sister saw the giddy crowd
Had changed their minds, and spoke their fears
In great Camerte's form, of high renown [aloud;
For birth, his father's valour and his own,
Her flight amidst the murm'ring bands she took,
Inflam'd their rage, and thus the host bespoke:

"What shame, Rutulians, valiant as we are,
On one to lay the whole success of war!
Behold the utmost force the foe can boast,
The few poor relics of their shatter'd host.
Heav'ns!-can we shrink from such a slender
power!

Are not our men the same? our numbers more?
Should our whole army to the fight repair,
Scarce all their troops would half employ our war
'Tis true, your hero to the gods shall rise,
A self-devoted victim, to the skies.
Yet the brave chief eternal praise shall claim,
And live for ever in a length of fame:
While we, O shame! a base degen❜rate host,
Look tamely on, and see our country lost!
Stretch our vile hands to servitude abhorr'd,
And court the bondage of a foreign lord!"

This fiery speech inflam'd the list'ning train;
Through all the host the gath'ring murmur rạn.
Now chang'd, the Latians wish for peace no more,
But long to break the league they sought before.
They pity Turnus' fortune, and prepare,
With eager ardour to renew the war.

His sister sent (the tumult to improve)
A false delusive omen from above.
In pomp a tow'ring eagle soars on high,
And sudden, shooting from th' ethereal sky,
Drives a vast flock of wat'ry fowls before,
On sounding wings, along the winding shore;
Then, where the floods in soft meanders ran,
In his huge talons truss'd a silver swan.
Th' astonish'd Latian bands in courage rise,
When lo! the flock (more wond'rous to their eyes)
Turn, and pursue the victor through the skies.
Prest by the foe, encumber d with the prey,
He drops the prize, and wings th' aëria! way;
With shouts the Latians hail th' auspicious sight,
Range all their troops, and hasten to the fight.

""Tis what I wish'd, the long-expected sign," (Tolumnius cry'd) "I thank the pow'rs divine. Rise, follow me, my friends, your aid supply, Forc'd by the foe, like yonder birds to fly ; While through your wasted shores the victor

sweeps:

Who now shall soon rush headlong to the deeps. Haste; save your leader from the fatal fray; Close, close your ranks; engage; and win the day."

He said; sprung forth; and 'midst the Trojans His furious dart, that whistled as it flew, [threw Tumultuous shouts pursue the parting spear, And all now grow more eager for the war. Nine brave Arcadians, at their squadrons' head, Gilippus' offspring by a Tuscan bed, Shone in the front; the spear impetuous flew Amidst the brothers, and the youngest slew; A lovely blooming youth; with fury cast, Beneath the belt the steely jav'lin past, Transfix'd the stripling with a deadly wound, And stretch'd him pale and gasping on the ground. All fir'd with vengeance for their brother slain, Fierce to the combat fly the martial train. Some draw the glitt'ring sword, and some advance With the broad spear, and shake the flaming lance. With equal speed, their ardour to oppose, Pour forth in endless tides the Latian foes. As swift th' Arcadian troops, with sculptur'd shields, Rush'd on with Troy, and delug'd all the fields. Straight to their ensigns the bold bands repair, Impatient to decide the great event by war.

The madding crowd the sacred rites confound; Strip the bright altars; toss the fires around; And seize the goblets: while the jav'lins fly In iron storms, and tempest all the sky. The good old king, affrighted, from the plain Bears back his violated gods again. Some yoke the coursers to the car with speed, Some vault, impetuous, on the snorting steed. Some to the field the kindling troops excite, Draw their bright swords, and headlong rush to fight.

Eager to break the peace, with all his force, The fierce Messapus spurr'd his thund'ring horse Full on Aulestes, with a furious spring, Who wore the royal ensigns of a king: O'er the high altars as the chief gave way, Headlong he plung'd in dust, and grov'ling lay. There at his length, extended on the plain, He pleads for mercy; but he pleads in vain! Th' impetuous victor flew with rapid speed, Shook his huge spear, and, bending from the steed, Transfix'd the monarch; thea, insulting, cries,

He bleeds!-this victim sure must please the
skies !"

The joyful Latians, eager for the prey,
Strip the warm corse, and bear the spoils away.
Then as the mighty Ebusus drew near,
And at bold Chorinæus shook the spear,
He rush'd against him with a furious pace,
Snatch'd a red brand, and dash'd it on his face,
Through ambient air a noisome scent expires,
As the long beard shrunk crackling in the fires.
Sturm'd as he stood with sudden darkness round,
The raging victor drags him to the ground;
Then seiz'd his locks; his forceful knee apply'd,
And plung'd the vengeful falchion in his side.
From Podalirius, eager to pursue,
Through the first ranks, the shepherd Alsus few ;

Then turn'd, and, with his axe descending full,
Cleaves at one dreadful stroke his shatter'd skull.
With blood and brains his arms are cover'd o'er;
The thirsty sands are drench'd with streams of gore.
An iron sleep came swimming o'er his sight,
And wrapp'd the warrior in eternal night

But the just Trojan prince, amidst the band, Without his helmet rush'd, and stretch'd his band: Whither, my friends, ah! whither wou'd you run?

The terms stand fixt; the combat is my own.
Dismiss your fears; nor my revenge pursue;
For Turnus, Turnus is your gen'ral's due.
That victim, these religious rites demand,
Already sacred to this conqu❜ring hand."

While yet he spoke; loud hissing through the
With thirsty rage, a feather'd arrow flies, [skies,
And reach'd the hero with a certain aim;
But from what hand, was never told by fame.
None knew, what fortune, or assisting god,
So proud a triumph on the foe bestow'd,
Nor one in all the mighty host was found,
Who claim'd the merit of so base a wound.

The chiefs astonish'd, Turnus now beheld, And the brave prince retiring from the field: High hopes of conquest in his bosom rise; Straight for his coursers, and his arms, he cries; Vaults, with a furious bound, into the car, Shakes the loose reins, and rushes to the war. Raging he spreads the growing slaughter round: Some foes expire; some welter on the ground: Some fly-in vain! for, swifter than the wind, His winged lance arrests 'em from behind. Fierce o'er the prostrate foes the hero rolls His whirling wheels, and crushes out their souls As when on Hebrus' banks the god of war Flies to the combat on his rattling car; Frowns, shouts, and, clashing on his dreadful shield, Lashes his fiery coursers to the field;

The steeds devour the ground, outstrip the wind, And leave the pinions of the storm behind: Thrace feels thro' all her realms their furious

course,

Shook by the prancings of the thund'ring horse;
Fear, Fraud, and Force, and Flight, a ghastly train
Of horrid fiends, attend him to the plain.
So drove stern Turnus with resistless might,
His smoking coursers o'er the field of fight;
Their rapid hoofs through heaps of carnage tore;
Plung'd deep into the sands, distain'd with gore;
O'er piles of dead and dying warriors bound,
And, as they fly, they dash the bloody dust around
Now hapless Thamyris and Pholus fell,
And now he sent bold Sthenelus to Hell.
These, hand to hand, he slew, approaching near;
The last, at distance, with his pointed spear:
At distance both th' Imbrasidæ expire,
Train'd in fair Lycia, by their valiant sire:
In closer fight, the dauntless warriors join'd;
Or distanc'd with their steeds the winged wind.

There with high vaunts rush'd proud Eumedes
Foredoom'd to fate, ambitious Dolon's son.
Base as his father, with his grandsire's name,
The recreant soldier sought the field of fame,
But with the luckless fortune of his sire,
Who claim'd Pelides' coursers for his hire,
When sent the Grecian army to explore;
Vain fool! he ventur'd, but return'd no more;
Slain by Tydides' hand, resign'd his breath,
And shar'd a juster recompense in death!

Him when the Daunian hero spy'd from far,
First a light dart he lanch'd in open air,
Stops the fleet steeds, and, furious, quits the car;
Stood o'er the Trojan, prostrate as he lay,
Trod on his neck, and wrench'd the sword away.
Then through his throat the deadly falchion thrust,
And thus insults him grov'ling in the dust:
"Lie there! possess the land thy valour gains!
And measure, at thy length, our Latian plains!
Such, such deserv'd rewards I still bestow,
When call'd to battle, on the vaunting foe;
Thus may you build your town, and thus enjoy
These realms, ye proud presumptuous sons of
Troy!"

Next, by his flying spear Asbutes bled:
A second lance laid mighty Chlorus dead.
In Dares' breast he plung'd the pointed steel,
And sent the bold Thersilochus to Hell:
Then pierc'd Thymates with a fatal wound,
Whose flound'ring steed had cast him to the
ground.

As o'er th' Ægean deeps when Boreas roars,
And rolls the waves tumultuous to the shores,
The driving clouds before the whirlwind fly,
And break, and scatter, through the ruffled sky:
So where bold Turnus rush'd, inflam'd with ire,
Their orders scatter, and whole hosts retire.
Whirl'd on his rapid car, the hero gains
New rage, new vigour, as he sweeps the plains.
High o'er his helm his crimson crest, inclin'd
By ev'ry breath, nods dreadful in the wind.

No more, in proud disdain, cou'd Phegeus bear
To see the hero rule the tide of war;
But, rashly furious, to the car proceeds,
Seiz'd the loose reins, and turn'd the flying steeds.
Him, as suspended on the yoke he hung,
By the swift chariot dragg'd in dust along,
Through the bor'd corslet, the sharp jav'lin found,
And rais'd the warrior with a slender wound.
Yet with his shield oppos'd he dares the blow,
And with his brandish'd sword assaults the foe.
The whirling wheels, with fiery speed impell'd,
Soon shoot him headlong on the sanguine field.
Swift Turnus follow'd, and his falchion drew;
Between the cuirass and the head it flew:
The gushing blood distains the sands around,
And the pale trunk lay grov'ling on the ground.
Thus while the conqu'ring chief his progress held,
Rag'd, storm'd, and reign'd the master of the
Achates, Mnestheus, and the royal heir,
Attend the Trojan prince with duteous care,
(As propt, and leaning on the spear, he went)
And plac'd the bleeding hero in the tent.
The steel, deep riveted, with eager hands
He tugs impatient, and their aid demands,
More wide to lay the wound, a passage bare,
Unroot the dart, and send him to the war.

[field;

Now came lapis to relieve his pain, Of old by Phœbus lov'd, nor lov'd in vain. On whom the god had proffer'd to bestow His lyre, his bays, his prescience, and his bow. But (to prolong his drooping father's days) The youth refus'd his arrows, lyre, and bays, And prescient skill; but chose the healing part, A silent, useful, though inglorious art.

Unmoy'd with all the sorrow and the care Of friends, attendants, and the royal heir, His mighty spear, th' impatient chief sustains, Who grinds his teeth for rage, nor heeds the glowing pains.

The sage now hastens to the task assign'd,
And first dispatchful tucks his robes behind;
Tries all the vegetable pow'rs around,
To cool the smart, and mitigate the wound.
His hands solicit now with tender art;
Now tug in vain with vigour at the dart. [pray't;
At length he pray'd; nor Phoebus heard the
And nearer every moment pour'd the war,
Thick and more thick the growing horrours rise;
A cloud of dust involves the golden skies. [nigh,
The trampling steeds, the thund'ring foes, drew
And 'midst the camp the show'ring jav'lins fly.
The mingling cries from ev'ry part resound;
Some shout, some groan, some gasp upon the
ground.

Now, touch'd with pity for the hero's pain,
Descends the goddess mother on the plain.
A branch of sov'reign dittany she bore,
From Ida gather'd, on the Cretan shore.
Luxuriant leaves the taper stalk array;
The stalk in flow'rs; the flow'rs in purple gay.
The goats, when pierc'd at distance by the dart,
Apply the med'cine to the wounded part.
This juice, while clouds conceal her radiant face,
The queen infuses in the golden vase!
Tempers with scented panacee the whole,
And with ambrosial liquors crowns the bowl.
Nor knew the sage the succour that he found,
But with the balmy mixture bathes the wound.
At once the throbbing anguish past away;
Stanch'd was the blood, and in the bottom lay.
The dart, though deeply rooted, at command
Moves up, and answers the physician's hand.
His former vigour now succeeds to pain,
And life burns bright in all her pow'rs again.
lapis first perceiv'd th' immortal art,
That cool'd the raging pangs, and clos'd the part.
Raptur'd he saw the cure; and first impell'd
The prince, renew'd in courage, to the field.
"Arms for the chief," he cries, " prepare his armst
And instant send him to the dire alarms,
This cure, great hero, is no work of mine,
Not mortal art, but done by hands divine.
Thy life some guardian god has made his care,
Who sends thee back to fight, and conquer in the
war."

The fierce, impatient prince had cover'd o'er
His manly legs with golden greaves before.
Now, all on fire, his mighty lance he took,
And in his hand the pond'rous weapon shook.
High on his arm the heav'nly shield he rais'd;
And on his breast the radiant cuirass blaz'd.
Then, with a close embrace, he strain'd his son;
And kiss'd hi.n thro' his helm, and thus begun :
"From me true courage, and in camps to dare,
From others learn, my son, success in war.
go to labour in the bloody fray,

To fight, and guard thee, in the dreadful day;
To crown thee with a bright immortal name;
To teach thy youth the glorious paths to fame.
Thou, in thy riper years, the virtues trace,
And copy all the worthies of thy race.
Thy soul may Hector and Æneas fire,
Thy godlike uncle, and thy martial sire !"

So spoke the hero, and, by rage impell'd,
Tow'r'd from the tent, majestic, to the field;
Shook an huge jav'lin in his vig'rous hand;
And with their chief pour'd forth the martial band.
Antheus and Mnestheus led th' embattled train,
And all rush'd furious to the deathful plain.

And clouds of dust involve the region round.

Now Turnus and his host the foe beheld
From a high mound, advancing o'er the field.
Th' astonish'd troops a gen'ral fear confounds;
But first his sister heard the dreadful sounds.
Too well she knew the dire alarms from far,
And trembling fled before the moving war.
Fierce, with their leaders, march the Trojan train;
And the black squadrons darken all the plain.
As when some tempest o'er mid ocean roars,
And, wing'd with whirlwinds, gathers to the shores;
With boding hearts the peasants hear from far
The sullen murmurs of the distant war;
Foresee the harvests levell'd with the ground,
And all the forests spread in ruins round;
Swift to the land the hollow grumbling wind
Flies, and proclaims the furious storm behind.
So swift, so furious, great Eneas flew,
And led against the foes the martial crew.
The thick'ning squadrons, wedg'd in close array,
In one black body win their desp'rate way.
By Mnestheus slain, in dust Archesius lies,
And by Thymbræus' sword Osiris dies.
Next Gyas' lance the mighty Ufens sped,
And Epulo by brave Achates bled.

Ev'n curs'd Tolumnius fell, whose fatal spear,
Lanch'd at the Dardan host, renew'd the war.
A peal of shouts, tumultuous, tore the sky,
And o'er the field the pale Rutulians fly.
But with disdain the Trojan hero glows;
Nor wastes his vengeance on inferior foes.

He scorns to fight the few who stand their ground,
Or in their backs the flying crowds to wound:
Turnus, and him alone, he calls aloud
To fight, and hunts him through the dusty cloud.
On this, his anxious sister, seiz'd with fear,
Hurl'd from his lofty seat the charioteer,
Metiscus the renown'd; tost far away,
The wond'ring chief beneath the harness lay,
Herself assumes his armour, voice, and air;
Snatches the reins, and vaults into the car.

As the black swallow, that, in quest of prey,
Round the proud palace wings her wanton way,
When for her children she provides the feast,
To still the clamours of the craving nest;
Now wild excursions round the cloyster takes;
Now, sportive winds, or skims along the lakes :
So flies the goddess on the rapid car,
From side to side, and traverses the war :
Now here, now there, she brings the chief to sight;
But still she turns him from the fatal fight.

Nor less the prince unravels all her ways, And hunts his foes through ev'ry various maze; Thrids all the shifting course, and breaks the crowd With furious speed, and calls the chief aloud. Oft has he spy'd him, and approach'd the car; As oft his sister plung'd amid the war. Where'er the Trojan hero bends his course; Averse the goddess turns the fiying horse. What should he do? a thousand thoughts divide His wav'ring soul, that points to ev'ry side! When lo! Messapus cross'd him in the field, And in his hand two shining jav'lins held. One, at the prince, with levell'd aim, he threw : Beneath his shield the cautious prince withdrew; Low bending on his knee, secure he lay; But the swift jav'lin strikes his plume away. Then, when the meditated fraud he view'd, That still his rival fled, as he pursu'd;

The rites profan'd, and violated peace;

Then rush'd amid the train; nor check nor bound
His fury knew, but stretch'd the slaughter round.
The faithless fee he thinks it vain to spare,
And, fir'd with vengeance, gives a loose to war.
What god will now inspire me, to display
The rage of death, and horrours of the day?
What crowds of heroes perish'd on the plain,
By mighty Turnus, and Æneas, slain!'
Was it thy will the nations should engage
(Great sire of Heav'n) with such unbounded rage?
So soon from war and violence to cease,
Leagu'd in a bond of everlasting peace?

Eneas first slew Sucro in the fight,
Whose sword had turn'd the Trojan troops to flight.
With a swift stroke, and all his force apply'd,
He plung'd the deadly falchion in his side.
Then, with his brother, Amycus was kill'd,
Cast from their steed by Turnus on the field.
With the long lance, this tow'ring chief he gor'd:
Thro' that, impetuous, drove the pointed sword:
Then, on his chariot hung, in triumph bore
Their heads aloft, that dropp'd with livid gere:
Next, at one charge, on three bold chiefs he flew;
Talos, and Tanais, and Cethegus, slew.
With them, of Theban race, Onytes fell,
Fair Peridia's son; and sunk to Hell.
Then bled two brothers, who from Lycia come;
Nor their own Phoebus could prevent their doom.
Next poor Menotes by his arm was slain,
Who shunn'd so Jong the dreadful war in vain ;
| A skilful angler; once he made abode,
Bless'd with content, by Lerna's plenteous flood.
There dress'd his father, to the great unknown,
A stranger field, and furrows not his own.

As the fierce flames through the tall forest fly, This way and that, and kindle all the sky; Or rapid torrents from the mountains sweep, Roar down the sides, and thunder to the deep; With weight resistless, and destructive sway, O'er half a ruin'd country break their way : So through the field, in diff'rent parts engag'd," As swift and fierce the rival heroes rag'd. They burst with wrath; they rise to ev'ry blow; They send their souls with ev'ry lance they throw.

A rock's vast weight the great Eneas threw : Th' enormous fragment like a whirlwind flew, And hurl'd Murranus on the ground, who brings His vaunted lineage from the Latian kings. Headlong the warrior from the chariot flies Amidst the harness, and encumber'd lies: The coursers startle at the flaming sword; Paw down, and trample on their dying lord.

On Hyllus, Turnus rush'd with all his might, As, fir'd with rage, the chief advanc'd to fight. Full at his golden helmet, o'er the plain The jav'lin flew, and stung him to the brain : Nor thee, the bravest of the Grecian band, Thy valour, Creteus, sav'd from Turnus' hand! Next fell the priest Cupencus in the strife, Nor his own gods could guard his sacred life; Full in his breast Æneas plung'd the dart, That pierc'd the shield, and quiver'd in his heart. Then bled great Eolus, by Turnus kill'd, And sunk, a bulk enormous on the field! Whom not the Grecian heroes could destroy, Nor all their armies, in the wars of Troy, Nor great Achilles with his vengeful steel,' Though by his arm the Phrygian empire fell.