While these affairs in distant places pass'd, The various Iris Juno sends with haste, To find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought, The secret shade of his great grandsire sought.
Retir'd alone she found the daring man, And op'd her rosy lips, and thus began:
"What none of all the gods could grant thy vows, That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows.
Aeneas, gone to seek th' Arcadian prince, Has left the Trojan camp without defense;And, short of succors there, employs his pains In parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains.
Now snatch an hour that favors thy designs;Unite thy forces, and attack their lines."This said, on equal wings she pois'd her weight, And form'd a radiant rainbow in her flight.
The Daunian hero lifts his hands eyes, And thus invokes the goddess as she flies:
"Iris, the grace of heav'n, what pow'r divine Has sent thee down, thro' dusky clouds to shine?
See, they divide; immortal day appears, And glitt'ring planets dancing in their spheres!
With joy, these happy omens I obey, And follow to the war the god that leads the way."Thus having said, as by the brook he stood, He scoop'd the water from the crystal flood;Then with his hands the drops to heav'n he throws, And loads the pow'rs above with offer'd vows.
Now march the bold confed'rates thro' the plain, Well hors'd, well clad; a rich and shining train.
Messapus leads the van; and, in the rear, The sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear.
In the main battle, with his flaming crest, The mighty Turnus tow'rs above the rest.
Silent they move, majestically slow, Like ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow.
The Trojans view the dusty cloud from far, And the dark menace of the distant war.
Caicus from the rampire saw it rise, Black'ning the fields, and thick'ning thro' the skies.
Then to his fellows thus aloud he calls:
"What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls?
Arm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears And pointed darts! the Latian host appears."Thus warn'd, they shut their gates; with shouts ascend The bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend:
For their wise gen'ral, with foreseeing care, Had charg'd them not to tempt the doubtful war, Nor, tho' provok'd, in open fields advance, But close within their lines attend their chance.
Unwilling, yet they keep the strict command, And sourly wait in arms the hostile band.
The fiery Turnus flew before the rest:
A piebald steed of Thracian strain he press'd;His helm of massy gold, and crimson was his crest.
With twenty horse to second his designs, An unexpected foe, he fac'd the lines.
"Is there," he said, "in arms, who bravely dare His leader's honor and his danger share?"Then spurring on, his brandish'd dart he threw, In sign of war: applauding shouts ensue.
Amaz'd to find a dastard race, that run Behind the rampires and the battle shun, He rides around the camp, with rolling eyes, And stops at ev'ry post, and ev'ry passage tries.
So roams the nightly wolf about the fold:
Wet with descending show'rs, and stiff with cold, He howls for hunger, and he grins for pain, (His gnashing teeth are exercis'd in vain,)And, impotent of anger, finds no way In his distended paws to grasp the prey.
The mothers listen; but the bleating lambs Securely swig the dug, beneath the dams.
Thus ranges eager Turnus o'er the plain.
Sharp with desire, and furious with disdain;Surveys each passage with a piercing sight, To force his foes in equal field to fight.
Thus while he gazes round, at length he spies, Where, fenc'd with strong redoubts, their navy lies, Close underneath the walls; the washing tide Secures from all approach this weaker side.
He takes the wish'd occasion, fills his hand With ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand.
Urg'd by his presence, ev'ry soul is warm'd, And ev'ry hand with kindled firs is arm'd.
From the fir'd pines the scatt'ring sparkles fly;Fat vapors, mix'd with flames, involve the sky.
What pow'r, O Muses, could avert the flame Which threaten'd, in the fleet, the Trojan name?
Tell: for the fact, thro' length of time obscure, Is hard to faith; yet shall the fame endure.
'T is said that, when the chief prepar'd his flight, And fell'd his timber from Mount Ida's height, The grandam goddess then approach'd her son, And with a mother's majesty begun:
"Grant me," she said, "the sole request I bring, Since conquer'd heav'n has own'd you for its king.
On Ida's brows, for ages past, there stood, With firs and maples fill'd, a shady wood;And on the summit rose a sacred grove, Where I was worship'd with religious love.
Those woods, that holy grove, my long delight, I gave the Trojan prince, to speed his flight.
Now, fill'd with fear, on their behalf I come;Let neither winds o'erset, nor waves intomb The floating forests of the sacred pine;But let it be their safety to be mine."
Then thus replied her awful son, who rolls The radiant stars, and heav'n and earth controls:
"How dare you, mother, endless date demand For vessels molded by a mortal hand?
What then is fate? Shall bold Aeneas ride, Of safety certain, on th' uncertain tide?
Yet, what I can, I grant; when, wafted o'er, The chief is landed on the Latian shore, Whatever ships escape the raging storms, At my command shall change their fading forms To nymphs divine, and plow the wat'ry way, Like Dotis and the daughters of the sea."To seal his sacred vow, by Styx he swore, The lake of liquid pitch, the dreary shore, And Phlegethon's innavigable flood, And the black regions of his brother god.
He said; and shook the skies with his imperial nod.
And now at length the number'd hours were come, Prefix'd by fate's irrevocable doom, When the great Mother of the Gods was free To save her ships, and finish Jove's decree.
First, from the quarter of the morn, there sprung A light that sign'd the heav'ns, and shot along;Then from a cloud, fring'd round with golden fires, Were timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs;And, last, a voice, with more than mortal sounds, Both hosts, in arms oppos'd, with equal horror wounds:
