But lo! from Argos on her voyage of air rides the dread spouse of Jove. She, sky-enthroned above the far Sicilian promontory, pachynus, sees Dardania's rescued fleet, and all Aeneas' joy. The prospect shows houses a-building, lands of safe abode, and the abandoned ships. With bitter grief she stands at gaze: then with storm-shaken brows, thus from her heart lets loose the wrathful word: “O hated race! O Phrygian destinies — to mine forevermore (unhappy me!) a scandal and offense! Did no one die on Troy 's embattled plain? Could captured slaves not be enslaved again? Was Ilium's flame no warrior's funeral pyre? Did they walk safe through serried swords and congregated fires? At last, methought, my godhead might repose, and my full-fed revenge in slumber lie. But nay! Though flung forth from their native land, I o'er the waves, with enmity unstayed, dared give them chase, and on that exiled few hurled the whole sea. I smote the sons of Troy 
 with ocean's power and heaven's. But what availed Syrtes, or Scylla, or Charybdis' waves? The Trojans are in Tiber ; and abide within their prayed-for land delectable, safe from the seas and me! Mars once had power the monstrous Lapithae to slay; and Jove to Dian's honor and revenge gave o'er the land of Calydon. What crime so foul was wrought by Lapithae or Calydon? But I, Jove's wife and Queen, who in my woes have ventured each bold stroke my power could find, and every shift essayed,—behold me now outdone by this Aeneas! If so weak my own prerogative of godhead be, let me seek strength in war, come whence it will! If Heaven I may not move, on Hell I call. To bar him from his Latin throne exceeds my fated power. So be it! Fate has given Lavinia for his bride. But long delays I still can plot, and to the high event deferment and obstruction. I can smite the subjects of both kings. Let sire and son buy with their people's blood this marriage-bond! Let Teucrian and Rutulian slaughter be thy virgin dower, and Bellona's blaze light thee the bridal bed! Not only teemed the womb of Hecuba with burning brand, and brought forth nuptial fires; but Venus, too, such offspring bore, a second Paris, who to their new Troy shall fatal wedlock bring.” So saying, with aspect terrible she sped earthward her way; and called from gloom of hell Alecto, woeful power, from cloudy throne among the Furies, where her heart is fed with horrid wars, wrath, vengeance, treason foul, and fatal feuds. Her father Pluto loathes the creature he engendered, and with hate her hell-born sister-fiends the monster view. A host of shapes she wears, and many a front of frowning black brows viper-garlanded. Juno to her this goading speech addressed: “O daughter of dark Night, arouse for me thy wonted powers and our task begin! Lest now my glory fail, my royal name be vanquished, while Aeneas and his crew cheat with a wedlock bond the Latin King and seize Italia 's fields. Thou canst thrust on two Ioving brothers to draw sword and slay, and ruin homes with hatred, calling in the scourge of Furies and avenging fires. A thousand names thou bearest, and thy ways of ruin multiply a thousand-fold. Arouse thy fertile breast! Go, rend in twain this plighted peace! Breed calumnies and sow causes of battle, till yon warrior hosts cry out for swords and leap to gird them on.” Straightway Alecto, through whose body flows the Gorgon poison, took her viewless way to Latium and the lofty walls and towers of the Laurentian King. Crouching she sate in silence on the threshold of the bower where Queen Amata in her fevered soul pondered, with all a woman's wrath and fear, upon the Trojans and the marriage-suit of Turnus. From her Stygian hair the fiend a single serpent flung, which stole its way to the Queen's very heart, that, frenzy-driven, she might on her whole house confusion pour. Betwixt her smooth breast and her robe it wound unfelt, unseen, and in her wrathful mind instilled its viper soul. Like golden chain around her neck it twined, or stretched along the fillets on her brow, or with her hair enwrithing coiled; then on from limb to limb slipped tortuous. Yet though the venom strong thrilled with its first infection every vein, and touched her bones with fire, she knew it not, nor yielded all her soul, but made her plea in gentle accents such as mothers use; and many a tear she shed, about her child, her darling, destined for a Phrygian's bride: “O father! can we give Lavinia's hand to Trojan fugitives? why wilt thou show no mercy on thy daughter, nor thyself; nor unto me, whom at the first fair wind that wretch will leave deserted, bearing far upon his pirate ship my stolen child? Was it not thus that Phrygian shepherd came to Lacedaemon , ravishing away Helen, the child of Leda, whom he bore to those false Trojan lands? Hast thou forgot thy plighted word? Where now thy boasted love of kith and kin, and many a troth-plight given unto our kinsman Turnus? If we need an alien son, and Father Faunus' words irrevocably o'er thy spirit brood, I tell thee every land not linked with ours under one sceptre, but distinct and free, is alien; and 't is thus the gods intend. Indeed, if Turnus' ancient race be told, it sprang of Inachus, Acrisius, and out of mid- Mycenae .” But she sees her lord Latinus resolute, her words an effort vain; and through her body spreads the Fury's deeply venomed viper-sting. Then, woe-begone, by dark dreams goaded on, she wanders aimless, fevered and unstrung along the public ways; as oft one sees beneath the twisted whips a leaping top sped in long spirals through a palace-close by lads at play: obedient to the thong, it weaves wide circles in the gaping view of its small masters, who admiring see the whirling boxwood made a living thing under their lash. So fast and far she roved from town to town among the clansmen wild. Then to the wood she ran, feigning to feel the madness Bacchus loves; for she essays a fiercer crime, by fiercer frenzy moved. Now in the leafy dark of mountain vales she hides her daughter, ravished thus away from Trojan bridegroom and the wedding-feast. “Hail, Bacchus! Thou alone,” she shrieked and raved, “art worthy such a maid. For thee she bears the thyrsus with soft ivy-clusters crowned, and trips ecstatic in thy beauteous choir. For thee alone my daughter shall unbind the glory of her virgin hair.” Swift runs the rumor of her deed; and, frenzy-driven, the wives of Latium to the forests fly, enkindled with one rage. They leave behind their desolated hearths, and let rude winds o'er neck and tresses blow; their voices fill the welkin with convulsive shriek and wail; and, with fresh fawn-skins on their bodies bound, they brandish vine-clad spears. The Queen herself lifts high a blazing pine tree, while she sings a wedding-song for Turnus and her child. With bloodshot glance and anger wild, she cries: “Ho! all ye Latin wives, if e'er ye knew kindness for poor Amata, if ye care for a wronged mother's woes, O, follow me! Cast off the matron fillet from your brows, and revel to our mad, voluptuous song.” Thus, through the woodland haunt of creatures wild, Alecto urges on the raging Queen with Bacchus' cruel goad. But when she deemed the edge of wrath well whetted, and the house of wise Latinus of all reason reft, then soared the black-winged goddess to the walls of the bold Rutule, to the city built (So runs the tale) by beauteous Danae and her Acrisian people, shipwrecked there by south wind strong. Its name was Ardea 
 in language of our sires, and that proud name of Ardea still it wears, though proud no more. Here Turnus in the gloom of midnight lay half-sleeping in his regal hall. For him Alecto her grim fury-guise put by, and wore an old crone's face, her baleful brow delved deep with wrinkled age, her hoary hair in sacred fillet bound, and garlanded with leaf of olive: Calybe she seemed, an aged servitress ot Juno's shrine, and in this seeming thus the prince addressed:— “O Turnus, wilt thou tamely see thy toil lavished in vain? and thy true throne consigned to Trojan wanderers? The King repels thy noble wooing and thy war-won dower. He summons him a son of alien stem to take his kingdom. Rouse thee now, and front, scorned and without reward, these perilous days. Tread down that Tuscan host! Protect the peace 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.