Now forth beneath the wide-swung city-gatesthe mounted squadron poured; Aeneas rode,companioned of Achates, in the van;then other lords of Troy. There Pallas shoneconspicuous in the midmost line, with cloakand blazoned arms, as when the Morning-star(To Venus dearest of all orbs that burn),out of his lucent bath in ocean wavelifts to the skies his countenance divine,and melts the shadows of the night away.Upon the ramparts trembling matrons standand follow with dimmed eyes the dusty cloudwhence gleam the brazen arms. The warriors ridestraight on through brake and fell, the nearest way;loud ring the war-cries, and in martial linethe pounding hoof-beats shake the crumbling ground.By Caere's cold flood lies an ample groverevered from age to age. The hollowing hillsenclasp it in wide circles of dark fir,and the Pelasgians, so the legends tell,primaeval settlers of the Latin plains,called it the haunt of Silvan, kindly godof flocks and fields, and honoring the grovegave it a festal day. Hard by this spothad Tarchon with the Tuscans fortifiedhis bivouac, and from the heights afarhis legions could be seen in wide arrayoutstretching through the plain. To meet them thereAeneas and his veteran chivalrymade sure advance, and found repose at evefor warrior travel-worn and fainting steed.

But now athwart the darkening air of heavencame Venus gleaming bright, to bring her sonthe gifts divine. In deep, sequestered valeshe found him by a cooling rill retired,and hailed him thus: “Behold the promised gift,by craft and power of my Olympian spousemade perfect, that my son need never fearLaurentum's haughty host, nor to provokefierce Turnus to the fray.” Cythera's Queenso saying, embraced her son, and hung the arms,all glittering, on an oak that stood thereby.The hero, with exultant heart and proud,gazing unwearied at his mother's gift,surveys them close, and poises in his handsthe helmet's dreadful crest and glancing flame,the sword death-dealing, and the corselet strong,impenetrable brass, blood-red and large,like some dark-lowering, purple cloud that gleamsbeneath the smiting sun and flashes farits answering ray; and burnished greaves were there,fine gold and amber; then the spear and shield —the shield—of which the blazonry divineexceeds all power to tell. Thereon were seenItalia's story and triumphant Rome,wrought by the Lord of Fire, who was not blindto lore inspired and prophesying song,fore-reading things to come. He pictured thereIulus' destined line of glorious sonsmarshalled for many a war. In cavern green,haunt of the war-god, lay the mother-wolf;the twin boy-sucklings at her udders played,nor feared such nurse; with long neck backward thrownshe fondled each, and shaped with busy tonguetheir bodies fair. Near these were pictured well the walls of Rome and ravished Sabine wivesin the thronged theatre violently seized,when the great games were done; then, sudden warof Romulus against the Cures grimand hoary Tatius; next, the end of strifebetween the rival kings, who stood in armsbefore Jove's sacred altar, cup in hand,and swore a compact o'er the slaughtered swine.Hard by, behold, the whirling chariots toreMettus asunder (would thou hadst been true,false Alban, to thy vow!); and Tullus trailedthe traitor's mangled corse along the hills,the wild thorn dripping gore. Porsenna, next,sent to revolted Rome his proud commandto take her Tarquin back, and with strong siegeassailed the city's wall; while unsubduedAeneas' sons took arms in freedom's name.there too the semblance of the frustrate King,a semblance of his wrath and menace vain,when Cocles broke the bridge, and Cloelia bursther captive bonds and swam the Tiber's wave.Lo, on the steep Tarpeian citadelstood Manlius at the sacred doors of Jove,holding the capitol, whereon was seenthe fresh-thatched house of Romulus the King.There, too, all silver, through arcade of goldfluttered the goose, whose monitory callrevealed the foeman at the gate: outsidebesieging Gauls the thorny pathway climbed,ambushed in shadow and the friendly darkof night without a star; their flowing hairwas golden, and their every vesture gold;their cloaks were glittering plaid; each milk-white neckbore circlet of bright gold; in each man's handtwo Alpine javelins gleamed, and for defencelong shields the wild northern warriors bore.There, graven cunningly, the Salian choirwent leaping, and in Lupercalian feastthe naked striplings ran; while others, crownedwith peaked cap, bore shields that fell from heaven;and, bearing into Rome their emblems old,chaste priestesses on soft-strewn litters passed.But far from these th' artificer divinehad wrought a Tartarus, the dreadful doorsof Pluto, and the chastisements of sin;swung o'er a threatening precipice, was seenthy trembling form, O Catiline, in fearof fury-faces nigh: and distant farth' assemblies of the righteous, in whose midstwas Cato, giving judgment and decree.

Encircled by these pictures ran the wavesof vast, unrestful seas in flowing gold,where seemed along the azure crests to flythe hoary foam, and in a silver ringthe tails of swift, emerging dolphins lashedthe waters bright, and clove the tumbling brine.For the shield's central glory could be seengreat fleets of brazen galleys, and the fightat Actium; where, ablaze with war's array,Leucate's peak glowed o'er the golden tide.Caesar Augustus led Italia's sonsto battle: at his side concordant movedSenate and Roman People, with their godsof hearth and home, and all Olympian Powers.Uplifted on his ship he stands; his browsbeneath a double glory smile, and brightover his forehead beams the Julian star.in neighboring region great Agrippa leads,by favor of fair winds and friendly Heaven,his squadron forth: upon his brows he wearsthe peerless emblem of his rostral crown.Opposing, in barbaric splendor shinethe arms of Antony: in victor's garbfrom nations in the land of morn he rides,and from the Red Sea, bringing in his trainEgypt and Syria, utmost Bactria's horde,and last—O shameless!—his Egyptian spouse.All to the fight make haste; the slanted oarsand triple beaks of brass uptear the wavesto angry foam, as to the deep they speedlike hills on hill-tops hurled, or Cyclades drifting and clashing in the sea: so vastthat shock of castled ships and mighty men!Swift, arrowy steel and balls of blazing towrain o'er the waters, till the sea-god's worldflows red with slaughter. In the midst, the Queen,sounding her native timbrel, wildly callsher minions to the fight, nor yet can seetwo fatal asps behind. Her monster-gods,barking Anubis, and his mongrel crew,on Neptune, Venus, and Minerva flingtheir impious arms; the face of angry Mars,carved out of iron, in the centre frowns,grim Furies fill the air; Discordia stridesin rent robe, mad with joy; and at her side,bellona waves her sanguinary scourge.There Actian Apollo watched the war,and o'er it stretched his bow; which when they knew, Egyptian, Arab, and swart Indian slave,and all the sons of Saba fled awayin terror of his arm. The vanquished Queenmade prayer to all the winds, and more and moreflung out the swelling sail: on wind-swept waveshe fled through dead and dying; her white browthe Lord of Fire had cunningly portrayedblanched with approaching doom. Beyond her laythe large-limbed picture of the mournful Nile,who from his bosom spread his garments wide,and offered refuge in his sheltering streamsand broad, blue breast, to all her fallen power.But Caesar in his triple triumph passedthe gates of Rome, and gave Italia's gods,for grateful offering and immortal praise,three hundred temples; all the city streetswith game and revel and applauding songrang loud; in all the temples altars burnedand Roman matrons prayed; the slaughtered herdsstrewed well the sacred ground. The hero, thronedat snow-white marble threshold of the faneto radiant Phoebus, views the gift and spoilthe nations bring, and on the portals proudhangs a perpetual garland: in long filethe vanquished peoples pass, of alien tongues,of arms and vesture strange. Here Vulcan showedungirdled Afric chiefs and Nomads bold,Gelonian bowmen, men of Caria,and Leleges. Euphrates seemed to flowwith humbler wave; the world's remotest men,Morini came, with double-horned Rhine,and Dahae, little wont to bend the knee,and swift Araxes, for a bridge too proud.

Such was the blazoned shield his mother gavefrom Vulcan's forge; which with astonished eyesAeneas viewed, and scanned with joyful mindsuch shadows of an unknown age to be;then on his shoulder for a burden borethe destined mighty deeds of all his sons.

While thus in distant region moves the war,down to bold Turnus Saturn's daughter sendscelestial Iris. In a sacred vale,the seat of worship at his grandsire's tomb,Pilumnus, Faunus' son, the hero mused.And thus the wonder-child of Thaumas calledwith lips of rose: “O Turnus, what no goddared give for reward of thy fondest vow,has come unbidden on its destined day.Behold, Aeneas, who has left behindthe city with his fleet and followers,is gone to kingly Palatine, the homeof good Evander. Yea, his march invadesthe far Etrurian towns, where now he armsthe Lydian rustics. Wilt thou longer muse?Call for thy chariot and steeds! Away!Take yonder tents by terror and surprise!”She spoke; and heavenward on poising wingssoared, cleaving as she fled from cloud to clouda vast, resplendent bow. The warrior saw,and, lifting both his hands, pursued with prayerthe fading glory: “Beauteous Iris, hail!Proud ornament of heaven! who sent thee hereacross yon cloud to earth, and unto me?Whence may this sudden brightness fall? I seethe middle welkin lift, and many a star,far-wandering in the sky. Such solemn signI shall obey, and thee, O god unknown!”So saying, he turned him to a sacred stream,took water from its brim, and offered Heavenmuch prayer, with many an importuning vow.