From blood fo mix'd, a pious race shall flow;
Equal to gods, excelling all below.
No nation more refpect to you fhall pay,
Or greater offerings on your altars lay.
Juno confents, well pleas'd that her defires
Had found fuccefs, and from the clouds retires:
The peace thus made, the Thunderer next prepares
To force the watery goddess from the wars.
Deep in the dismal regions, void of light,
Three daughters at a birth were born to Night: 1225
These their brown mother, brooding on her care,
Indulg'd with windy wings to flit in air:
With ferpents girt alike, and crown'd with hiffing hair.
In heaven the Diræ call'd, and ftill at hand,
Before the throne of angry Jove they stand,
His minifters of wrath; and ready ftill
The minds of mortal men with fears to fill:
When-e'er the moody fire, to wreak his hate
On realms, or towns, deferving of their fate,
Hurls down difeafes, death, and deadly care,
And terrifies the guilty world with war.
One fifter-plague of thefe from heaven he fent,
To fright Juturna with a dire portent.
The peft comes whirling down: by far more flow Springs the fwift arrow from the Parthian bow, 1240 Or Cydon eugh; when, traversing the skies,
And drench'd in poisonous juice, the fure deftruction flies. With fuch a fudden and unfeen a flight,
Shot through the clouds the daughter of the night.
Soon as the field inclos'd fhe had in view,
And from afar her destin'd quarry knew:
Contracted, to the boding bird fhe turns,
Which haunts the ruim'd piles, and hallow'd urns,
And beats about the tombs with nightly wings;
Where fongs obfcene on fepulchres the fings.
Thus leffen'd in her form, with frightful cries
The fury round unhappy Turnus flies,
Flaps on his shield, and flutters o'er his eyes.
A lazy chilnefs crept along his blood,
Chok'd was his voice, his hair with horror ftood. 1255 Juturna from afar beheld her fly,
And knew th' ill omen, by her screaming cry,
And ftridour of her wing. Amaz'd with fear,
Her beauteous breaft fhe beat, and rent her flowing hair.
Ah me, the cries, in this unequal ftrife,
What can thy fifter more to fave thy life!
Weak as I am, can I, alas, contend
In arms, with that inexorable fiend!
Now, now, I quit the field! forbear to fright
My tender foul, ye baleful birds of night!
The lashing of your wings I know too well :
The founding flight, and funeral screams of hell!
Thefe are the gifts you bring from haughty Jove,
The worthy recompence of ravish'd love!
Did he for this exempt my life from fate?
O hard conditions of immortal state!
Though born to Leath, not privileg'd to die,
But forc'd to bear impos'd eternity!
Take back your envious bribes, and let me go
Companion to my brother's ghost below!
The joys are vanish'd: nothing now remains
Of life immortal, but immortal pains.
What earth will open her devouring womb,
To reft a weary goddess in the tomb!
She drew a length of fighs; nor more she said,
But in her azure mantle wrap'd her head:
Then plung'd into her ftream, with deep defpair,
And her last fobs came bubbling up in air.
Now ftern Æneas waves his weighty spear
Against his foe, and thus upbraids his fear:
What farther fubterfuge can Turnus find ?-
What empty hopes are harbour'd in his mind?
'Tis not thy fwiftnefs can fecure thy flight :
~Not with their feet, but hands, the valiant fight.
Vary thy fhape in thoufand forms, and dare
What skill and courage can attempt in war :
Wish for the wings of wind to mount the sky;
Or hid within the hollow earth to lie.
The champion fhook his head, and made this short
No threats of thine my manly mind can move:
'Tis hoftile heaven I dread; and partial Jove.
He faid no more; but, with a figh, reprefs'd
The mighty forrow in his fwelling breast.
Then, as he roll'd his troubled eyes around,
An antique ftone he faw; the common bound 1300
Of neighbouring fields, and barrier of the ground:
So vaft, that twelve strong men of modern days
Th' enormous weight from earth could hardly raife.
He heav'd it at a lift: and, pois'd on high,
Ran ftaggering on, against his enemy.
But fo disorder'd, that he scarcely knew
way; or what unwieldy weight he threw.
His knocking knees are bent beneath the load:
And shivering cold congeals his vital blood.
The ftone drops from his arms; and falling fhort,
For want of vigour, mocks his vain effort.
And as, when heavy fleep has clos'd the fight,
The fickly fancy labours in the night:
We feem to run; and, deftitute of force,
Our finking limbs forfake us in the courfe:
In vain we heave for breath; in vain we cry:
The nerves unbrac'd their usual strength deny,
And on the tongue the faultering accents die:
So Turnus far'd, whatever means he try'd,
All force of arms, and points of art employ'd, 1320 The fury flew athwart, and made th' endeavour void.
A thousand various thoughts his foul confound:
He ftar'd about; nor aid nor issue found:
His own men ftop the pafs, and his own walls furround.
Once more he pauses; and looks out again : 1325
And feeks the goddess charioteer in vain.
Trembling, he views the thundering chief advance,
And brandishing aloft the deadly lance:
Amaz'd he cowers beneath his conquering foe,.
Forgets to ward, and waits the coming blow.
Aftonish'd while he ftands, and fix'd with fear,
Aim'd at his fhield he fees th' impending spear..
The hero measur'd firit, with narrow view,
The deftin'd mark: and, rifing as he threw,
With its full fwing the fatal weapon flew..
Not with lefs rage the rattling thunder falls,
Or ftones from battering engines break the walls :-
Swift as a whirlwind, from an arm. so strong,.
The lance drove on; and bore the death along.
Nought could his feven fold fhield the prince avail, 1340
Nor aught beneath his arms the coat of mail;
It pierc'd through all; and, with a grizly wound,
Transfix'd his thigh, and doubled him to ground.
With groans the Latins rend the vaulted sky:
Woods, hills, and valleys, to the voice reply.
Now low on earth the lofty chief is laid,
With eyes caft upwards, and with arms difplay'd;
And recreant thus to the proud victor pray'd:
I know my death deferv'd, nor hope to live:
Ufe what the gods and thy good fortune give.
Yet think; oh think, if mercy may be flown,
(Thou hadst a father once, and hadst a son):
Pity my fire, now finking to the grave;
And for Anchifes' fake, old Daunus fave! ́
Or, if they vow'd revenge, purfue my death;
Give to my friends my body void of breath!
: The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life;
Thine is the conqueft, thine the royal wife;
Against a yielded man, 'tis mean ignoble strife.
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