Haste, snatch him, if he can be snatched, from fate:
New tumults kindle; violate the truce.
Who knows what changeful Fortune may produce?
'Tis not a crime to attempt what I decree;
Or, if it were, discharge the crime on me."
She said, and, sailing on the winged wind,
Left the sad nymph suspended in her mind.
And now in pomp the peaceful kings appear:
Four steeds the chariot of Latinus bear:
Twelve golden beams around his temples play,