fixed in the ground, and bucklers rested at ease. Matrons
in yearning eagerness, and unarmed masses, and tottering 35
old men, fill turret and roof, or stand by the lofty portals.
But Juno, from the top of the mount now styled Alban—in
those days it had no name, nor glory, nor honour—was
looking in prospect on the plain, the two armies,
Trojan and Laurentine, and the Latian town. At once
she addressed Turnus’ sister, a goddess herself, who presides
over the pool and the brawling stream—such dignity
Jove, the king of heaven, solemnly made hers in return for 5