LXXI. "This sign my Goddess-mother vowed to send,
If war should threaten; thus in armed array
From heaven with aid she promised to descend.
Ah, woe for thee, Laurentum, soon the prey
Of foeman! What a reckoning shalt thou pay
To me, ill-fated Turnus! How thy wave
Shall redden, Tiber, as it rolls away
Helmets, and shields and bodies of the brave!		631
Ay, let them break the league, and bid the War-god rave."
LXXII. He spake, and, rising from his seat, renews
The slumbering fires of Hercules, and tends
The hearth-god's shrine of yesterday. Choice ewes
They slay—Evander and his Trojan friends.
Then to his comrades and the shore he wends,
Arrays the crews, and takes the bravest there
To follow him in fight. The rest he sends
To young Ascanius down the stream, to bear		640
News of his absent sire, and how the cause doth fare.
LXXIII. With steeds, to aid the Tuscans, they provide
The Teucrians. For Æneas forth is led
The choicest, with a tawny lion's hide,
All glittering with gilded claws, bespread.
Now rumour through the little town hath sped,
Of horsemen for the Tuscan king, with spear
And shield for battle. Mothers, pale with dread,
Heap vows on vows. The War-god, drawing near,		649
Looms larger, and more close to danger draws the fear.

LXXIV. Then cries Evander, clinging, and with tears
Insatiate, loth to see his Pallas go,
"Ah! would but Jove bring back the bygone years,
As when beneath Præneste long ago
I strowed the van, and laid their mightiest low,
And burned their shields, and with this hand to Hell
Hurled down [King Erulus,] the monstrous foe,
To whom [Feronia,] terrible to tell,		658
Three lives had given, and thrice to battle ere he fell.
LXXV. "Twice up he rose, but thrice I slew the slain,
Thrice of his life I robbed him, till he died,
Thrice stripped his arms. O, were I such again,
Danger, nor death, nor aught of ill beside,
Sweet son, should ever tear me from thy side.
Ne'er had Mezentius then, the neighbouring lord,
Dared thus to flout me, nor this arm defied.
Nor wrought such havoc and such crimes abhorred,		667
Nor made a weeping town thus widowed by the sword.
LXXVI. "O Gods, and thou, who rulest earth and air,
Great Jove, their mightiest, pity, I implore,
Arcadia's King, and hear a father's prayer.
If Fate this happiness reserve in store,
To gaze upon my Pallas' face once more,
If living means to meet my son again,
Then let me live; how hard soe'er and sore
My trials, gladly will I count them gain.		676
Sweet will the suffering seem, and light the load of pain.
LXXVII. "But O, if Fortune, with malignant spite,
Some blow past utterance for my life prepare,
Now, now this moment rid me of the light,
While fears are vague, nor hoping breeds despair,
While, dearest boy, my late and only care,
Thus—thus I fold thee in my arms to-day.
Nor wound with news too sorrowful to bear
A father's ears!" He spake, and swooned away;		685
Back to his home the slaves their fainting lord convey.

LXXVIII. Forth troop the horsemen from the gates. First ride
Æneas and Achates; in the rear
Troy's nobles, led by Pallas, in the pride
Of broidered scarf and figured arms, appear.
As when bright [Lucifer,] to Venus dear
Beyond all planets and each starry beam,
High up in heaven his sacred head doth rear,
Bathed in the freshness of the Ocean stream,		694
And melts the dark, so fair the gallant youth doth seem.