LVII. "Though greater than the great Achilles he,
Though, like Achilles, Vulcan's arms he wear,
Fain will I meet him. Lo, to you, to thee,
Latinus, father of the bride so fair,
I, Turnus, I, in prowess past compare,
Devote this life. Æneas calls but me,
So let him, rather than that Drances bear
The smart, if death the wrathful gods decree,		505
Or, if 'tis glory's field, usurp the victor's fee."
LVIII. While thus, with wrangling and contentious doubt,
They urged debate, Æneas his array
Moved from the camp. Behold, a trusty scout
Back, through Latinus' palace, speeds his way,
And fills the town with tumult and dismay.
The Trojans—see!—the Trojans,—down they swarm
From Tiber. See the meadows far away
Alive with foes! Rage, turmoil and alarm		514
In turns distract the town. "Arm," cry the young men, "arm!"
LIX. The old men weep and mutter. Clamours rend
The startled skies, and discord reigns supreme,
E'en as when birds on lofty woods descend
In flocks, or in Padusa's fishful stream
The swans sing hoarsely, and the wild-fowl scream
Along the babbling waters. Turnus straight
The moment snatched. "Ah! townsmen, sooth, ye deem
This hour an hour to chatter and debate;		523
Sit on, and praise sweet peace, while foemen storm the gate."
LX. He spake, and from the council dashed with speed.
"Go, Volusus," he cries, "and arm amain
The Volscians; hither the Rutulians lead.
Messapus, go, with horsemen in thy train,
And Coras, with thy brother scour the plain.
Let these all entrance at the gate forestall,
And man the turrets; let the rest remain
In arms, and wait my bidding." One and all,		532
The townsmen throng the streets, and hurry to the wall.
LXI. Then, sore distrest, the aged king proclaims
The council closed, and for a happier tide
Puts off debate; and oft himself he blames,
Who welcomed not Æneas to his side,
Nor graced his city with a Dardan's bride.
But hark! to battle peals the clarion's call.
These by the gate dig trenches, those provide
Sharp stakes and stones. Along the girdling wall		541
Pale boys and matrons stand: the last hour cries for all.
LXII. To Pallas' rock-built temple rides the queen,
Bearing her gifts. The matrons march in line,
And by her side is fair Lavinia seen,
The war's sad authoress, with down-dropt eyne.
They, entering in, with incense fume the shrine,
And from the threshold pour the mournful strain:
"O strong in arms, Tritonian maid divine!
Break thou the Phrygian robber's spear in twain,		550
And 'neath the gates strike down and stretch him on the plain."
LXIII. Now in hot haste fierce Turnus dons the mail,
Eager for battle. On his breast he laced
The corselet, rough with many a brazen scale.
Around his legs the golden greaves he placed,
His brow yet bare, and at his side he braced,
The trusty sword. All golden is the glow
Of burnished arms, as down the height in haste
He flies exulting to the field below.		559
High leaps his heart, and hope anticipates the foe.
LXIV. So, free at length, his tether snapt in twain,
Swift from his stall, in eager joy, the steed
Bounds forth and, master of the open plain,
Now seeks the mares that in the pastures feed,
Now towards the well-known river scours the mead,
Wont there to cool his glowing sides, and neighs
With head erect and glories in his speed,
While o'er his collar and his shoulders plays		568
The waving mane, flung loose in many a wandering maze.

LXV. Him meets Camilla, with her Volscian train,
And by the gate dismounting then and there
(Down likewise leap her followers to the plain),
"Turnus," she cries, "if confidence can e'er
Befit the brave, I venture and I swear
Singly to face yon Trojans in the fray,
And stem the Tuscan cavalry. My care
Shall be the war's first hazards to essay;		577
Thou guard the walls afoot, and by the ramparts stay."