LXXVII. One shouting troop young Priam's lead obeys,
Thy son, Polites, from his grandsire hight,
And born erelong Italia's fame to raise.
A dappled Thracian charger bears the knight,
His pasterns flecked and forehead starred with white.
Next Atys, whom the [Atian line] reveres,
The youthful idol of a youth's delight,
So well Iulus loved him. Last appears		685
Iulus, first in grace and comeliest of his peers.
LXXVIII. His a Sidonian charger; Dido fair
This pledge and token of her love supplied.
Trinacrian horses his attendants bear,
Acestes' gift. Their bosoms throb with pride,
While Dardans, cheering, welcome as they ride
The sires that have been in the sons that are.
So, when before their kinsfolk on each side
Their ranks had passed, Epytides afar		694
Cracks the loud whip, and shouts the signal, as for war.
LXXIX. In equal bands the triple troops divide,
Then turn, and rallying, with spears bent low,
Charge at the call. Now back again they ride,
Wheel round, and weave new courses to and fro,
In armed similitude of martial show,
Circling and intercircling. Now in flight
They bare their backs, now turning, foe to foe,
Level their lances to the charge, now plight		703
The truce, and side by side in friendly league unite.

LXXX. E'en as [in Crete the Labyrinth of old]
Between blind walls its secret hid from view,
With wildering ways and many a winding fold,
Wherein the wanderer, if the tale be true,
Roamed unreturning, cheated of the clue:
Such tangles weave the Teucrians, as they feign
Fighting or flying, and the game renew:
So dolphins, sporting on the watery plain,		712
Cleave the Carpathian waves and distant Libya's main.
LXXXI. These feats Ascanius to his people showed,
When girdling Alba Longa; there with joy
The ancient Latins in the pastime rode,
Wherein the princely Dardan, as a boy,
Was wont his Trojan comrades to employ.
To Alban children from their sires it came,
And mighty Rome took up the "game of Troy,"
And called the players "Trojans," and the name		721
Lives on, as sons renew the hereditary game.

LXXXII. Thus far to blest Anchises they defrayed
The funeral rites; when Fortune turned unkind,
Forsook her faith. For while the games were played
Before the tomb, Saturnian Juno's mind
New schemes, to glut her ancient wrath, designed.
Iris she calls, and bids the Goddess go
Down to the Ilian fleet, and breathes a wind
To waft her on. So, borne upon her bow		730
Of myriad hues, unseen, the maiden hastes below.
LXXXIII. She eyes the concourse, marks the ships unmanned,
And sees the empty harbour and the shore.
While far off on the solitary strand
The Trojan dames sat sorrowful, and o'er
The deep sea gazed, and, gazing, evermore
Wept for the Sire. "Ah, woe! the fields of foam!
The waste of waters for the wearied oar!
Oh! for a city and a certain home;		739
A rest for sea-worn souls, for weary 'tis to roam!"
LXXXIV. So, not unversed in mischief, from the skies
Amidst the gathered matrons down she came,
In raiment and in face to mortal eyes
No more a Goddess, but an aged dame,
The wife of Doryclus, of Tmarian fame.
E'en venerable Beröe, once blest
With rank, and children and a noble name.
So changed in semblance, the celestial guest		748
Mixed with the Dardan dames, and thus the crowd addressed: