XLVIII. So, while the taint, first stealing through her frame,
Slipped in, with slimy venom, and the pest
Thrilled every sense, and wrapped her bones in flame,
Nor yet her soul had caught it, or confessed
The fiery fever that consumed her breast;
Soft, like a mother, and with tears, she cried,
Grieved for her child, and pondering with unrest
The Phrygian match, "Ah, woe the day betide,		424
If Teucrian exiles win Lavinia for a bride!
XLIX. "Hast thou no pity for thy child, nor thee,
O father! nor her mother, left forlorn,
When, with the rising North-wind, o'er the sea
Yon faithless pirate hath the maiden borne?
Not so, forsooth, did Lacedæmon mourn
Robbed Helen, when the Phrygian shepherd planned
Her capture. Is thy sacred faith forsworn?
Where is thy old affection? Where that hand		433
So oft to Turnus pledged, thy kinsman of the land?
L. "If Latins for Lavinia needs must find
A foreign mate; if so the Fates constrain,
And Faunus' words weigh heavy on thy mind,
All lands, that yield not to the Latin reign,
I count as foreign; so the Gods speak plain;
And foreign then is Turnus, if we trace
The first beginning of his princely strain.
Greeks were his grandsires; Argos was the place		442
Where old Acrisius ruled, where dwelt th' Inachian race."
LI. So pleading, and so weeping, she essayed
To move the king; but when her prayers were vain,
Nor tears Latinus from his purpose stayed,
And now the viper with its deadly bane
Crept to her inmost parts, and through each vein
The maddening poison to her heartstrings stole,
Then, scared by monstrous phantoms of the brain,
Poor queen! she raved, and maddening past control,		451
Ran through the crowded streets in impotence of soul.
LII. Like as a whip-top by the lash is sent
In widening orbs to spin, when lads among
The empty courtyards urge their merriment;
And, scourged in circling courses by the thong
It wheels and eddies, while the beardless throng
Bend over, lost in ignorant surprise,
And marvel, as the boxwood whirls along,
Stirred by each stroke; so fast Amata flies		460
From street to street, while crowds look on with lowering eyes.
LIII. Nay, simulating Bacchus, now she dares
To feign new orgies, and her crime complete.
Swift with her daughter to the woods she fares,
And hides her on the mountains, fain to cheat
The Trojans, and the purposed rites defeat.
"Hail, thou alone art worthy of the fair!
Evoë, Bacchus! for thy name is sweet.
For thee she grows her dedicated hair,		469
For thee she leads the dance, the ivied wand doth bear."
LIV. The matrons then—so fast the rumour flew,—
Fired like the Queen, and frenzied with despair,
Rush forth, and leave their ancient homes for new,
And to the breezes give their necks and hair.
These with their tremulous wailings fill the air,
And, girt about with fawn-skins, bear along
The vine-branch javelins, and Amata there,
Herself ablaze with fury, o'er the throng		478
A blazing pine-torch waves, and chants the nuptial song
LV. Of Turnus and Lavinia. Fiercely roll
Her blood-shot eyes, and, frowning, suddenly
She pours the frantic passions of her soul.
"Ho! Latin mothers all, where'er ye be,
Here, if ye love me, if a mother's plea
Deserve your pity, let your hair be seen
Loosed from the fillets, and be mad, like me."
So through the woods, the wild-beasts' lairs between,		487
With Bacchanalian goads Alecto drives the Queen.
LVI. When now thus fairly was the work begun,
The barbs of anger planted, pleased to view
Latinus' purpose and his house undone,
On dusky wings the Goddess soared, and through
The liquid air to neighbouring Ardea flew,
The bold Rutulian's city, built of yore
By Danaë, thither when the South-wind blew
Her and her followers. Ardea's name it bore,		496
And Ardea's name still lives, though fortune smiles no more.
LVII. There in his palace, locked in sleep's embrace,
Lay Turnus. Straight Alecto, versed in snares,
Doffs the fiend's figure and her frowning face.
The likeness of a withered crone she wears,
With wrinkled forehead and with hoary hairs.
Her fillet and her olive crown proclaim
The priestess. Changed in semblance, she appears
Like Calybe, great Juno's sacred dame;		505
Thus to the youth she comes, and hails him by his name.