Then comes grim Abas, all his host with glorious arms aglow,170
And on his stern Apollo gleams, well wrought in utter gold.
But Populonia's mother-land had given him there to hold
Six hundred of the battle-craft; three hundred Ilva sent,
Rich isle, whose wealth of Chalyb ore wastes never nor is spent.
The third is he, who carrieth men the words God hath to say,
Asylas, whom the hearts of beasts and stars of heaven obey,
And tongues of birds, and thunder-fire that coming tidings bears.
A thousand men he hurrieth on with bristling of the spears;
Pisa, the town Alpheüs built amid the Tuscan land,
Bids them obey.
Came Astur next, goodliest of all the band;180
Astur, who trusteth in his horse and shifty-coloured weed;
Three hundred hath he, of one heart to wend as he shall lead:
And these are they in Cæres' home and Minios' lea that bide,
The Pyrgi old, and they that feel Gravisca's heavy tide.
Nor thee, best war-duke, Cinyras, of that Ligurian crew,
Leave I unsung: nor thee the more, Cupavo lord of few,
Up from the cresting of whose helm the feathery swan-wings rise.
Love was thy guilt; thy battle-sign was thine own father's guise.
For Cycnus, say they, while for love of Phaëthon he grieves.
And sings beneath his sisters' shade, beneath the poplar-leaves;190
While with the Muse some solace sweet for woeful love he won,
A hoary eld of feathers soft about him doth he on,
Leaving the earth and following the stars with tuneful wails;
And now his son amid his peers with Tuscan ship-host sails,
Driving with oars the Centaur huge, who o'er the waters' face
Hangs, threatening ocean with a rock, huge from his lofty place,
And ever with his length of keel the deep sea furrows o'er.
Then he, e'en Ocnus, stirreth up folk from his father's shore,
Who from the love of Tuscan flood and fate-wise Manto came,
And gave, O Mantua, walls to thee, and gave his mother's name:200
Mantua, the rich in father-folk, though not one-stemmed her home.
Three stems are there, from each whereof four peoples forth are come,
While she herself, the head of all, from Tuscan blood hath might.
Five hundred thence Mezentius arms against himself in fight,
Whom Mincius' flood, Benacus' son, veiled in the sedges grey,
Was leading in the fir of fight across the watery way.
Then heavy-huge Aulestes goes; the oar-wood hundred-fold
Rises for beating of the flood, as foam the seas uprolled.
Huge Triton ferries him, whose shell the deep blue sea doth fright:
Up from the shaggy naked waist manlike is he to sight210
As there he swims, but underneath whale-bellied is he grown;
Beneath the half-beast breast of him the foaming waters moan.
So many chosen dukes of men in thrice ten keels they sail,
And cut with brass the meads of brine for Troy and its avail.
And now had day-tide failed the sky, and Phœbe, sweet and fair,
Amid her nightly-straying wain did mid Olympus wear.
Æneas, who might give his limbs no whit of peacefulness,
Was sitting with the helm in hand, heeding the sail-gear's stress,
When lo a company of friends his midmost course do meet:
The Nymphs to wit, who Cybele, the goddess holy-sweet,220
Bade turn from ships to very nymphs, and ocean's godhead have.
So evenly they swam the sea, and sundered wave and wave,
As many as the brazen beaks once by the sea-side lay;
Afar they know their king, and round in dancing-wise they play;
But one of them, Cymodocea, who speech-lore knew the best,
Drew nigh astern and laid thereon her right hand, with her breast
Above the flood, the while her left through quiet waves rowed on,
And thus bespoke him all unware:
"Wak'st thou, O Godhead's son!
Æneas, wake! and loose the sheets and let all canvas fill!
We were the pine-trees on a time of Ida's holy hill,230
Thy ship-host once, but sea-nymphs now: when that Rutulian lord
Fell faithless, headlong, on our lives with firebrand and the sword,
Unwillingly we brake our bonds and sought thee o'er the main.
The Mother in her pity thus hath wrought our shape again,
And given us gift of godhead's life in house of ocean's ground.
Lo now, the boy Ascanius by dyke and wall is bound
Amid the spears, the battle-wood that Latins forth have sent.
And now the horse of Arcady, with stout Etruscans blent,
Holdeth due tryst. Now is the mind of Turnus firmly set
To thrust between them, lest thy camp they succour even yet.240
Wherefore arise, and when the dawn first climbs the heavenly shore
Call on thy folk, and take thy shield unconquered evermore,
The Fire-lord's gift, who wrought its lips with circling gold about:
Tomorrow's light, unless thou deem'st my words are all to doubt,
Shall see Rutulian death in heaps a-lying on the land."
Therewith departing, forth she thrust the tall ship with her hand,
As one who had good skill therein, and then across the seas
Swifter than dart she fled, or shaft that matcheth well the breeze,
And straight the others hastened on. All mazed was he of Troy,
Anchises' seed, but yet the sign upraised his heart with joy,250
And, looking to the hollow heaven, in few words prayed he thus
"Kind Ida-Mother of the Gods, whose heart loves Dindymus
And towered towns, and lions yoked and tamed to bear the bit,
Be thou my battle-leader now, and do thou further it,
This omen, and with favouring foot the Trojan folk draw nigh."
But while he spake, Day, come again, had run adown the sky,
With light all utter perfect wrought, and driven away the night.
Then folk he biddeth follow on the banners of the fight,
And make them ready for the play and shape their hearts for war.
But he, aloft upon the poop, now sees them where they are,260
His leaguered Teucrians, as his left uprears the blazing shield;
And then, the sons of Dardanus up to the starry field
Send forth the cry, and hope is come to whet their battle-wrath.
Thick flies their spear-storm: 'tis as when the Strymon cranes give forth
Their war-sign on the mirky rack, and down the heavens they run
Sonorous, fleeing southern breeze with clamour following on.
But wondrous to Rutulian king and dukes of Italy
That seemed, until they look about, and lo, the keels they see
Turned shoreward; yea, a sea of ships onsetting toward the shore.
Yea, and the helm is all ablaze, beams from the crest outpour,270
The golden shield-boss wide about a world of flame doth shed.
E'en so, amid the clear of night, the comets bloody-red
Blush woeful bright; nor otherwise is Sirius' burning wrought,
When drought and plagues for weary men the birth of him hath wrought,
And that unhappy light of his hath saddened all the heaven.
But nought from Turnus' hardy heart was high hope ever driven
To take the strand of them and thrust those comers from the shore:
Eager he chid, hot-heart, with words men's courage he upbore: