Your plant has honor'd, which your foes profan'd,
Propitious hear my pious pray'r!" He said,

Nor with successless vows invok'd their aid.
Th' incumbent hero wrench'd, and pull'd, and strain'd;

But still the stubborn earth the steel detain'd.
Juturna took her time; and, while in vain

He strove, assum'd Meticus' form again,
And, in that imitated shape, restor'd

To the despairingprince his Daunian sword.
The Queen of Love, who, with disdain and grief,

Saw the bold nymph afford this prompt relief,
T' assert her offspring with a greater deed,

From the tough root the ling'ring weapon freed.
Once more erect, the rival chiefs advance:

One trusts the sword, and one the pointed lance;
And both resolv'd alike to try their fatal chance.

Meantime imperial Jove to Juno spoke,
Who from a shining cloud beheld the shock:

"What new arrest, O Queen of Heav'n, is sent
To stop the Fates now lab'ring in th' event?

What farther hopes are left thee to pursue?
Divine Aeneas, (and thou know'st it too,)

Foredoom'd, to these celestial seats are due.
What more attempts for Turnus can be made,

That thus thou ling'rest in this lonely shade?
Is it becoming of the due respect

And awful honor of a god elect,
A wound worthy" target="_blank" title="a.不值得的；不足道的">unworthy of our state to feel,

Patient of human hands and earthly steel?
Or seems it just, the sister should restore

A second sword, when one was lost before,
And arm a conquer'd wretch against his conqueror?

For what, without thy knowledge and avow,
Nay more, thy dictate, durst Juturna do?

At last, in deference to my love, forbear
To lodge within thy soul this anxious care;

Reclin'd upon my breast, thy grief unload:
Who should relieve the goddess, but the god?

Now all things to their utmost issue tend,
Push'd by the Fates to their appointed

While leave was giv'n thee, and a lawful hour
For vengeance, wrath, and unresisted pow'r,

Toss'd on the seas, thou couldst thy foes distress,
And, driv'n ashore, with hostile arms oppress;

Deform the royal house; and, from the side
Of the just bridegroom, tear the plighted bride:

Now cease at my command." The Thund'rer said;
And, with dejected eyes, this answer Juno made:

"Because your dread decree too well I knew,
From Turnus and from earth unwilling I withdrew.

Else should you not behold me here, alone,
Involv'd in empty clouds, my friends bemoan,

But, girt with vengeful flames, in open sight
Engag'd against my foes in mortal fight.

'T is true, Juturna mingled in the strife
By my command, to save her brother's life-

At least to try; but, by the Stygian lake,
(The most religious oath the gods can take,)

With this restriction, not to bend the bow,
Or toss the spear, or trembling dart to throw.

And now, resign'd to your superior might,
And tir'd with fruitless toils, I loathe the fight.

This let me beg (and this no fates withstand)
Both for myself and for your father's land,

That, when the nuptial bed shall bind the peace,
(Which I, since you ordain, consent to bless,)

The laws of either nation be the same;
But let the Latins still retain their name,

Speak the same language which they spoke before,
Wear the same habits which their grandsires wore.

Call them not Trojans: perish the renown
And name of Troy, with that detested town.

Latium be Latium still; let Alba reign
And Rome's immortalmajesty remain."

Then thus the founder of mankind replies
(Unruffled was his front, serene his eyes)

"Can Saturn's issue, and heav'n's other heir,
Such endless anger in her bosom bear?

Be mistress, and your full desires obtain;
But quench the choler you foment in vain.

From ancient blood th' Ausonian people sprung,
Shall keep their name, their habit, and their tongue.

The Trojans to their customs shall be tied:
I will, myself, their common rites provide;

The natives shall command, the foreigners subside.
All shall be Latium; Troy without a name;

And her lost sons forget from whence they came.
From blood so mix'd, a pious race shall flow,

Equal to gods, excelling all below.
No nation more respect to you shall pay,

Or greater off'rings on your altars lay."
Juno consents, well pleas'd that her desires

Had found success, and from the cloud retires.
The peace thus made, the Thund'rer next prepares

To force the wat'ry goddess from the wars.
Deep in the dismal regions void of light,

Three daughters at a birth were born to Night:
These their brown mother, brooding on her care,

Indued with windy wings to flit in air,
With serpents girt alike, and crown'd with hissing hair.

In heav'n the Dirae call'd, and still at hand,
Before the throne of angry Jove they stand,

His ministers of wrath, and ready still
The minds of mortal men with fears to fill,

Whene'er the moody sire, to wreak his hate
On realms or towns deserving of their fate,

Hurls down diseases, death and deadly care,
And terrifies the guilty world with war.

One sister plague if these from heav'n he sent,
To fright Juturna with a dire portent.

The pest comes whirling down: by far more slow
Springs the swift arrow from the Parthian bow,

Or Cydon yew, when, traversing the skies,
And drench'd in pois'nous juice, the sure destruction flies.

With such a sudden and unseen a flight
Shot thro' the clouds the daughter of the night.

Soon as the field inclos'd she had in view,
And from afar her destin'd quarry knew,

Contracted, to the boding bird she turns,
Which haunts the ruin'd piles and hallow'd urns,

And beats about the tombs with nightly wings,
Where songs obscene on sepulchers she sings.

Thus lessen'd in her form, with frightful cries
The Fury round unhappy Turnus flies,

Flaps on his shield, and flutters o'er his eyes.
A lazy chillness crept along his blood;

Chok'd was his voice; his hair with horror stood.
Juturna from afar beheld her fly,

And knew th' ill omen, by her screaming cry
And stridor of her wings. Amaz'd with fear,