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,
forbearTo 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 ap
pointedWhile 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 im
mortalmajesty 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
flightShot 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,