While, at the Lemnian god’s command, they urge Their labours thus, and ply th’ Aeolian forge, The cheerful morn salutes Evander’s eyes, And songs of chirping birds invite to rise. He leaves his lowly bed: his buskins meet Above his ankles; sandals sheathe his feet: He sets his trusty sword upon his side, And o’er his shoulder throws a panther’s hide. Two menial dogs before their master press’d. Thus clad, and guarded thus, he seeks his kingly guest. Mindful of promis’d aid, he mends his pace, But meets Aeneas in the middle space. Young Pallas did his father’s steps attend, And true Achates waited on his friend. They join their hands; a secret seat they choose; Th’ Arcadian first their former talk renews: “Undaunted prince, I never can believe The Trojan empire lost, while you survive. Command th’ assistance of a faithful friend; But feeble are the succours I can send. Our narrow kingdom here the Tiber bounds; That other side the Latian state surrounds, Insults our walls, and wastes our fruitful grounds. But mighty nations I prepare, to join Their arms with yours, and aid your just design. You come, as by your better genius sent, And fortune seems to favour your intent. Not far from hence there stands a hilly town, Of ancient building, and of high renown, Torn from the Tuscans by the Lydian race, Who gave the name of Caere to the place, Once Agyllina call’d. It flourish’d long, In pride of wealth and warlike people strong, Till curs’d Mezentius, in a fatal hour, Assum’d the crown, with arbitrary pow’r. What words can paint those execrable times, The subjects’ suff’rings, and the tyrant’s crimes! That blood, those murders, O ye gods, replace On his own head, and on his impious race! The living and the dead at his command Were coupled, face to face, and hand to hand, Till, chok’d with stench, in loath’d embraces tied, The ling’ring wretches pin’d away and died. Thus plung’d in ills, and meditating more— The people’s patience, tir’d, no longer bore The raging monster; but with arms beset His house, and vengeance and destruction threat. They fire his palace: while the flame ascends, They force his guards, and execute his friends. He cleaves the crowd, and, favour’d by the night, To Turnus’ friendly court directs his flight. By just revenge the Tuscans set on fire, With arms, their king to punishment require: Their num’rous troops, now muster’d on the strand, My counsel shall submit to your command. Their navy swarms upon the coasts; they cry To hoist their anchors, but the gods deny. An ancient augur, skill’d in future fate, With these foreboding words restrains their hate: