A greenwood shade, for long religion known, Stands by the streams that wash the Tuscan town, Incompass’d round with gloomy hills above, Which add a holy horror to the grove. The first inhabitants of Grecian blood, That sacred forest to Silvanus vow’d, The guardian of their flocks and fields; and pay Their due devotions on his annual day. Not far from hence, along the river’s side, In tents secure, the Tuscan troops abide, By Tarchon led. Now, from a rising ground, Aeneas cast his wond’ring eyes around, And all the Tyrrhene army had in sight, Stretch’d on the spacious plain from left to right. Thither his warlike train the Trojan led, Refresh’d his men, and wearied horses fed. Meantime the mother goddess, crown’d with charms, Breaks thro’ the clouds, and brings the fated arms. Within a winding vale she finds her son, On the cool river’s banks, retir’d alone. She shews her heav’nly form without disguise, And gives herself to his desiring eyes. “Behold,” she said, “perform’d in ev’ry part, My promise made, and Vulcan’s labour’d art. Now seek, secure, the Latian enemy, And haughty Turnus to the field defy.” She said; and, having first her son embrac’d, The radiant arms beneath an oak she plac’d, Proud of the gift, he roll’d his greedy sight Around the work, and gaz’d with vast delight. He lifts, he turns, he poises, and admires The crested helm, that vomits radiant fires: His hands the fatal sword and corslet hold, One keen with temper’d steel, one stiff with gold: Both ample, flaming both, and beamy bright; So shines a cloud, when edg’d with adverse light. He shakes the pointed spear, and longs to try The plated cuishes on his manly thigh; But most admires the shield’s mysterious mould, And Roman triumphs rising on the gold: For these, emboss’d, the heav’nly smith had wrought (Not in the rolls of future fate untaught) The wars in order, and the race divine Of warriors issuing from the Julian line. The cave of Mars was dress’d with mossy greens: There, by the wolf, were laid the martial twins. Intrepid on her swelling dugs they hung; The foster dam loll’d out her fawning tongue: They suck’d secure, while, bending back her head, She lick’d their tender limbs, and form’d them as they fed. Not far from thence new Rome appears, with games Projected for the rape of Sabine dames. The pit resounds with shrieks; a war succeeds, For breach of public faith, and unexampled deeds. Here for revenge the Sabine troops contend; The Romans there with arms the prey defend. Wearied with tedious war, at length they cease; And both the kings and kingdoms plight the peace. The friendly chiefs before Jove’s altar stand,