So Jupiter spoke, briefly, but golden Venus Was far from brief in answer:--“O great father, Sovereign of men and destiny forever, What other power is there for us to pray to? Do you see, I ask you, these Rutulian warriors In all their insolence? Have you noticed Turnus Riding on horseback through their midst, all swollen, With Mars as second? The barricaded walls No longer shield the Trojans. The battle rages Within the gates, on the high towers; the trenches Swim deep in blood. Aeneas does not know it; He is far away. Must siege go on forever? Is this your will? Another enemy threatens The walls of Troy, new-born, another army Comes from Aetolian Arpi; Diomedes Once more attacks the Trojans. Wounds for me Are still to come, I well believe; your daughter Waits for a mortal outrage, not the first one. The Trojans came to Italy: was the coming With your consent, by your design? If not, Why, let them pay the penalty, do not help them! Or were they following order after order Given by gods above, by gods below? If so, who dares to overturn your justice, Who dares create new fates? Do I have to mention The fleet on fire in Sicily, the winds Let loose by Aeolus, their king, or Iris Sent through the clouds? And now she is even rousing-- This chance she had not yet taken--the shades of Hell, And here is Allecto, suddenly given license In the upper world, and ravaging and raving Through the Italian cities. As for empire, I care no more about it. I was hopeful When fortune still existed. Let the winners Be those you want to win: have it your way. If that tough wife of yours will give the Trojans No land in all the world, no realm whatever, I beg you, father, by the smoking ruins Of shattered Troy, let me spare one, Iulus, Let him, at least, be saved from war. Aeneas, Of course, will still be tossed on unknown waters, Following any course that fortune offers. Let me protect his son. I have Amathus, High Paphus and Cythera, Idalia’s groves; There he may live, laying aside his weapons, A long inglorious lifetime. Order Carthage To crush Ausonia with her empire; nothing Shall interfere with Tyrian towns. Much good It did him to escape the plague of war, To have fled through Argive burning, to have exhausted All dangers of the land and the great ocean, Looking for Latium and a new-born Troy! Much good indeed! It would have been much better For the very soil of Troy and her last ashes To have been the new foundation for their dwelling. Give the poor wretches Simois and Xanthus, Father, once more; I pray you, let the Trojans Live, once again, the fall of Troy!” And Juno Burst out in anger:--“Why do you compel me To break my silence, to make my sorrow vulgar With words for the world’s ear? What god, what mortal