To a city, later,--Capua, south of Rome. So these men had been fighting, clash and conflict In the rough shock of warfare, as Aeneas, At midnight, cleaved the seas. He had left Evander, He had found the Tuscan camp, he had told the king His name, his race, his need, what help he brought him, Told Tarchon of Mezentius, of the spirit Of violence in Turnus; had given warning That, always, men need help; had made appeal, Which Tarchon promptly answered: so the people Were free from fate’s injunction, free for war, Having a foreign leader. Aeneas’ ship Headed the column, her figure-head a mountain With lions at the base, familiar Ida, Dear to the Trojan exiles. And Aeneas Sailed on toward war and all those changing fortunes, And Pallas stayed beside him, asking questions: What stars were those? which was the one to guide them Through the dark night? what fortunes had he suffered On land and sea? Fling wide the gates, O Muses, Inspire the song: what force rides with Aeneas From Tuscan shores, what warships sail the ocean? Massicus leads the way in the bronze _Tiger_, A thousand men on board; they have come from Clusium, From Cosae’s city, archers all, with quivers Light on their shoulders, and their bows are deadly. With them is glowering Abas; a gold Apollo Gleams on his bowsprit, and the vessel blazes With men in armor; the little island Ilva, Rich in her mines, had sent them, thrice a hundred, And Populonia furnished twice as many. Third comes Asilas, priest and augur, learnèd In all the signs, diviner of stars and lightning, Of birds and entrails; he brings a thousand spearmen From Pisa, on Etruscan soil. And Astur Follows, a handsome horseman, with three hundred Stalwarts from Caere, Minio, and Pyrgi, Proud, confident men, with arms of many colors. And Cinyras is there, the bravest leader Of all Ligurian captains, and Cupavo, With none too many followers; his crest Is white swan-plumage, a token of his father, Who, so they say, loved Phaethon, and grieved Over his fall from heaven, and made music To heal his sorrow, under the poplar trees Phaethon’s sisters haunted, and so, singing, Became a bird, all white and soft, and vanished From earth, and was a crying voice in heaven, Cygnus, the swan. And now his son Cupavo Comes to the wars, driving his ship, the _Centaur_, Which towers high as a cliff; the long keel furrows A wide wake over the sea.