And Juno, gazing From a golden cloud to earth, watching the duel, Heard the all-powerful king of high Olympus:-- “What will the end be now, O wife? What else Remains? You know, and you admit you know it, Aeneas is heaven-destined, the native hero Become a god, raised by the fates, exalted. What are you planning? with what hope lingering on In the cold clouds? Was it proper that a mortal Should wound a god? that the sword, once lost, be given Turnus again?--Juturna, of course, is nothing Without your help--was it proper that the beaten Increase in violence? Stop it now, I tell you; Listen to my entreaties: I would not have you Devoured by grief in silence; I would not have you Bring me, again, anxiety and sorrow, However sweet the voice. The end has come. To harry the Trojans over land and ocean, To light up war unspeakable, to defile A home with grief, to mingle bridal and sorrow,-- All this you were permitted. Go no farther! That is an absolute order.” And Juno, downcast In gaze, replied:--“Great Jove, I knew your pleasure: And therefore, much against my will, left Turnus, Left earth. Were it not so, you would not see me Lonely upon my airy throne in heaven, Enduring things both worthy and unworthy, But I would be down there, by flame surrounded, Fighting in the front ranks, and hauling Trojans To battle with their enemies. Juturna, I urged, I own, to help her wretched brother, And I approved, I own, her greater daring For his life’s sake, but I did not approve, And this I swear by Styx, that river whose name Binds all the gods to truth, her taking weapons, Aiming the bow. I give up now, I leave These battles, though I hate to. I ask one favor For Latium, for the greatness of your people, And this no law of fate forbids: when, later, And be it so, they join in peace, and settle Their laws, their treaties, in a blessèd marriage, Do not command the Latins, native-born, To change their language, to be known as Trojans, To alter speech or garb; let them be Latium, Let Alban kings endure through all the ages, Let Roman stock, strong in Italian valor, Prevail: since Troy has fallen, let her name Perish and be forgotten.” Smiling on her, The great creator answered:--“You are truly True sister of Jove and child of Saturn, nursing Such tides of anger in the heart! Forget it! Abate the rise of passion. The wish is granted. I yield, and more than that,--I share your purpose. Ausonians shall keep their old tradition, Their fathers’ speech and ways; their name shall be Even as now it is. Their sacred laws, Their ritual, I shall add, and make all Latins Men of a common tongue. A race shall rise All-powerful, of mingled blood; you will see them By virtue of devotion rise to glories