So now the promised day was come, and the Destinies had fulfilled the time appointed, when Turnus’ lawless violence gave warning to the mighty mother to ward off the firebrand from her consecrated ships. Now in a moment a strange light flashed on the eyes of all, and a great 15 cloud was seen from the quarter of the dawn-goddess running athwart the sky, with the choirs of Ida in its train; then came darting through the air a voice of terror, thrilling the ranks of Trojan and Rutulian from end to end: “Busy not yourselves, ye Teucrians, to defend my 20 ships, nor take weapons into your hands: Turnus shall have leave to burn up the ocean sooner than to consume my sacred pines. Go free, my favourites: go and be goddesses of the sea: it is the mother’s voice that bids you.” And at once each ship snaps her cable from the 25 bank, and like a dolphin dips her beak and makes for the bottom. Then all emerge in maiden forms, a marvel to behold, and breast the main, as many as stood a moment ago with their brazen prows to the shore. Amazement seized the Rutulians; terror came on Messapus 30 himself, confusion on his steeds; even Tiber, the river, pauses, murmuring hoarsely, and retraces his seaward course. But bold Turnus’ confidence felt no check; no, his words are ready to encourage and upbraid: “It is at the Trojans that these portents point: Jove himself 35 has robbed them of their wonted resource; they wait not for Rutulian fire and sword to do the work. Yes, the sea is impassable to the Teucrians; hope of flight have they none; one half of nature is taken from them; as for earth, it is in our hands, thanks to the thousands here standing in arms, the tribes of Italy. I care not for the fateful utterances of heaven that these Phrygians vaunt, be they what they may: fate and Venus have had license enough, 5 in that the Trojans have set foot on the soil of our rich Ausonia. I, too, have a fate of my own, to mow down with the sword the guilty nation that has stolen my bride; that wrong of theirs comes not home to the Atridæ alone, nor has Mycenæ alone the privilege of going to war. But 10 one destruction is enough for them—aye, had one transgression been enough, so that they had henceforth loathed the sex well-nigh to a woman. Men who trust in their intervening rampart, whom the pause at the trench, those few feet of distance from death, inspires with courage. Why, 15 did they not see their city of Troy sink into the fire, though built by the hand of Neptune? But you, my chosen mates, who is there ready to hew down the rampart and rush with me on their bewildered camp? I need not the arms of Vulcan nor a thousand sail for _my_ Trojan war. 20 Let all Etruria join them in a body. Night alarms, cowardly