But the queen, appalled by the new hazard of the combat, was all in tears, clinging to her fiery son-in-law with the convulsive grasp of death: “Turnus, by these my tears, by any regard you cherish for Amata—you are now our only hope, our only solace in our forlorn old age—the 35 honour and power of the king are in your hands; on you, its one pillar, the whole house leans. I ask but this—forbear to cross swords with the Teucrians. Whatever chance waits on you in this unhappy combat, waits on me, too, my Turnus; along with you I shall leave the hated light, nor see in Æneas my son-in-law and my conqueror.” As Lavinia heard her mother’s voice, her glowing cheeks 5 were bathed in tears; a deep blush kindled a fire, and shot over her flushing face. As when a man has stained Indian ivory with blood-red purple, or like a bed of lilies and roses mixed: such hues were seen on the maiden’s countenance. He, bewildered with passion, fixes his eyes upon her: the 10 sight makes him burn the more for battle, and thus he addresses Amata in brief: “Let me not have tears nor aught so ominous, dear mother, as my escort to the iron battle; Turnus is not free to postpone the call of death. Go, Idmon, and bear the Phrygian despot a message that 15 will like him not: Soon as the goddess of to-morrow’s dawn shall fire the sky with the glow of her chariot, let him not spur the Teucrians against the Rutulians; let Teucrian and Rutulian sheath their swords, while we twain with our own life-blood decide the war. Let 20 Lavinia’s hand be sought and won in yonder field.”