LXV. So Turnus the Rutulians stirred to war. Meanwhile the Fury to the Trojans bent Her flight; with wily eye she marked afar, With snares and steeds upon the chase intent, Iulus. On his hounds at once she sent A sudden madness, and fierce rage awoke To chase the stag, as with the well-known scent She lured their nostrils.--Thus the feud outbroke; So small a cause of strife could rustic hearts provoke. LXVI. Broad-antlered, beauteous was the stag, which erst The sons of Tyrrheus (Tyrrheus kept whilere The royal herd and pastures), fostering nursed, Snatched from the dam. Their sister, Silvia fair, Oft wreathed his horns, and oft with tender care She washed him, and his shaggy coat would comb. So tamed, and trained his master's board to share, The gentle favourite in the woods would roam; Each night, how late soe'er, he sought the well-known home. LXVII. Him the fierce hounds now startle far astray, As down the stream he floats, or, crouching low, Rests on the green bank from the noontide ray. Athirst for praise, Ascanius bends his bow; Loud whirs the arrow, for Fate aims the blow, And cleaves his flank and belly. Homeward flies The wounded creature, moaning in his woe. Blood-stained, with piteous and imploring eyes, Like one who sues for life, he fills the house with cries. LXVIII. Smiting the breast, poor Silvia calls for aid. Forth rush the churls, scarce waiting her demand, Roused by the Fury in the wood's still shade. One grasps a club, another wields a brand; Rage makes a weapon of what comes to hand. Forth from his work ran Tyrrheus, who an oak Was cleaving with the wedge, and cheered the band. His hand still grasped the hatchet for the stroke, And bitter wrath he breathed, and fierce the words he spoke. LXIX. The Fury snatched the moment; forth she flew, And, perching on the cabin-roof, looked round, And from the curved horn of the shepherds blew A blast of Tartarus, that shook the ground, And made the forests and the groves rebound The infernal echoes. Trivia's lakes afar, And Velia's fountains heard the dreadful sound; The white waves heard it of the sulphurous Nar, And mothers clasped their babes, and trembled at the war. LXX. Swift at the summons, as the trumpet brayed, The sturdy shepherds arm them for the fray. Swift pour the Trojans from their camp, to aid Ascanius. Lo! 'tis battle's stern array, No village brawl, where churls dispute the day With charred oak-staves and cudgels. Broadswords clash With broadswords, and War's harvest far away Stands, bristling black with iron, as they dash Together, and drawn swords in doubtful conflict flash.