VII. Turnus, with twenty horsemen, left the rest To lag behind, and near the town-gate drew All unforeseen. A Thracian steed he pressed, Dappled with white; a crest of scarlet hue High o'er his golden helmet flamed in view. Loudly he shrills in anger to his train, "Who first with me will at the foemen--who? See there!" and, rising hurls his spear amain, Sign of the fight begun, and pricks along the plain. VIII. With shouts his comrades welcome the attack, And clamouring fiercely follow in his train. They marvel at the Teucrian hearts so slack, That none will dare to trust the open plain, And fight like men, but in the camp remain, And safe behind their sheltering rampart stay. Now here, now there, fierce Turnus in disdain Rides round the walls, and, searching for a way, Where way is none, still strives an entrance to essay. IX. As wolf, in ambush by the fold, sore beat With winds, at midnight howls amid the rain. The lambs beneath their mothers safely bleat. He, mad with rage, and faint with famine's pain, Thirsts for their blood, and ramps at them in vain; So raves fierce Turnus, as his eyes survey The walls and camp. Grief burns in every vein, As round he looks for access and a way To shake the Teucrians out, and strew them forth to slay. X. The fleet, as by the flanking camp it lies, Fenced by the river and the mounded sand, He marks, then loudly to the burning cries, And with a flaming pinestock fills his hand, Himself aflame. His presence cheers the band. All set to work, and strip the watchfires bare: Each warrior arms him with a murky brand: The smoking torch shoots up a pitchy glare, And clouds of mingled soot the Fire-god flings in air. XI. Say, Muse, what god from Teucrians turned the flame, Such fiery havoc. O, the tale declare; Old is its faith, but deathless is its fame. When first AEneas did his fleet prepare 'Neath Phrygian Ida, through the seas to fare, To Jove the Berecynthian queen divine Spake thus, 'tis said, urging a suppliant's prayer: "O Lord Olympian, hearken and incline. Grant what thy mother asks, who made Olympus thine. XII. "A wood, beloved for many a year, was mine, A grove of sacrifice, on Ida's height, Darksome with maple and the swart pitch-pine. This wood, these trees, my ever-dear delight, Gladly I gave to speed the Dardan's flight. But doubts and fears my troubled mind assail. O calm them; may a parent's prayer have might, And this their birth upon our hills avail To guide their voyage safe, and shield them from the gale."