Meanwhile his men beheld at last, when all the way was spent, 160 The Latin towers and roofs aloft, and drew the walls anigh: There were the lads and flower of youth afield the city by Backing the steed, or mid the dust a-steering of the car, Or bending of the bitter bow, hurling tough darts afar By strength of arm; for foot or fist crying the challenging. Then fares a well-horsed messenger, who to the ancient king Bears tidings of tall new-comers in outland raiment clad: So straight Latinus biddeth them within his house be had, And he upon his father's throne sat down amidmost there. High on an hundred pillars stood that mighty house and fair, 170 High in the burg, the dwelling-place Laurentian Picus won, Awful with woods, and worshipping of sires of time agone: Here was it wont for kings to take the sceptre in their hand, Here first to raise the axe of doom: 'twas court-house of the land, This temple, and the banquet-hall; here when the host was slain The fathers at the endlong boards would sit the feast to gain. There too were dight in cedar old the sires of ancient line For there was fashioned Italus, and he who set the vine, Sabinus, holding yet in hand the image of the hook; And Saturn old, and imaging of Janus' double look, 180 Stood in the porch; and many a king was there from ancient tide, Who in their country's battle erst the wounds of Mars would bide: And therewithal were many arms hung on the holy door. There hung the axes crookèd-horned, and taken wains of war, And crested helms, and bolts and locks that city-gates had borne; And spears and shields, and thrusting-beaks from ships of battle torn. There with Quirinus' crooked staff, girt in the shortened gown, With target in his left hand held, was Picus set adown,-- The horse-tamer, whom Circe fair, caught with desire erewhile, Smote with that golden rod of hers, and, sprinkling venom's guile, 190 Made him a fowl, and colours fair blent on his shifting wings.