So through the woodland wilderness and deserts of the deer Alecto drave the Queen around, with Bacchus' stings beset But when she deemed enough was wrought that rage of hers to whet, And that Latinus' rede and house was utterly undone, Forthwith away on dusky wings is borne that evil one Unto the bold Rutulian's wall: a city, saith the tale, Raised up by Danaë for her Acrisian folks' avail 410 When on the hurrying South she fled: Ardea in days of yore Our fathers called it; nor as yet is name thereof passed o'er, Though wealth be gone: there Turnus lay within his house on high, And midmost sleep of dusky night was winning peacefully. When there Alecto cruel face and hellish body shed, And to an ancient woman's like her shape she fashionèd, Wrinkling her forehead villanous; and hoary coifèd hair She donned, and round about it twined the olive-garland fair, And seemed the ancient Calybé of Juno's holy place; And so with such a word she thrust before the hero's face: 420 "Turnus, and wilt thou bear it now, such labour spent in vain, And give thy folk to Dardan men, the outcasts of the main? The King gainsays thy wedding couch, and dowry justly bought By very blood, and for his throne an outland heir is sought. Go, thou bemocked, and thrust thyself mid perils none shall thank; For cloaking of the Latin peace o'erthrow the Tuscan rank! The mighty Saturn's Seed herself hath bid me openly To bear thee this, while thou in peace of middle night shouldst lie. So up! be merry! arm the lads! bid wend from out the gate. Up, up, and arm! The Phrygian folk who in the fair stream wait, Burn thou their dukes of men with fire! burn every painted keel! 'Tis heavenly might that biddeth this. Let King Latinus feel Thy strength, and learn to know at last what meaneth Turnus' sword, Unless he grant the wedding yet, and hold his plighted word." But therewithal the young man spake, and answered her in scorn: "Thou errest: tidings of all this failed nowise to be borne Unto mine ears, how stranger ships the Tiber-flood beset. Nay, make me not so sore afeared,--belike she minds me yet, Juno, the Queen of Heaven aloft. Nay, mother, Eld the mouldy-dull, the empty of all sooth, 440 Tormenteth thee with cares in vain, and mid the arms of kings Bemocks the seer with idle shows of many fearful things. Nay, 'tis for thee to watch God's house, and ward the images, And let men deal with peace and war; for they were born for these."