Most goodly Virbius went to war, Hippolytus' own son: His mother fair Aricia sent this battle-glorious one From fostering of Egeria's wood, from out the marish place Where standeth Dian's altar rich fulfilled of plenteous grace. For folk say, when Hippolytus, undone by step-dame's lie, Had paid unto his father's wrath that utmost penalty, He, piecemeal torn by maddened steeds, yet came aback to live Beneath the starry firmament, and air that heaven doth give, Brought back to life by healing herbs and Dian's cherishing: Then the Almighty Father, wroth that any mortal thing 770 Should rise again to light of life from nether shadows wan, Beat down with bolt to Stygian wave the Phoebus-gotten man, The finder of such healing craft, the wise in such an art. But Trivia's lovingkindness hid Hippolytus apart, And in the nymph Egeria's wood she held him many a day: Alone in woods of Italy he wore his life away, Deedless, his very name all changed, and Virbius by-named then. So for this cause to Trivia's fane and hallowed grove do men Drive horn-foot steeds, because, o'ercome by sea-beasts dread of yore, Piecemeal the chariot and the man they strewed about the shore. 780 No less his son would drive the steeds across the level plain For all their heat, and rush to war aloft in battle-wain. Now mid the forefront Turnus self of body excellent, Strode sword in hand: there by the head all others he outwent: His threefold crested helm upbore Chimæra in her wrath; Where very flame of Ætna's womb her jaws were pouring forth; And fiercer of her flames was she, and madder of her mood As bloomed the battle young again with more abundant blood. But on the smoothness of his shield was golden Io shown With upraised horns, with hairy skin, a very heifer grown,-- 790 A noble tale;--and Argus there was wrought, the maiden's ward; And father Inachus from bowl well wrought the river poured. A cloud of foot-folk follow him; his shielded people throng The meadows all about; forth goes the Argive manhood strong; Aruncan men and Rutuli, Sicanians of old years, Sacranian folk, Labicus' band the blazoned shield-bearers: Thy thicket-biders, Tiber; those that holy acres till Beside Numicus, those that plough Rutulian holt and hill, And ridges of Circæi: they whose meadows Anxur Jove Looks down on, where Feronia joys amid her fair green grove; 800 Where Satura's black marish lies, where chilly Ufens glides, Seeking a way through lowest dales, till in the sea he hides.