And as he spake the word he rose from off the lofty throne, And the slaked fire of Hercules roused on the altar-stone; And joyfully he drew anear the God of yesterday And little House-Gods: chosen ewes in manner due they slay, Evander and the youth of Troy together side by side. Then to the ships they wend their ways, where yet their fellows bide: There men to follow him in fight he chooseth from the peers, The flower of hardy hearts; the rest the downlong water bears; Deedless they swim adown the stream, Ascanius home to bring The tidings of his coming sire and matters flourishing. 550 But horses get such Teucrian men as are for Tyrrhene mead; By lot they choose Æneas one which yellow lion's weed Goes all about; full fair it shone, for it was golden-clawed. Then sudden through the little town the rumour flies abroad, That knights will speedily ride forth to Tyrrhene kingly stead. Then fear redoubleth mothers' prayers, and nigher draweth dread In peril's hand, and greater still the face of Mars doth grow. Father Evander strains the hand of him that needs must go, Clinging with tears insatiate, and such a word doth say: "O me! would Jove bring back again the years long worn away! 560 Were I as when the foremost foes upon Præneste's field I felled, and burnt victoriously a heap of shield on shield: When with this very hand I sent King Herilus to Hell, Whose dam, Feronia, at his birth,--wild is the tale to tell,-- Had given him gift of threefold life; three times the sword to shake, And thrice to fall upon the field: yet did this right hand take That threefold life away from him, thrice spoiled him of his gear. O were I such, ne'er would I break from thine embracing dear, O son; nor had Mezentius erst, the tyrant neighbour lord, In my despite so many deaths wrought with his cruel sword, 570 Nor widowed this our city here of such a host of sons. But ye, O Gods!--thou Mightiest, King of all heavenly ones, O Jove, have pity now, I pray, upon the Arcadian King, And hear a father's prayers! for if your mighty governing,-- If Fate shall keep my Pallas safe, and I may live to see His face again,--if he return to keep our unity, Then may I live, and any toil, such as ye will, abide! But, Fortune, if thou threatenest ill, and misery betide, Then let me now, yea, now indeed, the cruel life break through, While yet my fear is unfulfilled and hope may yet come true; 580 While thee, belovèd joy of eld, I wrap mine arms around, Ere yet the tale of evil hap mine ancient ears may wound."