Nor thee, best war-duke, Cinyras, of that Ligurian crew, Leave I unsung: nor thee the more, Cupavo lord of few, Up from the cresting of whose helm the feathery swan-wings rise. Love was thy guilt; thy battle-sign was thine own father's guise. For Cycnus, say they, while for love of Phaëthon he grieves. And sings beneath his sisters' shade, beneath the poplar-leaves; 190 While with the Muse some solace sweet for woeful love he won, A hoary eld of feathers soft about him doth he on, Leaving the earth and following the stars with tuneful wails; And now his son amid his peers with Tuscan ship-host sails, Driving with oars the Centaur huge, who o'er the waters' face Hangs, threatening ocean with a rock, huge from his lofty place, And ever with his length of keel the deep sea furrows o'er. Then he, e'en Ocnus, stirreth up folk from his father's shore, Who from the love of Tuscan flood and fate-wise Manto came, And gave, O Mantua, walls to thee, and gave his mother's name: 200 Mantua, the rich in father-folk, though not one-stemmed her home. Three stems are there, from each whereof four peoples forth are come, While she herself, the head of all, from Tuscan blood hath might. Five hundred thence Mezentius arms against himself in fight, Whom Mincius' flood, Benacus' son, veiled in the sedges grey, Was leading in the fir of fight across the watery way. Then heavy-huge Aulestes goes; the oar-wood hundred-fold Rises for beating of the flood, as foam the seas uprolled. Huge Triton ferries him, whose shell the deep blue sea doth fright: Up from the shaggy naked waist manlike is he to sight 210 As there he swims, but underneath whale-bellied is he grown; Beneath the half-beast breast of him the foaming waters moan. So many chosen dukes of men in thrice ten keels they sail, And cut with brass the meads of brine for Troy and its avail.