Lavinia heard her mother's words with burning cheeks, whereon Lay rain of tears, for thereunto exceeding ruddy flush Had brought the fire that now along her litten face did rush: As when the Indian ivory they wrong with blood-red dye, Or when mid many lilies white the ruddy roses lie, E'en such a mingled colour showed upon the maiden's face. Sore stirred by love upon the maid he fixed his constant gaze, 70 And, all the more afire for fight, thus to Amata said: "I prithee, mother, with these tears, such sign of coming dread, Dog not my feet as forth I wend to Mavors' bitter play; For Turnus is not free to thrust the hour of death away. Go, Idmon, bear the Phrygian lord these very words of mine, Nought for his pleasure: When the dawn tomorrow first shall shine, And from her purple wheels aloft shall redden all the sky, Lead not thy Teucrians to the fight: Teucrians and Rutuli Shall let their swords be; and we twain, our blood shall quench the strife, And we upon that field shall woo Lavinia for a wife." 80 He spake, and to the roofed place now swiftly wending home, Called for his steeds, and merrily stood there before their foam, E'en those that Orithyia gave Pilumnus, gift most fair, Whose whiteness overpassed the snow, whose speed the wingèd air. The busy horse-boys stand about, and lay upon their breasts The clapping of their hollow hands, and comb their manèd crests. But he the mail-coat doth on him well-wrought with golden scale And latten white; he fits the sword unto his hand's avail: His shield therewith, and hornèd helm with ruddy crest o'erlaid: That sword, the very Might of Fire for father Daunus made, 90 And quenched the white-hot edge thereof amidst the Stygian flood. Then the strong spear he took in hand that 'gainst the pillar stood, Amidmost of the house: that spear his hand won mightily From Actor of Auruncum erst; he shakes the quivering tree Loud crying: "Now, O spear of mine, who never heretofore Hast failed my call, the day draws on: thee the huge Actor bore, Now Turnus' right hand wieldeth thee: to aid, that I prevail To lay the Phrygian gelding low, and strip his rended mail By might of hand; to foul with dust the ringlets of his hair, Becrisped with curling-irons hot and drenched with plenteous myrrh!" 100 By such a fury is he driven; from all his countenance The fiery flashes leap, the flames in his fierce eyeballs dance: As when a bull in first of fight raiseth a fearful roar, And teacheth wrath unto his horns and whets them for the war, And 'gainst the tree-trunks pusheth them, and thrusts the breezes home, And with the scattering of the sand preludeth fight to come.