Nor turn them into Trojan folk, or call them Teucrians then: Let not that manfolk shift their tongue, or cast their garb aside; Let Latium and the Alban kings through many an age abide, And cherish thou the Roman stem with worth of Italy: Troy-town is dead: Troy and its name for ever let them die!" The Fashioner of men and things spake, smiling in her face: "Yea, Jove's own sister; second branch forsooth, of Saturn's race! 830 Such are the mighty floods of wrath thou rollest in thy breast. But this thine anger born for nought, I prithee let it rest: I give thine asking; conquered now I yield me, and am glad: The Ausonian men shall keep the tongue and ways their fathers had, And as their name is shall it be: only in body blent Amidst them shall the Teucrians sink; from me shall rites be sent, And holy things, and they shall be all Latins of one tongue. Hence shalt thou see a blended race from blood Ausonian sprung, Whose godliness shall outgo men, outgo the Gods above; Nor any folk of all the world so well thy worth shall love." 840 So gladdened Juno's heart was turned, and yea-saying she bowed, And so departed from the sky and left her watching-cloud. Another thing the Father now within him turneth o'er, What wise Juturna he shall part from her lost brother's war: Two horrors are there that are called the Dreadful Ones by name, Whom with Megæra of the Pit at one birth and the same Untimely Night brought forth of yore, and round about them twined Like coils of serpents, giving them great wings to hold the wind: About Jove's throne, and close anigh the Stern King's threshold-stead, Do these attend, in sick-heart men to whet the mortal dread, 850 Whenso the King-God fashions forth fell death and dire disease, Or smites the guilty cities doomed with battle miseries. Now one of these sent Jupiter swift from the heavenly place, And bade her for a sign of doom to cross Juturna's face. So borne upon a whirl of wind to earth the swift one flies, E'en as an arrow from the string is driven amid the skies, Which headed with the venom fell a Parthian man hath shot,-- Parthian, Cydonian, it may be,--the hurt that healeth not; Its hidden whirring sweepeth through the drifting misty flow: So fared the Daughter of the Night, and sought the earth below. 860 But when she saw the Ilian hosts and Turnus' battle-rank, Then sudden into puny shape her body huge she shrank, A fowl that sits on sepulchres, and desert roofs alone In the dead night, and through the mirk singeth her ceaseless moan; In such a shape this bane of men met Turnus' face in field, And, screeching, hovered to and fro, and flapped upon his shield: Strange heaviness his body seized, consuming him with dread, His hair stood up, and in his jaws his voice lay hushed and dead.