And, absent, joined in hospitable ties: He, dying, to his heir bequeathed the prize; Till, by the conquering Ardean troops oppressed, He fell; and they the glorious gift possessed. These glittering spoils (now made the victor's gain) He to his body suits, but suits in vain. Messapus' helm he finds among the rest, And laces on, and wears the waving crest. Proud of their conquest, prouder of their prey, They leave the camp, and take the ready way. But far they had not passed, before they spied Three hundred horse, with Volscens for their guide. The queen a legion to king Turnus sent; } But the swift horse the slower foot prevent, } And now, advancing, sought the leader's tent. } They saw the pair; for, through the doubtful shade, } His shining helm Euryalus betrayed, } On which the moon with full reflexion played. } "'Tis not for nought," cried Volscens from the crowd, "These men go there;" then raised his voice aloud: "Stand! stand! why thus in arms? and whither bent? From whence, to whom, and on what errand sent?" Silent they scud away, and haste their flight To neighbouring woods, and trust themselves to night. The speedy horse all passages belay, And spur their smoking steeds to cross their way; And watch each entrance of the winding wood. Black was the forest: thick with beech it stood, Horrid with fern, and intricate with thorn; Few paths of human feet, or tracks of beasts, were worn. The darkness of the shades, his heavy prey, And fear, misled the younger from his way. But Nisus hit the turns with happier haste, And, thoughtless of his friend, the forest passed, And Alban plains (from Alba's name so called) Where king Latinus then his oxen stalled; Till, turning at the length, he stood his ground, And missed his friend, and cast his eyes around:-- "Ah wretch!" he cried--"where have I left behind The unhappy youth? where shall I hope to find? Or what way take?" Again he ventures back, And treads the mazes of his former track. He winds the wood, and, listening, hears the noise Of trampling coursers, and the riders' voice. The sound approached; and suddenly he viewed The foes inclosing, and his friend pursued, Forelaid and taken, while he strove in vain The shelter of the friendly shades to gain. What should he next attempt? what arms employ, What fruitless force, to free the captive boy? Or desperate should he rush and lose his life, With odds oppressed, in such unequal strife? Resolved at length, his pointed spear he shook; And, casting on the moon a mournful look,-- "Guardian of groves, and goddess of the night! Fair queen!" he said, "direct my dart aright. If e'er my pious father, for my sake, Did grateful offerings on thy altars make, Or I increased them with my sylvan toils,