Hope arms their courage: from their towers they throw Their darts with double force, and drive the foe. Thus, at the signal given, the cranes arise Before the stormy south, and blacken all the skies. King Turnus wondered at the fight renewed, Till, looking back, the Trojan fleet he viewed, The seas with swelling canvas covered o'er, And the swift ships descending on the shore. The Latians saw from far, with dazzled eyes, The radiant crest that seemed in flames to rise, And dart diffusive fires around the field, And the keen glittering of the golden shield. Thus threatening comets, when by night they rise, Shoot sanguine streams, and sadden all the skies: So Sirius, flashing forth sinister lights, Pale human kind with plagues and with dry famine frights. Yet Turnus, with undaunted mind, is bent To man the shores, and hinder their descent, And thus awakes the courage of his friends:-- "What you so long have wished, kind Fortune sends-- In ardent arms to meet the invading foe: You find, and find him at advantage now. Yours is the day: you need but only dare; Your swords will make you masters of the war. Your sires, your sons, your houses, and your lands, And dearest wives, are all within your hands. Be mindful of the race from whence you came, And emulate in arms your fathers' fame. Now take the time, while staggering yet they stand With feet unfirm, and prepossess the strand: Fortune befriends the bold." No more he said, But balanced, whom to leave, and whom to lead; Then these elects, the landing to prevent; And those he leaves, to keep the city pent. Meantime the Trojan sends his troops ashore: Some are by boats exposed, by bridges more. With labouring oars they bear along the strand, Where the tide languishes, and leap a-land. Tarchon observes the coast with careful eyes, And, where no ford he finds, no water fries, Nor billows with unequal murmurs roar, But smoothly slide along, and swell the shore, That course he steered, and thus he gave command: "Here ply your oars, and at all hazard land: Force on the vessel, that her keel may wound This hated soil, and furrow hostile ground. Let me securely land--I ask no more; Then sink my ships, or shatter on the shore." This fiery speech inflames his fearful friends: They tug at every oar, and every stretcher bends: They run their ships aground; the vessels knock, (Thus forced ashore,) and tremble with the shock. Tarchon's alone was lost, and stranded stood: Stuck on a bank, and beaten by the flood, She breaks her back; the loosened sides give way, And plunge the Tuscan soldiers in the sea. Their broken oars and floating planks withstand } Their passage, while they labour to the land, } And ebbing tides bear back upon the uncertain sand. }