Attend your brother to the Stygian flood." Then through his breast his fatal sword he sent, And the soul issued at the gaping vent. As storms the skies, and torrents tear the ground, Thus raged the prince, and scattered deaths around. At length Ascanius, and the Trojan train, Broke from the camp, so long besieged in vain. Meantime the king of gods and mortal man Held conference with his queen, and thus began:-- "My sister goddess, and well-pleasing wife, Still think you Venus' aid supports the strife-- Sustains her Trojans--or themselves, alone, With inborn valour force their fortune on? How fierce in fight, with courage undecayed! Judge if such warriors want immortal aid." To whom the goddess with the charming eyes, Soft in her tone, submissively replies:-- "Why, O my sovereign lord, whose frown I fear, And cannot, unconcerned, your anger bear-- Why urge you thus my grief? when, if I still, (As once I was,) were mistress of your will, From your almighty power your pleasing wife Might gain the grace of lengthening Turnus' life, Securely snatch him from the fatal fight, And give him to his aged father's sight. Now let him perish, since you hold it good, And glut the Trojans with his pious blood. Yet from our lineage he derives his name, And, in the fourth degree, from god Pilumnus came! Yet he devoutly pays you rites divine, And offers daily incense at your shrine." Then shortly thus the sovereign god replied:-- "Since in my power and goodness you confide, If, for a little space, a lengthened span, You beg reprieve for this expiring man, I grant you leave to take your Turnus hence From instant fate, and can so far dispense. But, if some secret meaning lies beneath, To save the short-lived youth from destined death, Or, if a farther thought you entertain, To change the fates; you feed your hopes in vain." To whom the goddess thus, with weeping eyes:-- "And what if that request, your tongue denies, Your heart should grant--and not a short reprieve, But length of certain life, to Turnus give? Now speedy death attends the guiltless youth, If my presaging soul divines with truth; Which, O! I wish, might err through causeless fears, And you (for you have power) prolong his years!" Thus having said, involved in clouds, she flies, And drives a storm before her through the skies. Swift she descends, alighting on the plain, Where the fierce foes a dubious fight maintain. Of air condensed, a spectre soon she made; And, what Æneas was, such seemed the shade. Adorned with Dardan arms, the phantom bore His head aloft; a plumy crest he wore: This hand appeared a shining sword to wield, And that sustained an imitated shield. With manly mien he stalked along the ground, Nor wanted voice belied, nor vaunting sound.