With censers, first they fume the sacred shrine, Then in this common supplication join:-- "O patroness of arms! unspotted maid! Propitious hear, and lend thy Latins aid! Break short the pirate's lance; pronounce his fate, And lay the Phrygian low before the gate." Now Turnus arms for fight. His back and breast Well-tempered steel and scaly brass invest: The cuishes, which his brawny thighs infold, Are mingled metal damasked o'er with gold. His faithful faulchion sits upon his side; Nor casque, nor crest, his manly features hide: But, bare to view, amid surrounding friends, With godlike grace, he from the tower descends. Exulting in his strength, he seems to dare His absent rival, and to promise war. Freed from his keepers, thus, with broken reins, The wanton courser prances o'er the plains, Or in the pride of youth o'erleaps the mounds, And snuffs the females in forbidden grounds, Or seeks his watering in the well-known flood, To quench his thirst, and cool his fiery blood: He swims luxuriant in the liquid plain, And o'er his shoulder flows his waving mane: He neighs, he snorts, he bears his head on high; Before his ample chest the frothy waters fly. Soon as the prince appears without the gate, The Volscians, and their virgin leader, wait His last commands. Then, with a graceful mien, Lights from her lofty steed the warrior queen: Her squadron imitates, and each descends; Whose common suit Camilla thus commends:-- "If sense of honour, if a soul secure Of inborn worth, that can all tests endure, Can promise aught, or on itself rely Greatly to dare to conquer or to die; Then, I alone, sustained by these, will meet The Tyrrhene troops, and promise their defeat. Ours be the danger, ours the sole renown: You, general, stay behind, and guard the town." Turnus a while stood mute with glad surprise, And on the fierce virago fixed his eyes, Then thus returned:--"O grace of Italy! With what becoming thanks can I reply? Not only words lie labouring in my breast, But thought itself is by thy praise oppressed. Yet rob me not of all; but let me join My toils, my hazard, and my fame, with thine. The Trojan, not in stratagem unskilled, Sends his light horse before to scour the field: Himself, through steep ascents and thorny brakes, A larger compass to the city takes. This news my scouts confirm: and I prepare To foil his cunning, and his force to dare; With chosen foot his passage to forelay, And place an ambush in the winding way. Thou, with thy Volscians, face the Tuscan horse: The brave Messapus shall thy troops inforce With those of Tibur, and the Latian band, Subjected all to thy supreme command." This said, he warns Messapus to the war, Then every chief exhorts with equal care.