Where, with religious rites, their common gods they place. } In purest white, the priests their heads attire, And living waters bear, and holy fire; And, o'er their linen hoods and shaded hair, Long twisted wreaths of sacred vervain wear. In order issuing from the town, appears The Latin legion, armed with pointed spears; And from the fields, advancing on a line, The Trojan and the Tuscan forces join: Their various arms afford a pleasing sight: A peaceful train they seem, in peace prepared for fight. Betwixt the ranks the proud commanders ride, Glittering with gold, and vests in purple dyed-- Here Mnestheus, author of the Memmian line, And there Messapus, born of seed divine. The sign is given; and, round the listed space, Each man in order fills his proper place. Reclining on their ample shields, they stand, And fix their pointed lances in the sand. Now, studious of the sight, a numerous throng Of either sex promiscuous, old and young, Swarm from the town: by those who rest behind, The gates and walls, and houses' tops, are lined. Meantime the queen of heaven beheld the sight, With eyes unpleased, from mount Albano's height: (Since called Albano by succeeding fame, But then an empty hill, without a name.) She thence surveyed the field, the Trojan powers, The Latian squadrons, and Laurentine towers. Then thus the goddess of the skies bespake, With sighs and tears, the goddess of the lake, King Turnus' sister, once a lovely maid, Ere to the lust of lawless Jove betrayed-- Compressed by force, but, by the grateful god, Now made the Naïs of the neighbouring flood. "O nymph, the pride of living lakes! (said she) O most renowned, and most beloved by me! Long hast thou known, nor need I to record, The wanton sallies of my wandering lord. Of every Latian fair, whom Jove misled To mount by stealth my violated bed, To thee alone I grudged not his embrace, But gave a part of heaven, and an unenvied place. Now learn from me thy near approaching grief, Nor think my wishes want to thy relief While fortune favoured, nor heaven's king denied To lend my succour to the Latian side, I saved thy brother, and the sinking state: But now he struggles with unequal fate, And goes, with gods averse, o'ermatched in might, } To meet inevitable death in fight; } Nor must I break the truce, nor can sustain the sight. } Thou, if thou dar'st, thy present aid supply; It well becomes a sister's care to try." At this the lovely nymph, with grief oppressed, Thrice tore her hair, and beat her comely breast. To whom Saturnia thus:--"Thy tears are late: Haste, snatch him, if he can be snatched, from fate: New tumults kindle; violate the truce. Who knows what changeful Fortune may produce?