The shouts of those who kill, and groans of those who die. But now the goddess mother, moved with grief, And pierced with pity, hastens her relief. A branch of healing dittany she brought, Which in the Cretan fields with care she sought-- (Rough is the stem, which woolly leaves surround; The leaves with flowers, the flowers with purple crowned,) Well known to wounded goats; a sure relief To draw the pointed steel, and ease the grief. This Venus brings, in clouds involved, and brews The extracted liquor with ambrosian dews, And odorous panacee. Unseen she stands, Tempering the mixture with her heavenly hands, And pours it in a bowl, already crowned With juice of medicinal herbs prepared to bathe the wound. The leech, unknowing of superior art } Which aids the cure, with this foments the part; } And in a moment ceased the raging smart. } Stanched is the blood, and in the bottom stands: The steel, but scarcely touched with tender hands, Moves up, and follows of its own accord, And health and vigour are at once restored. Iäpis first perceived the closing wound, And first the footsteps of a god he found. "Arms! arms!" he cries: "the sword and shield prepare, And send the willing chief, renewed, to war. This is no mortal work, no cure of mine, Nor art's effect, but done by hands divine. Some god our general to the battle sends; Some god preserves his life for greater ends." The hero arms in haste: his hands enfold His thighs with cuishes of refulgent gold: Inflamed to fight, and rushing to the field, That hand sustaining the celestial shield, This gripes the lance, and with such vigour shakes, That to the rest the beamy weapon quakes. Then with a close embrace he strained his son, And, kissing through his helmet, thus begun:-- "My son! from my example learn the war, } In camps to suffer, and in fields to dare; } But happier chance than mine attend thy care! } This day my hand thy tender age shall shield, And crown with honours of the conquered field: Thou, when thy riper years shall send thee forth To toils of war, be mindful of my worth: Assert thy birth-right; and in arms be known, For Hector's nephew, and Æneas' son." He said; and, striding, issued on the plain. Antheus and Mnestheus, and a numerous train, Attend his steps: the rest their weapons take, And, crowding to the field, the camp forsake. A cloud of blinding dust is raised around, Labours beneath their feet the trembling ground. Now Turnus, posted on a hill, from far Beheld the progress of the moving war: With him the Latins viewed the covered plains, And the chill blood ran backward in their veins. Juturna saw the advancing troops appear, And heard the hostile sound, and fled for fear.