Of sacred peace, or loose the imprisoned war; But hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms, Abhorred the wicked ministry of arms. Then heaven's imperious queen shot down from high; At her approach the brazen hinges fly; The gates are forced, and every falling bar; And, like a tempest, issues out the war. The peaceful cities of the Ausonian shore, Lulled in their ease, and undisturbed before, Are all on fire; and some, with studious care, Their restive steeds in sandy plains prepare; Some their soft limbs in painful marches try, And war is all their wish, and arms the general cry. Part scour their rusty shields with seam; and part New grind the blunted axe, and point the dart: With joy they view the waving ensigns fly, And hear the trumpet's clangor pierce the sky. Five cities forge their arms--the Atinian powers, Antemne, Tibur with her lofty towers, Ardea the proud, the Crustumerian town: All these of old were places of renown. Some hammer helmets for the fighting field; Some twine young sallows to support the shield; The corselet some, and some the cuishes mould, With silver plated, and with ductile gold. The rustic honours of the scythe and share Give place to swords and plumes, the pride of war. Old faulchions are new tempered in the fires: The sounding trumpet every soul inspires. The word is given; with eager speed they lace The shining head-piece, and the shield embrace. The neighing steeds are to the chariots tied; The trusty weapon sits on every side. And, now the mighty labour is begun, Ye Muses, open all your Helicon. Sing you the chiefs that swayed the Ausonian land, Their arms, and armies under their command; What warriors in our ancient clime were bred; What soldiers followed, and what heroes led. For well you know, and can record alone, What fame to future times conveys but darkly down. Mezentius first appeared upon the plain: Scorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain, Defying earth and heaven. Etruria lost, He brings to Turnus' aid his baffled host. The charming Lausus, full of youthful fire, Rode in the rank, and next his sullen sire; To Turnus only second in the grace Of manly mien, and features of the face. A skilful horseman, and a huntsman bred, With fates averse a thousand men he led: His sire unworthy of so brave a son; Himself well worthy of a happier throne. Next Aventinus drives his chariot round The Latian plains, with palms and laurels crowned. Proud of his steeds, he smokes along the field; His father's hydra fills his ample shield: A hundred serpents hiss about the brims; } The son of Hercules he justly seems, } By his broad shoulders and gigantic limbs-- } Of heavenly part, and part of earthly blood, A mortal woman mixing with a god. For strong Alcides, after he had slain The triple Geryon, drove from conquered Spain