My Pallas were more fit to mount the throne, And should, but he's a Sabine mother's son, And half a native; but, in you, combine A manly vigor, and a foreign line.
Where Fate and smiling Fortune shew the way, Pursue the ready path to sov'reign sway.
The staff of my declining days, my son, Shall make your good or ill success his own;In fighting fields from you shall learn to dare, And serve the hard apprenticeship of war;Your matchless courage and your conduct view, And early shall begin t' admire and copy you.
Besides, two hundred horse he shall command;Tho' few, a warlike and well-chosen band.
These in my name are listed; and my son As many more has added in his own."Scarce had he said; Achates and his guest, With downcast eyes, their silent grief express'd;Who, short of succors, and in deep despair, Shook at the dismal prospect of the war.
But his bright mother, from a breaking cloud, To cheer her issue, thunder'd thrice aloud;Thrice forky lightning flash'd along the sky, And Tyrrhene trumpets thrice were heard on high.
Then, gazing up, repeated peals they hear;And, in a heav'n serene, refulgent arms appear:
Redd'ning the skies, and glitt'ring all around, The temper'd metals clash, and yield a silver sound.
The rest stood trembling, struck with awe divine;Aeneas only, conscious to the sign, Presag'd th' event, and joyful view'd, above, Th' accomplish'd promise of the Queen of Love.
Then, to th' Arcadian king: "This prodigy (Dismiss your fear) belongs alone to me.
Heav'n calls me to the war: th' expected sign Is giv'n of promis'd aid, and arms divine.
My goddess mother, whose indulgent care Foresaw the dangers of the growing war, This omen gave, when bright Vulcanian arms, Fated from force of steel by Stygian charms, Suspended, shone on high: she then foreshow'd Approaching fights, and fields to float in blood.
Turnus shall dearly pay for faith forsworn;And corps, and swords, and shields, on Tiber borne, Shall choke his flood: now sound the loud alarms;And, Latian troops, prepare your perjur'd arms."He said, and, rising from his homely throne, The solemn rites of Hercules begun, And on his altars wak'd the sleeping fires;Then cheerful to his household gods retires;There offers chosen sheep.Th' Arcadian king And Trojan youth the same oblations bring.