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oft his trembling knees their aid refuseā ā€”
Yet, pressing foot by foot, his foe pursues.

Thus, when a fearful stag is closā€™d around
With crimson toils, or in a river found,
High on the bank the deep-mouthā€™d hound appears,
Still opening, following still, whereā€™er he steers;
The persecuted creature, to and fro,
Turns here and there, to scape his Umbrian foe:
Steep is thā€™ ascent, and, if he gains the land,
The purple death is pitchā€™d along the strand.
His eager foe, determinā€™d to the chase,
Stretchā€™d at his length, gains ground at evā€™ry pace;
Now to his beamy head he makes his way,
And now he holds, or thinks he holds, his prey:
Just at the pinch, the stag springs out with fear;
He bites the wind, and fills his sounding jaws with air:
The rocks, the lakes, the meadows ring with cries;
The mortal tumult mounts, and thunders in the skies.
Thus flies the Daunian prince, and, flying, blames
His tardy troops, and, calling by their names,
Demands his trusty sword. The Trojan threats
The realm with ruin, and their ancient seats
To lay in ashes, if they dare supply
With arms or aid his vanquishā€™d enemy:
Thus menacing, he still pursues the course,
With vigour, thoā€™ diminishā€™d of his force.
Ten times already round the listed place
One chief had fled, and tā€™ other givā€™n the chase:
No trivial prize is playā€™d; for on the life
Or death of Turnus now depends the strife.

Within the space, an olive tree had stood,
A sacred shade, a venerable wood,
For vows to Faunus paid, the Latinsā€™ guardian god.
Here hung the vests, and tablets were engravā€™d,
Of sinking mariners from shipwreck savā€™d.
With heedless hands the Trojans fellā€™d the tree,
To make the ground enclosā€™d for combat free.
Deep in the root, whether by fate, or chance,
Or erring haste, the Trojan drove his lance;
Then stoopā€™d, and tuggā€™d with force immense, to free
Thā€™ encumberā€™d spear from the tenacious tree;
That, whom his fainting limbs pursued in vain,
His flying weapon might from far attain.

Confusā€™d with fear, bereft of human aid,
Then Turnus to the gods, and first to Faunus prayā€™d:
ā€œO Faunus, pity! and thou Mother Earth,
Where I thy foster son receivā€™d my birth,
Hold fast the steel! If my religious hand
Your plant has honourā€™d, which your foes profanā€™d,
Propitious hear my pious prayā€™r!ā€ He said,
Nor with successless vows invokā€™d their aid.
Thā€™ incumbent hero wrenchā€™d, and pullā€™d, and strainā€™d;
But still the stubborn earth the steel detainā€™d.
Juturna took her time; and, while in vain
He strove, assumā€™d Meticusā€™ form again,
And, in that imitated shape, restorā€™d
To the despairing prince his Daunian sword.
The Queen of Love, who, with disdain and grief,
Saw the bold nymph afford this prompt relief,
Tā€™ assert her offspring with a greater deed,
From the tough root the lingā€™ring weapon freed.

Once more erect, the rival chiefs advance:
One trusts the sword, and one the pointed lance;
And both resolvā€™d alike to try their fatal chance.

Meantime imperial Jove to Juno spoke,
Who from a shining cloud beheld the shock:
ā€œWhat new arrest, O Queen of Heavā€™n, is sent
To stop the Fates now labā€™ring in thā€™ event?
What farther hopes are left thee to pursue?
Divine Aeneas, (and thou knowā€™st it too,)
Foredoomā€™d, to these celestial seats are due.
What more attempts for Turnus can be made,
That thus thou lingā€™rest in this lonely shade?
Is it becoming of the due respect
And awful honour of a god elect,
A wound unworthy of our state to feel,
Patient of human hands and earthly steel?
Or seems it just, the sister should restore
A second sword, when one was lost before,
And arm a conquerā€™d wretch against his conqueror?
For what, without thy knowledge and avow,
Nay more, thy dictate, durst Juturna do?
At last, in deference to my love, forbear
To lodge within thy soul this anxious care;
Reclinā€™d upon my breast, thy grief unload:
Who should relieve the goddess, but the god?
Now all things to their utmost issue tend,
Pushā€™d by the Fates to their appointed end.
While leave was givā€™n thee, and a lawful hour
For vengeance, wrath, and unresisted powā€™r,
Tossā€™d on the seas, thou couldst thy foes distress,
And, drivā€™n ashore, with hostile arms oppress;
Deform the royal house; and, from the side
Of the just bridegroom, tear the plighted bride:
Now cease at my command.ā€ The Thundā€™rer said;
And, with dejected eyes, this answer Juno made:
ā€œBecause your dread decree too well I knew,
From Turnus and from earth unwilling I withdrew.
Else should you not behold me here, alone,
Involvā€™d in empty clouds, my friends bemoan,
But, girt with vengeful flames, in open sight
Engagā€™d against my foes in mortal fight.
ā€™Tis true, Juturna mingled in the strife
By my command, to save her brotherā€™s lifeā ā€”
At least to try; but, by the Stygian lake,
(The most religious oath the gods can take,)
With this restriction, not to bend the bow,
Or toss the spear, or trembling dart to throw.
And now, resignā€™d to your superior might,
And tirā€™d with fruitless toils, I loathe the fight.
This let me beg (and this no fates withstand)
Both for myself and for your fatherā€™s land,
That, when the nuptial bed shall bind the peace,
(Which I, since you ordain, consent to bless,)
The laws of either nation be the same;
But let the Latins still retain their name,
Speak the same language which they spoke before,
Wear the same habits which their grandsires wore.
Call them not Trojans: perish the renown
And name of Troy, with that detested town.
Latium be Latium still; let Alba reign
And Romeā€™s immortal majesty remain.ā€

Then thus the founder of mankind replies
(Unruffled was his front, serene his eyes)
ā€œCan Saturnā€™s issue, and heavā€™nā€™s other heir,
Such endless anger in her bosom bear?
Be mistress, and your full desires obtain;
But quench the choler you foment in vain.
From ancient blood thā€™ Ausonian people sprung,
Shall keep their name, their habit, and their tongue.
The Trojans to their customs shall be tied:
I will, myself, their common rites provide;
The natives shall command, the foreigners subside.
All shall be Latium; Troy without a name;
And her lost sons forget from whence they came.
From blood so mixā€™d, a pious race shall flow,
Equal to gods, excelling all below.
No nation more respect to you shall pay,
Or greater offā€™rings on your altars lay.ā€
Juno consents, well pleasā€™d that her desires
Had found success, and from the cloud retires.

The peace thus made, the Thundā€™rer next prepares
To force the watā€™ry goddess from the wars.
Deep in the dismal regions void of light,
Three daughters at a birth were born to Night:
These their brown mother, brooding on her

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