The queen at length appears; on either hand The brawny guards in martial order stand.
The royal babes a tawny wolf shall drain: Then Romulus his grandsire’s throne shall gain, Of martial tow’rs the founder shall become, The people Romans call, the city Rome.
Hers was a hero, destin’d to command A martial race, and rule the Latian land, Who should his ancient line from Teucer draw, And on the conquer’d world impose the law.’
Him Tullus next in dignity succeeds, An active prince, and prone to martial deeds.
A foreign son upon thy shore descends, Whose martial fame from pole to pole extends.
The cave of Mars was dress’d with mossy greens: There, by the wolf, were laid the martial twins.
Theirs is no more than that small spot of ground Which myriads of our martial men surround.
Th’ unfledg’d commanders and their martial train First make the circuit of the sandy plain Around their sires, and, at th’ appointed sign, Drawn up in beauteous order, form a line.
Without the gate, They see the boys and Latian youth debate The martial prizes on the dusty plain: Some drive the cars, and some the coursers rein; Some bend the stubborn bow for victory, And some with darts their active sinews try.
His martial men with fierce harangue he fir’d, And his own ardor in their souls inspir’d.
Six hundred Populonia sent along, All skill’d in martial exercise, and strong.
Swoln with applause, and aiming still at more, He now provokes the sea gods from the shore; With envy Triton heard the martial sound, And the bold champion, for his challenge, drown’d; Then cast his mangled carcass on the strand: The gazing crowd around the body stand.
Her maids, in martial pomp, on either side, Larina, Tulla, fierce Tarpeia, ride: Italians all; in peace, their queen’s delight; In war, the bold companions of the fight.
Him and his martial train the Triton bears; High on his poop the sea-green god appears: Frowning he seems his crooked shell to sound, And at the blast the billows dance around.
Then young Ascanius, who, before this day, Was wont in woods to shoot the savage prey, First bent in martial strife the twanging bow, And exercis’d against a human foeWith this bereft Numanus of his life, Who Turnus’ younger sister took to wife.
Ye sacred Nine, Inspire your poet in his high design, To sing what slaughter manly Turnus made, What souls he sent below the Stygian shade, What fame the soldiers with their captain share, And the vast circuit of the fatal war; For you in singing martial facts excel; You best remember, and alone can tell.
Entellus, thus: "My soul is still the same, Unmov’d with fear, and mov’d with martial fame; But my chill blood is curdled in my veins, And scarce the shadow of a man remains.
Go, mix’d with eunuchs, in the Mother’s rites, Where with unequal sound the flute invites; Sing, dance, and howl, by turns, in Ida’s shade: Resign the war to men, who know the martial trade!"