Book 12
the pride of flowing streams, and much beloved
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of our own heart! thou knowest thou alone
hast been my favorite of those Latin maids
that to proud Jove's unthankful bed have climbed;
and willingly I found thee place and share
in our Olympian realm. So blame not me,
but hear, Juturna, what sore grief is thine:
while chance and destiny conceded aught
of strength to Latium's cause, I shielded well
both Turnus and thy city's wall; but now
I see our youthful champion make his war
with fates adverse. The Parcae's day of doom
implacably impends. My eyes refuse
to Iook upon such fight, such fatal league.
If for thy brother's life thou couldst be bold
to venture some swift blow, go, strike it now!
'T is fit and fair! Some issue fortunate
may tread on sorrow's heel.” She scarce had said,
when rained the quick tears from Juturna's eyes.
Three times and yet again her desperate hand
smote on her comely breast. But Juno cried,
“No tears to-day! But haste thee, haste and find
what way, if way there be, from clutch of death
to tear thy brother free; arouse the war;
their plighted peace destroy. I grant thee leave
such boldness to essay.” With this command
she left the nymph dismayed and grieving sore.
Meanwhile the kings ride forth: Latinus first,
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looming tall-statured from his four-horse car;
twelve rays of gold encircle his bright brow,
sign of the sun-god, his progenitor;
next Turnus, driving snow-white steeds, is seen,—
two bread-tipped javelins in his hand he bears;
Aeneas, of Rome's blood the source and sire,
with star-bright shield and panoply divine,
far-shining comes; Ascanius by his side—
of Roman greatness the next hope is he.
To camp they rode, where, garbed in blameless white,
with youngling swine and two-year sheep unshorn,
the priest before the flaming altars drove
