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And drives her far from home of men,
'Mid silvan haunt and wild-beast's den.

So when she sees the seeds of ill
Have thriven obedient to her will,
The royal house, the royal thought
Alike to dire confusion brought,
On dusky wings the goddess flies
Where the bold Daunian's ramparts rise,
The town which Danae built of yore,
By headlong tempest blown ashore.
Ardea the name that bygone race
Bestowed upon their dwelling-place,
And Ardea's name is honoured yet,
But Ardea's sun in gloom is set.
There in his home at midnight deep
Was Turnus lying wrapped in sleep.
At once the crafty fiend lays by
All signs of baleful deity:
No Fury now, she makes her own
The likeness of a wrinkled crone,
Binds with a fillet tresses grey
And twines them round with olive spray:
She stands, transformed to Calybe,
Priestess of Juno's temple she,
And thus in simulated guise
Presents her to the warrior's eyes:
'Can Turnus rest and see his pain,
His generous toil bestowed in vain?
Lie still and see his kingly sway
To Dardan settlers signed away?
Latinus robs you of the fair,
Withholds perforce her blood-bought dower,
And searches out a foreign heir
To throne him in the seat of power.