Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/299

No leader of Italian blood
May head so vast a multitude:
Choose ye a foreign chief.'
Scared by Heaven's voice, the Etruscan train
Sits down in arms in yonder plain.
An envoy, sent from Tarchon, brings
The sceptre of Etruria's kings,
And bids me join the camp, and wear
The crown, and be the kingdom's heir.
But envious age, for war too late,
Forbids Evander to be great.
My son perchance the host might lead,
But, born of Sabine mother's seed,
A half Italian he:
You, blest alike in age and race,
Assume, brave prince, the chieftain's place
O'er Troy and Italy.
Nay more, my hope, my only joy,
I give you too, my noble boy:
The martial lore of service stern
Beneath your conduct he shall learn,
With reverence on your actions gaze,
And tread your steps from earliest days.
Two hundred men, with each his steed,
I send with him, Arcadia's breed,
And Pallas from his own good store
Shall furnish forth two hundred more.'

He ended, and in musing mood
Æneas and Achates stood:
Dark thoughts came thick, when lo! from heaven
A sudden sign, by Venus given.
Swift runs athwart the sky's clear field
A thunder and a glare: