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Of these the first in martial might
He takes to follow him in fight:
The rest drop down the stream, to bear
Iulus tidings how they fare,
His father and the cause.
Each has his steed of all the train
That marches to the Tuscan plain:
A charger for the chief is led
With tawny lion's hide bespread
That shines with gilded claws.
Fame to the little town relates
The horse are marching to the gates.
The matrons with redoubled zeal
Make vows to Heaven in wild appeal:
Fear closer treads on danger's heel,
And larger looms the fray:
The tears roll down Evander's face,
He holds his child in strict embrace,
And thus begins to say:
'Ah! would but Jupiter restore
The strength I had in days of yore,
When conqueror in Præneste's fields
I fired a pile of foemen's shields,
And hurried with my own right hand
King Erulus to the darksome land:
Three lives inspired that monstrous frame
When from Feronia's womb he came:
Three swords he wielded 'gainst the foe:
Three deaths it cost to lay him low:
Yet thrice this hand shed out his gore,
And thrice stripped off the arms he wore.
Ah! never then should war's alarms
Dispart me from my darling's arms,
Nor had Mezentius done despite
So foully to a neighbour's right,
Or made my widowed city feel
The havoc of his ruthless steel.