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THE ÆNEID.

A spear he bore of solid oak,
Knotty and seasoned by the smoke:
To its mid shaft his child he bound,
With cork-tree bark encompassed round,
And made her firm and fast:
The spear in his broad hand he shakes,
And thus to heaven petition makes:
"Latonian queen of greenwood shade,
To thee I vow this infant maid:
Thy dart she grasps in suppliant guise
Thus early, as from death she flies:
Extend, I pray, thy guardian care,
And guide her through the dubious air."
Thus having prayed, the oaken beam
With backdrawn arm he threw:
Loud roared the billows: o'er the stream
Camilla hurtling flew.
Now as pursuit grows yet more near,
He plunges in the foaming tide,
And standing on the farther side
Recovers with a conqueror's pride
The maiden and the spear.
No peaceful home, no city gave
Its shelter to the wanderer's head;
Too stern his mould such aid to crave:
On mountain and in lonely cave
A shepherd's life he led.
'Mid tangled brakes and wild beasts' lairs
He reared his child on milk of mares,
To her young lips applied the teat,
And thence drew out the beverage sweet.
Soon as on earth she first could stand,
With pointed dart he armed her hand,
And from her infant shoulder hung
A quiver and a bow.