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By all the infernal powers divine
And grisly Pluto's mystic shrine:
Let Jove give ear, whose vengeful tire
Makes treaties firm, the Almighty Sire:
I touch the hearth with either hand,
I call the gods that 'twixt us stand:
No time shall make the treaty vain,
Whate'er to-day's event;
No violence shall my will constrain,
Though earth were scattered in the main
And Styx with ether blent:
E'en as this sceptre' (as he swore
A sceptre in his hand he bore)
'Shall ne'er put forth or leaf or gem,
Since severed from its parent stem
Foliage and branch it lost;
'Twas once a tree; now workman's care
Has given it Latium's kings to bear,
With seemly bronze embossed.'
Thus chief and chief in open sight
With solemn words the treaty plight;
Then o'er the flame they slay
The hallowed victims, strip the flesh
Yet quick with life, and warm and fresh
On loaded altars lay.

But in the Rutules' jealous sight
Unequal seems the chance of fight,
Ill matched the champions twain,
And fitfully their bosoms heave
As near and nearer they perceive
The encounter on the plain.
Compassion deepening into dread,
They note young Turnus' quiet tread,
The downcast meekness of his eyes
Turned to the hearth in suppliant guise,