Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/338

314 So moves the god: voice, colour, all,

The veteran's lineaments recall,

The silvery honours of his head,

His armour, resonant with dread;

And thus with words of mild control

He calms that young, ambitious soul:

'Enough, Æneas' son, to know

Your hand, unharmed, with shaft and bow

Numanus' life has ta'en;

Such glory to your first of fields

Your patron god ungrudging yields,

Nor robs of praise the arms he wields:

From farther fight refrain.'

So Phœbus speaks, and speaking flies:

One moment beams on mortal eyes,

Then mingles with the ambient skies.

The Dardan chiefs the godhead knew:

His flashing weapons caught their view:

They heard his quiver as he flew.

So now at great Apollo's beck

Ascanius' martial zeal they check:

Themselves renew the doubtful strife,

And freely jeopardy their life.

Rings through the camp the war-shout's peal:

They bend their bows and hurl the steel

Which leathern thong reclaims:

Spent javelins all the ground bestrow:

Helmet and shield rebound the blow:

A savage fight upflames.

So furiously from westward sped,

The Kid-star lowering overhead,

Wild tempests lash the plain:

So on the sea the hail falls fast,

When Jove, dread lord of southern blast,

His watery volleys flings broad-cast,

And opes the springs of rain.