Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/465

Rh If Turnus still has held divine

Those sanctities which Troy's rude line

Treads down 'neath battle's heel!'

So prayed he: nor his prayers were vain:

Long o'er the stump Æneas hangs,

And tugs with many a fruitless strain

To make the hard wood loose its fangs:

When lo! impatient as he strives,

Changed to Metiscus' shape once more

Forth runs the Daunian fair, and gives

Her brother back the sword he wore.

Then Venus, filled with ire to see

A Nymph assume so bold a part,

Approached, and from the stubborn tree

Tore out the long imprisoned dart.

Again the haughty chiefs advance,

Their strength repaired, their arms restored,

That towering with uplifted lance,

This waving high his faithful sword,

And front to front resume the game

That drains the breath and racks the frame.

Meanwhile Olympus' master, Jove,

Addressed his queenly bride,

As from a yellow cloud above

The warring chiefs she eyed:

'What now the end, fair consort, say?

What latest stake remains to play?

Long since you knew, and owned you knew,

Æneas to the skies is due,

A nation's hero: Fate's own power

Uplifts him to the starry tower.

What plan you now? what hopes o'erbold

Thus keep you throned aloft in cold?