“O son, seek not
To wed your daughter to a Latian prince,
Nor trust in bridal chambers all prepared.
A foreigner comes, they future son-in-law,
Whose blood shall lift our name up to the stars;
Whose progeny shall see beneath their feet
All lands subdued and governed, wheresoever
The ocean greets the risen or setting sun.”
“Hail, land for me predestined by the fates!
And you, O true Penates of our Troy,
Hail! Here our home, and here our country lies.”
“Dare you, O Turnus, see these toils of yours
Lavished in vain, your scepter pass away
To Dardan colonists? The king denies
To you your bride and dowry bought with blood,
And for his kingdom seeks a foreign heir.
Go now, and brave the dangers that can reap
No thanks, but only scorn! Go, and smite down
The Tuscan bands. Protect the Latin race
With peace.”
Then, at the signal of the dreadful horn,
On every side the untamed peasants snatch
Their arms, and rush together; and the youths
Of Troy all from their open camp pour forth
To help Ascanius. Battle lines are formed.
Then the queen of gods, herself
Descending from the skies, pushed with her hand
The unwilling gates, and turned the hinges back,
And open burst the iron gates of war.
