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“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.
