osts afar.

LXXXII. Twain are the Gates of War, to dreadful Mars
With awe kept sacred and religious pride.
A hundred brazen bolts and iron bars
Shut fast the doors, and Janus stands beside.
Here, when the senators on war decide,
The Consul, decked in his Quirinal pall
And Gabine cincture, flings the portals wide,
And cries to arms; the warriors, one and all,
With blare of brazen horns make answer to the call.

LXXXIII. 'Twas thus that now Latinus they require
To dare AEneas' followers to the fray,
And ope the portals. But the good old Sire
Shrank from the touch, and, shuddering with dismay,
Shunned the foul office, and abjured the day.
Then, downward darting from the skies afar,
Heaven's empress with her right hand wrenched away
The lingering bars. The grating hinges jar,
As back Saturnia thrusts the iron gates of War.

LXXXIV. Then woke Ausonia from her sleep. Forth swarm
Footmen and horsemen, and in wild career
Whirl up the dust. "Arm," cry the warriors, "arm!"
With unctuous lard their polished shields they smear,
And whet the axe, and scour the rusty spear.
Their banners wave, their trumpets sound the fight.
Five towns their anvils for the war uprear,
Crustumium, Tibur, glorying in her might,
Ardea, Atina strong, Antemnae's tower-girt height.

LXXXV. Lithe twigs of osier in their shields they weave,
And shape the casque, and in the mould prepare
The brazen breastplate and the silver greave.
Scorned lie the spade, the sickle and the share,
Their fathers' falchions to the forge they bear.
Now peals the clarion; through the host hath spread
The watch-word. Helmets from the walls they tear,
And yoke the steeds. In triple gold arrayed,
Each grasps the burnished shield, and girds the trusty blade.

LXXXVI. Now open Helicon; awake the strain,
Ye Muses. Aid me, that the tale be told,
What kings were roused, what armies filled the plain,
What battles blazed, what men of valiant mould
Graced fair Italia in those days of old.
Aid ye, for ye are goddesses, and clear
Can ye remember, and the tale unfold.
But faint and feeble is the voice we hear,
A slender breath of Fame, that falters on the ear.

LXXXVII. First came with armed men from Etruria's coast
Mezentius, scorner of the Gods. Next came
His son, young Lausus, comeliest of the host,
Save Turnus--Lausus, who