Not far from here, upon an aged rock,
There stands a town, Agylla is its name,
Where on Etruscan ridges dwells the stock
Of ancient Lydia, men of warlike fame.
Long years it flourished, till Mezentius came
And ruled it fiercely, with a tyrant's sway.
Ah me! why tell the nameless deeds of shame,
The savage murders wrought from day to day?
May Heaven on him and his those cruelties repay!

LXIV. "Nay more, he joined the living to the dead,
Hand linked to hand in torment, face to face.
The rank flesh mouldered, and the limbs still bled,
Till death, O misery, with lingering pace,
Loosed the foul union and the long embrace.
Worn out at last with all his crimes abhorred,
Around the horrid madman swarmed apace
The armed Agyllans. On his roof they poured
The firebrands, seized his guards and slew them with the sword.

LXV. "He safely through the carnage slunk away
To fields Rutulian, where with sheltering hand
Great Turnus shields the tyrant. So to-day,
Stirred with just fury, all Etruria's land
Springs to the war, prompt vengeance to demand.
Thine be these all, for thousands can I boast,
AEneas, thine to captain and command.
Mark now their shouts; already roars the host,
'Arm, bring the banners forth'; their vessels crowd the coast.

LXVI. "An aged seer thus warns them to refrain,
Expounding Fate: 'Choice youths, the flower and show
Of ancient warriors of Meonian strain,
Whom just resentment arms against the foe,
Whose souls with hatred of Mezentius glow,
No man of Italy is fit to lead
So vast a multitude, the Fates say "No;
Seek ye a foreign captain."' Awed, they heed
The warning words divine, and camp upon the mead.

LXVII. "Lo, Tarchon sends ambassadors; they bring
The crown, and sceptre, and the signs of state,
And bid me join the Tuscans as their king.
But frosty years have dulled me; life is late,
And envious Age forbids an Empire's weight.
Fit were my son, but half Italian he,
His mother born a Sabine. Thee hath Fate
Endowed with years and proper birth; for thee
The Gods this throne have willed, and, what they will, decree.

LXVIII. "Advance, brave Chief of Italy and Troy!
Advance; young Pallas at thy side shall fare,
My hope, my solace, and my heart's best joy.
With thee to teach him, he shall learn to share
The war's grim work, the warrior's toil to