rable in justice and wealth of Ausonian
fields; for him five flocks bleated, a five-fold herd returned from
pasture, and an hundred ploughs upturned the soil.

But while thus in even battle they fight on the broad plain, the
goddess, her promise fulfilled, when she hath dyed the war in blood, and
mingled death in the first encounter, quits Hesperia, and, glancing
through the sky, addresses Juno in exultant tone:

'Lo, discord is ripened at thy desire into baleful war: tell them now to
mix in amity and join alliance. Insomuch as I have imbued the Trojans in
Ausonian blood, this likewise will I add, if I have assurance of thy
will. With my rumours I will sweep the bordering towns into war, and
kindle their spirit with furious desire for battle, that from all
quarters help may come; I will sow the land with arms.'

Then Juno answering: 'Terror and harm is wrought abundantly. The springs
of war are aflow: they fight with arms in their grasp, the arms that
chance first supplied, that fresh blood stains. Let this be the union,
this the bridal that Venus' illustrious progeny and Latinus the King
shall celebrate. Our Lord who reigns on Olympus' summit would not have
thee stray too freely in heaven's upper air. Withdraw thy presence.
Whatsoever future remains in the struggle, that I myself will sway.'

Such accents uttered the daughter of Saturn; and the [561-594]other
raises her rustling snaky wings and darts away from the high upper air
to Cocytus her home. There is a place midmost of Italy, deep in the
hills, notable and famed of rumour in many a country, the Vale of
Amsanctus; on either hand a wooded ridge, dark with thick foliage, hems
it in, and midway a torrent in swirling eddies shivers and echoes over
the rocks. Here is shewn a ghastly pool, a breathing-hole of the grim
lord of hell, and a vast chasm breaking into Acheron yawns with
pestilential throat. In it the Fury sank, and relieved earth and heaven
of her hateful influence.

But therewithal the queenly daughter of Saturn puts the last touch to
war. The shepherds pour in full tale from the battlefield into the town,
bearing back their slain, the boy Almo and Galaesus' disfigured face,
and cry on the gods and call on Latinus. Turnus is there, and amid the
heat and outcry at the slaughter redoubles his terrors, crying that
Teucrians are bidden to the kingdom, that a Phrygian race is mingling
its taint with theirs, and he is thrust out of their gates. They too,
th