er Praeneste, I cut down their foremost ranks and burned the
piled shields of the conquered! Then this right hand sent King Erulus
down to hell, though to him at his birth his mother Feronia (awful to
tell) had given three lives and triple arms to wield; thrice must he be
laid low in death; yet then this hand took all his lives and as often
stripped him of his arms. Never should I now, O son, be severed from thy
dear embrace; never had the insolent sword of Mezentius on my borders
dealt so many cruel deaths, widowed the city of so many citizens. But
you, O heavenly powers, and thou, Jupiter, Lord and Governor of Heaven,
have compassion, I pray, on [574-609]the Arcadian king, and hear a
father's prayers. If your deity and decrees keep my Pallas safe for me,
if I live that I may see him and meet him yet, I pray for life; any toil
soever I have patience to endure. But if, O Fortune, thou threatenest
some dread calamity, now, ah now, may I break off a cruel life, while
anxiety still wavers and expectation is in doubt, while thou, dear boy,
my one last delight, art yet clasped in my embrace; let no bitterer
message wound mine ear.' These words the father poured forth at the
final parting; his servants bore him swooning within.

And now the cavalry had issued from the open gates, Aeneas and trusty
Achates among the foremost, then other of the Trojan princes, Pallas
conspicuous amid the column in scarf and inlaid armour; like the Morning
Star, when, newly washed in the ocean wave, he shews his holy face in
heaven, and melts the darkness away. Fearful mothers stand on the walls
and follow with their eyes the cloud of dust and the squadrons gleaming
in brass. They, where the goal of their way lies nearest, bear through
the brushwood in armed array. Forming in column, they advance noisily,
and the horse hoof shakes the crumbling plain with four-footed
trampling. There is a high grove by the cold river of Caere, widely
revered in ancestral awe; sheltering hills shut it in all about and
girdle the woodland with their dark firs. Rumour is that the old
Pelasgians, who once long ago held the Latin borders, consecrated the
grove and its festal day to Silvanus, god of the tilth and flock. Not
far from it Tarchon and his Tyrrhenians were encamped in a protected
place; and now from the hill-top the tents of all their army might be
seen outspread on the fields. Lord Aeneas and his chosen warriors draw
hither and refresh their weary horses a