indy crowd
AEolia bred, or Iris sent adown the space of cloud?
But now withal the Gods of Hell, a world untried before,
She stirreth, and Alecto sent up to the earthly shore 40
In sudden hurry raves about towns of Italian men.
No whit for lordship do I yearn: I hoped such glories then
While Fortune was: let them be lords whom thou wilt doom for lords!
But if no land thy hard-heart wife to Teucrian men awards,
Yet, Father, by the smoking wrack of overwhelmed Troy
I pray thee from the weapon-dint safe let me send a boy,
Yea, e'en Ascanius: let me keep my grandson safe for me!
Yea, let AEneas toss about on many an unknown sea,
And let him follow wheresoe'er his fortune shall have led:
But this one let me shield, and take safe from the battle's dread. 50
Paphus, Cythera, Amathus, are mine, and I abide
Within Idalia's house: let him lay weed of war aside,
And wear his life inglorious there: then shalt thou bid the hand
Of Carthage weigh Ausonia down, and nothing shall withstand
The towns of Tyre.--Ah, what availed to 'scape the bane of war?
Ah, what availed that through the midst of Argive flames they bore
To wear down perils of wide lands, and perils of the main,
While Teucrian men sought Latin land and Troy new-born again?
Ah, better had it been for them by Troy's cold ash to stay,
To dwell on earth where Troy hath been. Father, give back, I pray, 60
Their Xanthus and their Simois unto that wretched folk,
And let them toil and faint once more 'neath Ilium's woeful yoke!"

Then spake Queen Juno, heavy wroth: "Why driv'st thou me to part
My deep-set silence, and lay bare with words my grief of heart?
What one of all the Gods or men AEneas drave to go
On warring ways, or bear himself as King Latinus' foe?
Fate-bidden he sought Italy?--Yea, soothly, or maybe
Spurned by Cassandra's wilderment--and how then counselled we
To leave his camp and give his life to make the winds a toy?
To trust his walls and utmost point of war unto a boy? 70
To trust the Tuscan faith, and stir the peaceful folk to fight?
What God hath driven him to lie, what hardness of my might?
Works Juno here, or Iris sent adown the cloudy way?
'Tis wrong for Italy, forsooth, the ring of fire to lay
Round Troy new-born; for Turnus still to hold his fathers' earth!--
Thou