ve seen full surely for me stored
Since then, when on the flesh of God I fell with maddened sword,
And on the very Venus' hand a wicked wound I won.
Nay, nay, to no such battles more I pray you drive me on!
No war for me with Teucrian men since Pergamus lies low;
Nor do I think or joy at all in ills of long ago. 280
The gifts, that from your fatherland unto my throne ye bear,
Turn toward AEneas. We have stood, time was, spear meeting spear,
Hand against hand: trust me, who tried, how starkly to the shield
He riseth up, how blows the wind when he his spear doth wield.
If two such other men had sprung from that Idaean home,
Then Dardanus with none to drive to Inachus had come,
And seen our walls, and Greece had mourned reversal of her day.
About the walls of stubborn Troy, whatso we found of stay,
By Hector's and AEneas' hands the Greekish victory
Was tarried, and its feet held back through ten years wearing by. 290
Both these in heart and weapon-skill were full of fame's increase,
But this one godlier: let your hands meet in the plighted peace
E'en as ye may: but look to it if sword to sword ye bring.'

"Thus have ye heard, most gracious one, the answer of the King,
And therewithal what thought he had about this heavy war."

Scarce had he said, when diverse voice of murmuring ran all o'er
Those troubled mouths of Italy: as when the rocks refrain
The rapid streams, and sounds arise within the eddies' chain,
And with the chatter of the waves the neighbouring banks are filled.
But when their minds were soothed and all the wildering voices stilled,
The King spake first unto the Gods, then thus began to say: 301

"Latins, that ye had counselled you hereon before today
Was both my will, and had been good: no time is this to fall
To counsel now, when as we speak the foe besets the wall.
With folk of God ill war we wage, lords of the Latin town,
With all-unconquerable folk; no battles wear them down;
Yea, beaten never have they heart to cast the sword away.
Lay down the hope ye had to gain AEtolian war-array;
Let each man be his proper hope. Lo ye, the straits are sore.
How all things lie about us now by ruin all toppled o'er, 310
Witness of this the eyes of you, the hands of you have won.
No man I blame, what valour could hath verily been