ictims on the altar-flame, and draw the hearts away
Yet living, and with platters full the holy altars pile.

But unto those Rutulian men unequal this long while
The fight had seemed, and in their hearts the mingled trouble rose;
And all the more, as nigher now they note the ill-matched foes,
This helpeth Turnus' silent step, and suppliant worshipping
About the altars, and his eyes that unto earth do cling, 220
His faded cheeks, his youthful frame that wonted colour lacks.
Wherefore Jaturna, when she hears the talk of people wax,
And how the wavering hearts of men in diverse manner sway,
Like unto Camers wendeth now amidst of that array;
--A mighty man, from mighty blood, his father well renowned
For valorous worth, and he himself keen in the battle found.
So through the mid array she speeds, well knowing what is toward,
And soweth rumour on the wind and speaketh such a word:

"O shame ye not, Rutulian men, to offer up one soul
For all your warriors? lack we aught in might or muster-roll 230
To match them? Here is all they have--Trojans, Arcadian peers,
And that Etruscan Turnus' bane, the fateful band of spears:
Why, if we meet, each second man shall scantly find a foe.
And now their king, upborne by fame, unto the Gods shall go,
Upon whose shrines he vows himself; his name shall live in tale.
But we shall lose our fatherland and 'neath proud lords shall fail,
E'en those that sit there heavy-slow upon our fields today."

So with such words she lit the hearts of all that young array;
Yet more and more a murmur creeps about the ranks of men;
Changed even are Laurentine folk; changed are the Latins then; 240
They who had hoped that rest from fight and peaceful days were won,
Are now but fain of battle-gear, and wish the troth undone,
For ruth that such a cruel fate on Turnus' head should fall.
But unto these a greater thing Jaturna adds withal,
A sign from heaven; and nought so much stirred Italy that day,
As this whose prodigy beguiled men's hearts to go astray:
For now the yellow bird of Jove amid the ruddy light
Was chasing of the river-fowl, and drave in hurried flight
The noisy throng; when suddenly down to the waves he ran,
And caught in greedy hooked claws a goodly-bodied swan: 250
Uprose the hearts of Italy, for all the fowl cry