The god had figured her, as driven along By winds and waves, and scudding through the throng.

Just opposite, sad Nilus opens wide

His arms and ample bosom to the tide,

And spreads his mantle o'er the winding coast,
In which he wraps his queen, and hides the flying host.
The victor to the gods his thanks expressed,
And Rome triumphant with his presence blessed.
Three hundred temples in the town he placed;
With spoils and altars every temple graced.
Three shining nights, and three succeeding days,
The fields resound with shouts, the streets with
praise,

The domes with songs, the theatres with plays.
All altars flame: before each altar lies,
Drenched in his gore, the destined sacrifice,
Great Cæsar sits sublime upon his throne,
Before Apollo's porch of Parian stone;
Accepts the presents vowed for victory,
And hangs the monumental crowns on high.
Vast crowds of vanquished nations march along,
Various in arms, in habit, and in tongue.
Here, Mulciber assigns the proper place
For Carians, and the ungirt Numidian race;
Then ranks the Tracians in the second row,
With Scythians, expert in the dart and bow.
And here the tamed Euphrates humbly glides,
And there the Rhine submits her swelling tides,
And proud Araxes, whom no bridge could bind.
The Danes' unconquered offspring march behind;
And Morini, the last of human kind.

These figures, on the shield divinely wrought,
By Vulcan laboured, and by Venus brought,
With joy and wonder fill the hero's thought.
Unknown the names, he yet admires the grace,
And bears aloft the fame and fortune of his race.

NOTES

ON

ENEÏS, BOOK VIII.

Note I.

So, when the sun by day, or moon by night,

Strike on the polished brass their trembling light.---P. 2.

This similitude is literally taken from Apollonius Rhodius; and it is hard to say whether the original or the translation excels. But, in the shield which he describes afterwards in this Æneïd, he as much transcends his master Homer, as the arms of Glaucus were richer than those of Diomedes---Χρυσέα χαλκείων.

Note II.

Æneas takes the mother and her brood,

And all on Juno's altar are bestowed.--- P. 4.

The translation is infinitely short of Virgil, whose words are these:

Tibi enim, tibi maxima Juno,

Mactat, sacra ferens, et cum grege sistit ad aram--

for I could not turn the word enim into English with any grace, though it was of such necessity in the Roman rites, that a sacrifice could not be performed without it. It is of the same nature, (if I may presume to name that sacred mystery,) in our words of consecration at the altar.

Æ NEÏS,

BOOK IX.

ARGUMENT.

Turnus takes advantage of Æneas's absence, fires some of his ships, (which are transformed into sea-nymphs,) and assaults his camp. The Trojans, reduced to the last extremities, send Nisus and Euryalus to recal Æneas; which furnishes the poet with that admirable episode of their friendship, generosity, and the conclusion of their adventures.

WHILE these affairs in distant places passed,
The various Iris Juno sends with haste,

To find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought,
The secret shade of his great grandsire sought.
Retired alone she found the daring man,
And oped her rosy lips, and thus began
"What none of all the gods could grant thy vows-
That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows.
Æneas, gone to seek the Arcadian prince,
Has left the Trojan camp without defence;
And, short of succours there, employs his pains
In parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains.
Now snatch an hour that favours thy designs;
Unite thy forces, and attack their lines."

This said, on equal wings she poised her weight,
And formed a radiant rainbow in her flight.

The Daunian hero lifts his hands and eyes,
And thus invokes the goddess as she flies:-
"Iris, the grace of heaven! what power divine
Has sent thee down, through dusky clouds to shine?
See, they divide: immortal day appears,

And glittering planets dancing in their spheres!
With joy, these happy omens I obey,

And follow, to the war, the god that leads the way."
Thus having said, as by the brook he stood,
He scooped the water from the crystal flood;
Then with his hands the drops to heaven he throws,
And loads the powers above with offered vows.

Now march the bold confederates through the plain,
Well horsed, well clad--a rich and shining train.
Messapus leads the van; and, in the rear,
The sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear.
In the main battle, with his flaming crest,
The mighty Turnus towers above the rest.
Silent they move, majestically slow,
Like ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow.
The Trojans view the dusty cloud from far,
And the dark menace of the distant war.
Caïcus from the rampire saw it rise,

Blackening the fields, and thickening through the -skies.

Then to his fellows thus aloud he calls:

What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls? Arm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears, And pointed darts! the Latian host appears.

وو

Thus warned, they shut their gates; with shouts
ascend

The bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend :
For their wise general, with foreseeing care,
Had charged them not to tempt the doubtful war,
Nor, though provoked, in opens fields advance,
But close within their lines attend their chance.

Unwilling, yet they keep the strict command,
And sourly wait in arms the hostile band.
The fiery Turnus flew before the rest :

A piebald steed of Thracian strain he pressed;
His helm of massy gold; and crimson was his crest.
With twenty horse to second his designs,
An unexpected foe, he faced the lines.-
"Is there, (he said,) in arms, who bravely dare
His leader's honour and his dangers share ?"
Then spurring on, his brandished dart he threw,
In sign of war: applauding shouts ensue.
Amazed to find a dastard race, that run
Behind the rampires, and the battle shun,
He rides around the camp, with rolling eyes,
And stops at every post, and every passage tries.
So roams the nightly wolf about the fold:
Wet with descending showers, and stiff with cold,
He howls for hunger, and he grins for pain,
(His gnashing teeth are exercised in vain,)
And, impotent of anger, finds no way
In his distended paws to grasp the prey.
The mothers listen; but the bleating lambs
Securely swig the dug, beneath the dams.
Thus ranges eager Turnus o'er the plain,
Sharp with desire, and furious with disdain;
Surveys each passage with a piercing sight,
To force his foes in equal field to fight.
Thus while he gazes round, at length he spies,
Where, fenced with strong redoubts, their navy
Close underneath the walls: the washing tide
Secures from all approach this weaker side.
He takes the wished occasion, fills his hand
With ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand.
Urged by his presence, every soul is warmed,
And every hand with kindled fires is armed.
From the fired pines the scattering sparkles fly;
Fat vapours, mixed with flames, involve the sky.

lies.