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There, when the sentence of the Fathers stands fixed for
battle, the Consul, arrayed in the robe of Quirinus and the Gabine
cincture, with his own hand unbars the grating doors, with his own lips
calls battles forth; then all the rest follow on, and the brazen
trumpets blare harsh with consenting breath. With this use then likewise
they bade Latinus proclaim war on the Aeneadae, and unclose the baleful
gates. He withheld his hand, and shrank away averse from the abhorred
service, and hid himself blindly in the dark. Then the Saturnian queen
of heaven glided from the sky, with her own hand thrust open the
lingering gates, and swung sharply back on their hinges the iron-bound
doors of war. Ausonia is ablaze, till then unstirred and immoveable.
Some make ready to march afoot over the plains; some, mounted on tall
horses, ride amain in clouds of dust. All seek out arms; and now they
rub their shields smooth and make their spearheads glitter with
[627-659]fat lard, and grind their axes on the whetstone: rejoicingly
they advance under their standards and hear the trumpet note. Five great
cities set up the anvil and sharpen the sword, strong Atina and proud
Tibur, Ardea and Crustumeri, and turreted Antemnae. They hollow out
head-gear to guard them, and plait wickerwork round shield-bosses;
others forge breastplates of brass or smooth greaves of flexible silver.
To this is come the honour of share and pruning-hook, to this all the
love of the plough: they re-temper their fathers' swords in the furnace.
And now the trumpets blare; the watchword for war passes along. One
snatches a helmet hurriedly from his house, another backs his neighing
horses into the yoke; and arrays himself in shield and mail-coat
triple-linked with gold, and girds on his trusty sword.

Open now the gates of Helicon, goddesses, and stir the song of the kings
that rose for war, the array that followed each and filled the plains,
the men that even then blossomed, the arms that blazed in Italy the
bountiful land: for you remember, divine ones, and you can recall; to us
but a breath of rumour, scant and slight, is wafted down.

First from the Tyrrhene coast savage Mezentius, scorner of the gods,
opens the war and arrays his columns. By him is Lausus, his son,
unexcelled in bodily beauty by any save Laurentine Turnus, Lausus tamer
of horses and destroyer of wild beasts; he leads a thousand men who
followed him in vain from Agylla town; worthy to be happier in ancestral
rule, and to have other than Mezentius for father.
After them beautiful Aventinus, born of beautiful Hercules, displays on
the sward his palm-crowned chariot and victorious horses, and carries on
his shield his father's device, the hundred snakes of the Hydra's
serpent-wreath. Him, in the wood of the hill Aventine, Rhea the
priestess [660-693]bore by stealth into the borders of light, a woman
mingled with a god, after the Tirynthian Conqueror had slain Geryon and
set foot on the fields of Laurentum, and bathed his Iberian oxen in the
Tuscan river. These carry for war javelins and grim stabbing weapons,
and fight with the round shaft and sharp point of the Sabellian pike.
Himself he went on foot swathed in a vast lion skin, shaggy with
bristling terrors, whose white teeth encircled his head; in such wild
dress, the garb of Hercules clasped over his shoulders, he entered the
royal house.

Next twin brothers leave Tibur town, and the people called by their
brother Tiburtus' name, Catillus and valiant Coras, the Argives, and
advance in the forefront of battle among the throng of spears: as when
two cloud-born Centaurs descend from a lofty mountain peak, leaving
Homole or snowy Othrys in rapid race; the mighty forest yields before
them as they go, and the crashing thickets give them way.

Nor was the founder of Praeneste city absent, the king who, as every age
hath believed, was born of Vulcan among the pasturing herds, and found
beside the hearth, Caeculus. On him a rustic battalion attends in loose
order, they who dwell in steep Praeneste and the fields of Juno of
Gabii, on the cool Anio and the Hernican rocks dewy with streams; they
whom rich Anagnia, and whom thou, lord Amasenus, pasturest. Not all of
them have armour, nor shields and clattering chariots. The most part
shower bullets of dull lead; some wield in their hand two darts, and
have for head-covering caps of tawny wolfskin; their left foot is bare
wherewith to plant their steps; the other is covered with a boot of raw
hide.

But Messapus, tamer of horses, the seed of Neptune, whom none might ever
strike down with steel or fire, calls quickly to arms his long unstirred
peoples and bands [694-727]disused to war, and again handles the sword.
These are of the Fescennine ranks and of Aequi Falisci, these of
Soracte's fortresses and the fields of Flavina, and Ciminus' lake and
hill, and the groves of Capena. They marched in even time, singing their
King; as whilome snowy swans among the thin clouds, when they return
from pasturage, and utter resonant notes through their long necks; far
off echoes the river and the smitten Asian fen. . . . Nor would one
think these vast streaming masses were ranks clad in brass; rather that,
high in air, a cloud of hoarse birds from the deep gulf was pressing to
the shore.