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and hast thou no compassion on [361-392]thy daughter and on
thyself? no compassion on her mother, whom with the first northern wind
the treacherous rover will abandon, steering to sea with his maiden
prize? Is it not thus the Phrygian herdsman wound his way to Lacedaemon,
and carried Leda's Helen to the Trojan towns? Where is thy plighted
faith? Where thine ancient care for thy people, and the hand Turnus thy
kinsman hath so often clasped? If one of alien race from the Latins is
sought for our son, if this stands fixed, and thy father Faunus'
commands are heavy upon thee, all the land whose freedom severs it from
our sway is to my mind alien, and of this is the divine word. And
Turnus, if one retrace the earliest source of his line, is born of
Inachus and Acrisius, and of the midmost of Mycenae. '

When in this vain essay of words she sees Latinus fixed against her, and
the serpent's maddening poison is sunk deep in her vitals and runs
through and through her, then indeed, stung by infinite horrors, hapless
and frenzied, she rages wildly through the endless city. As whilome a
top flying under the twisted whipcord, which boys busy at their play
drive circling wide round an empty hall, runs before the lash and spins
in wide gyrations; the witless ungrown band hang wondering over it and
admire the whirling boxwood; the strokes lend it life: with pace no
slacker is she borne midway through towns and valiant nations. Nay, she
flies into the woodland under feigned Bacchic influence, assumes a
greater guilt, arouses a greater frenzy, and hides her daughter in the
mountain coverts to rob the Teucrians of their bridal and stay the
marriage torches. 'Hail, Bacchus! ' she shrieks and clamours; 'thou only
art worthy of the maiden; for to thee she takes up the lissom wands,
thee she circles in the dance, to thee she trains and consecrates her
tresses. ' Rumour flies abroad; and the matrons, their breasts kindled by
the furies, run all at once [393-426]with a single ardour to seek out
strange dwellings. They have left their homes empty, they throw neck and
hair free to the winds; while others fill the air with ringing cries,
girt about with fawnskins, and carrying spears of vine. Amid them the
infuriate queen holds her blazing pine-torch on high, and chants the
wedding of Turnus and her daughter; and rolling her bloodshot gaze,
cries sudden and harsh: 'Hear, O mothers of Latium, wheresoever you be;
if unhappy Amata hath yet any favour in your affection, if care for a
mother's right pierces you, untie the chaplets from your hair, begin the
orgies with me.
' Thus, amid woods and wild beasts' solitary places, does
Allecto goad the queen with the encircling Bacchic madness.

When their frenzy seemed heightened and her first task complete, the
purpose and all the house of Latinus turned upside down, the dolorous
goddess flies on thence, soaring on dusky wing, to the walls of the
gallant Rutulian, the city which Danae, they say, borne down on the
boisterous south wind, built and planted with Acrision's people. The
place was called Ardea once of old; and still Ardea remains a mighty
name; but its fortune is no more. Here in his high house Turnus now took
rest in the black midnight. Allecto puts off her grim feature and the
body of a Fury; she transforms her face to an aged woman's, and furrows
her brow with ugly wrinkles; she puts on white tresses chaplet-bound,
and entwines them with an olive spray; she becomes aged Calybe,
priestess of Juno's temple, and presents herself before his eyes,
uttering thus:

'Turnus, wilt thou brook all these toils poured out in vain, and the
conveyance of thy crown to Dardanian settlers? The King denies thee thy
bride and the dower thy blood had earned; and a foreigner is sought for
heir to the kingdom. Forth now, dupe, and face thankless perils; forth,
cut down the Tyrrhenian lines; give the [427-458]Latins peace in thy
protection. This Saturn's omnipotent daughter in very presence commanded
me to pronounce to thee, as thou wert lying in the still night.
Wherefore arise, and make ready with good cheer to arm thy people and
march through thy gates to battle; consume those Phrygian captains that
lie with their painted hulls in the beautiful river. All the force of
heaven orders thee on. Let King Latinus himself know of it, unless he
consents to give thee thy bridal, and abide by his words, when he shall
at last make proof of Turnus' arms. '

But he, deriding her inspiration, with the words of his mouth thus
answers her again:

'The fleets ride on the Tiber wave; that news hath not, as thou deemest,
escaped mine ears. Frame not such terrors before me. Neither is Queen
Juno forgetful of us. . .