Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/338

So moves the god: voice, colour, all,
The veteran's lineaments recall,
The silvery honours of his head,
His armour, resonant with dread;
And thus with words of mild control
He calms that young, ambitious soul:
'Enough, Æneas' son, to know
Your hand, unharmed, with shaft and bow
Numanus' life has ta'en;
Such glory to your first of fields
Your patron god ungrudging yields,
Nor robs of praise the arms he wields:
From farther fight refrain.'
So Phœbus speaks, and speaking flies:
One moment beams on mortal eyes,
Then mingles with the ambient skies.
The Dardan chiefs the godhead knew:
His flashing weapons caught their view:
They heard his quiver as he flew.
So now at great Apollo's beck
Ascanius' martial zeal they check:
Themselves renew the doubtful strife,
And freely jeopardy their life.
Rings through the camp the war-shout's peal:
They bend their bows and hurl the steel
Which leathern thong reclaims:
Spent javelins all the ground bestrow:
Helmet and shield rebound the blow:
A savage fight upflames.
So furiously from westward sped,
The Kid-star lowering overhead,
Wild tempests lash the plain:
So on the sea the hail falls fast,
When Jove, dread lord of southern blast,
His watery volleys flings broad-cast,
And opes the springs of rain.