Next, of his men and ships he makes review;Draws out the best and ablest of the crew.
Down with the falling stream the refuse run, To raise with joyful news his drooping son.
Steeds are prepar'd to mount the Trojan band, Who wait their leader to the Tyrrhene land.
A sprightly courser, fairer than the rest, The king himself presents his royal guest:
A lion's hide his back and limbs infold, Precious with studded work, and paws of gold.
Fame thro' the little city spreads aloud Th' intended march, amid the fearful crowd:
The matrons beat their breasts, dissolve in tears, And double their devotion in their fears.
The war at hand appears with more affright, And rises ev'ry moment to the sight.
Then old Evander, with a close embrace, Strain'd his departing friend; and tears o'erflow his face.
"Would Heav'n," said he, "my strength and youth recall, Such as I was beneath Praeneste's wall;Then when I made the foremost foes retire, And set whole heaps of conquer'd shields on fire;When Herilus in single fight I slew, Whom with three lives Feronia did endue;And thrice I sent him to the Stygian shore, Till the last ebbing soul return'd no more-Such if I stood renew'd, not these alarms, Nor death, should rend me from my Pallas' arms;Nor proud Mezentius, thus unpunish'd, boast His rapes and murthers on the Tuscan coast.
Ye gods, and mighty Jove, in pity bring Relief, and hear a father and a king!
If fate and you reserve these eyes, to see My son return with peace and victory;If the lov'd boy shall bless his father's sight;If we shall meet again with more delight;Then draw my life in length; let me sustain, In hopes of his embrace, the worst of pain.
But if your hard decrees- which, O! I dread-Have doom'd to death his undeserving head;This, O this very moment, let me die!