Classic Poem

Mean while the Latians all their Pow'r prepare,
'Gainst Fortune, and the Foe to push the War.
With Phrygian Blood the floating Fields they stain;
But, short of Succours, still contend in vain.
Turnus remarks the Trojan Fleet ill mann'd,
Unguarded, and at Anchor near the Strand;
He thought; and strait a lighted Brand he bore,
And Fire invades, what 'scap'd the Waves before
The Billows from the kindling Prow retire;
Pitch, Rosin, Searwood on red Wings aspire,
And Vulcan on the Seas exerts his Attribute of Fire.
This, when the Mother of the Gods beheld,
Her tow'ry Crown she shook, and stood reveal'd;
Her brindl'd Lions rein'd, unveil'd her Head,
And hov'ring o'er her favour'd Fleet, she said:
Cease Turnus , and the heav'nly Pow'rs respect,
Nor dare to violate, what I protect.
These Gallies, once fair Trees, on Ida stood,
And gave their Shade to each descending God.
Nor shall consume; irrevocable Fate
Allots their Being no determin'd Date
Strait Peals of Thunder Heav'n's high Archesrend,
The Hail-stones leap, the Show'rs in Spouts descend.
The Winds with widen'd Throats the Signal give;
The Cables break, the smoaking Vessels drive.
Now, wondrous, as they beat the foaming Flood,
The Timber softens into Flesh, and Blood;
The Yards, and Oars new Arms, and Legs design;
A Trunk the Hull; the slender Keel, a Spine;
The Prow a female Face; and by Degrees
The Gallies rise green Daughters of the Seas.
" Sometimes on coral Beds they sit in State,
Or wanton on the Waves they fear'd of late.
The Barks, that beat the Seas are still their Care,
Themselves remembring what of late they were;
To save a Trojan Sail in Throngs they press,
But smile to see Alcinous in Distress.
Unable were those Wonders to deter
The Latians from their unsuccessful War.
Both Sides for doubtful Victory contend;
And on their Courage, and their Gods depend.
Nor bright Lavinia , nor Latinus ' Crown,
Warm their great Soul to War, like fair Renown.
Venus at last beholds her Godlike Son
Triumphant, and the Field of Battle won;
Brave Turnus slain, strong Ardea but a Name,
" And bury'd in fierce Deluges of Flame.
" Her Tow'rs, that boasted once a Sov'reign Sway,
" The Fate of fancy'd Grandeur, now betray.
A famish'd Heron from the Ashes springs,
And beats the Ruin with disast'rous Wings.
Calamities of Towns distrest she feigns,
And oft, with woful Shrieks, of War complains.