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Were the king's office; but the king refus'd, Deaf to their cries, nor would the gates unbar Of sacred peace, or loose th' imprison'd war; But hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms, Abhorr'd the wicked ministry of arms. Then heav'n's imperious queen shot down from high: At her approach the brazen hinges fly; The gates are forc'd, and ev'ry falling bar; And, like a tempest, issues out the war. The peaceful cities of th' Ausonian shore, Lull'd in their ease, and undisturb'd before, Are all on fire; and some, with studious care, Their restiff steeds in sandy plains prepare; Some their soft limbs in painful marches try, And war is all their wish, and arms the gen'ral cry. Part scour the rusty shields with seam; and part New grind the blunted ax, and point the dart: With joy they view the waving ensigns fly, And hear the trumpet's clangor pierce the sky. Five cities forge their arms: th' Atinian pow'rs, Antemnae, Tibur with her lofty tow'rs, Ardea the proud, the Crustumerian town: All these of old were places of renown. Some hammer helmets for the fighting field; Some twine young sallows to support the shield; The croslet some, and some the cuishes mold, With silver plated, and with ductile gold. The rustic honors of the scythe and share Give place to swords and plumes, the pride of war. Old fauchions are new temper'd in the fires; The sounding trumpet ev'ry soul inspires. The word is giv'n; with eager speed they lace The shining headpiece, and the shield embrace. The neighing steeds are to the chariot tied; The trusty weapon sits on ev'ry side. And now the mighty labor is begun Ye Muses, open all your Helicon. Sing you the chiefs that sway'd th' Ausonian land, Their arms, and armies under their command; What warriors in our ancient clime were bred; What soldiers follow'd, and what heroes led. For well you know, and can record alone, What fame to future times conveys but darkly down. |