Amazement.
See Alarm.

To Him the Wind with doubtful Terror wafts
The mingled Noise: hoarse Murmurs of Distress,
And Clamours from the City pierce his Ears.
Ah me! what Sounds confus'd, what Cries disturb
The Town? Why rush these Clamours from the Walls?
He said: and, with his Courser's Reins repress'd
In dumb Amaze stood list'ning.--

Confounded with the Crowd of various Thoughts,
And stiff'ning with Amaze, the Hero stood,
In Silence deep: within his Bosom boils
Disdainful Shame, and Grief to Madness wrought,
And Love inflam'd with Rage, and conscious Worth.--

The astonish'd Youth, where e'er his Eyes could turn,
Beheld the Universe around him burn:
The World was in a Blaze: nor could he bear
The sultry Vapours, and the scorching Air,
Which from below, as from a Furnace flow'd:
And now the Axle--tree beneath him glow'd.
Lost in the whirling Clouds that round him broke,
And white with Ashes, hov'ring in the Smoke,
He flew where--e'er the Horses drove, nor knew
Whither the Horses drove, or where he flew.--
Amazon.

Her Amazonian Files with lunar Shields
Penthesilea leads, and in the midst
Of Thousands Storms: Beneath her naked Pap
Her golden Belt she buckles, warlike Maid,
And, tho' a Virgin, dares engage with Men.--

Here in the Brakes, and savage Dens of Beasts,
He nurs'd his Daughter from the Dugs of Mares,
Milking their Teats into her tender Lips.
Soon as the Infant first with doubtful Feet
Could press the Ground, her little Hands he fill'd
With pointed Darts, and on her Shoulder hung
A Bow and Quiver. No soft Caul of Gold
Her Tresses strains: nor flows her waving Gown:
Instead of these a Tyger's horrid Hide
Hangs from her Head, and o'er her Back descends.
Darts with her tender Hand e'en then she threw;
And, whirling round her Head a sounding Sling,
Struck the Strymonian Crane, or Snow--white Swan.--

--Camilla came,
And led her warlike Troops, a Warrior Dame:
Unbred to Spinning, in the Loom unskill'd,
She chose the nobler Pallas of the Field.
Mix'd with the First, the fierce Virago fought,
Sustain'd the Toils of Arms, the Danger sought:
Outstrip'd the Winds in Speed upon the Plain,
Flew o'er the Fields, nor hurt the bearded Grain:
She swept the Seas, and as she skimm'd along
Her flying Feet unbath'd on Billows hung.
Men, Boys, and Women, stupid with Surprize,
Where--e'er she passes, fix their wondring Eyes:
Longing they look, and gaping at the Sight,
Devour her o'er and o'er with vast Delight.
Her purple Habit sits with such a Grace
On her smooth Shoulders, and so suits her Face:
Her Head with Ringlets of her Hair is crown'd,
And in a golden Caul the Curls are bound.
She shakes her Myrtle Jav'lin: And, behind,
Her Lycian Quiver dances in the Wind.--

But in the Midst the Amazonian Maid
Camilla, with her shafts, and Quiver storms,
Exulting, fierce among the slaughter'd Heaps:
With one Breast bare commodious for the Fight,
Now hurls repeated Jav'lins, now with Toil
Unweary'd snatches her well temper'd Ax.
Her gilded Bow, and all Diana's Arms
Sound from her Shoulder. Ev'n, when turn'd in Flight,
(If e'er she turn) her Arrows she directs
Shot backward, and behind her bends the Bow.--

--With dissembled Flight
In a wide Ring, interior, wheeling round
She mocks Orsilochus, and him pursues,
From whom she flies: Then rising to the Blows
Redoubled, thro' his Arms and Bones she drives
Her massy Ax, nor ought regards his Pray'rs:
From the warm Wound his Brains besmear his Face.--

Such the fair Troop of Amazons is seen
With moony Shields, and headed by their Queen:
When trembling Tanais has their Fury try'd,
Or the fierce Getes their female Arms defy'd:
And proudly glitt'ring with their plunder'd Spoils,
The fierce Viragoes march, triumphant from their Toils.--
Ambassador.

An Attic Vessel reach'd the friendly Shore,
Which Cephalus, his Country's Envoy, bore.
The Sons of Æacus the Hero knew,
Tho' long remov'd and absent from their View.
Their Hands they join, in close Embraces meet,
And lead him to their royal Father's Seat.--
The Hero much remaining Beauty held,
(In Youth for Beauty greatly he excell'd
And ent'ring, bore the Olive in his Hand,
The precious Product of his native Land.
On either Side, from heav'nly Pallas sprung,
Young Clytus, and young Buten march along.

First Salutations o'er, the Chief relates
His Embassy, from the Athenian States,
And Succour asks: insisting on the Ties
Of Leagues, and Friendship, with their old Allies:
The general Danger too he shews, to wake
Their Fears, and his Address successful make.

For timely Aid, his Country's just Pretence,
He pleaded thus, with artful Eloquence.
The King reply'd (his Scepter in his Hand,)
Our Help, Athenians, ask not, but command:
Your own you may this Island's Forces call,
For in your Cause I will adventure all:
Nor Armies do I want, that can oppose
My own Invaders, and repel your Foes.--

Then Prince Æneas sends from every Rank
An hundred chos'n Ambassadors, dispatched
To the Imperial Walls, with Olive Boughs
All wreath'd to bear his Presents to the King,
And sue for Peace.--

And now, their destin'd Journey having pass'd,
Th' Ambassadors beheld the Latin Towers,
And lofty Palaces, and reach'd the Walls.
--To the aged Monarch's Ears,
Swift on his Steed, a Messenger relates,
That Men of awful Port, in foreign Garb,
Were moving towards the Walls: He gives Command
To call them to the Court, and in the Midst
Sits lofty on th' hereditary Throne.
--Enthron'd
On his paternal Seat, Latinus calls
The Trojans to his Presence in the Court:
And Thus with pleasing Accent first began.

Tell us, ye Trojans, (for your Name and Race
Are not to Us unknown, nor come You here
Unheard of say, what seek You? or what Cause
Has urg'd your Navy to th' Ausonian Shore
Thro' such a Space of Ocean? Whether driv'n
By Error of the Way, or Stress of Storms,
(Variety of Perils on the Deep,
Obvious to Mariners,) You enter here
Our River's Mouth, and rest within the Port.
Fly not our Hospitality: nor judge
Erroneous of the Latins, Saturn's Race:
Just of themselves, without Restraint, or Laws,
And by th' Example of their ancient God.

He spoke; and thus Ilioneus reply'd.
O King! from Faunus' Blood illustrious sprung:
Neither by stormy Billows hither toss'd,
Nor by the Stars, or Shores unknown, deceiv'd,
Arrive we on your Confines: With Design,
And willing Minds this City We approach.
A little Mansion for our Country--Gods,
And safe from Danger a Retreat We ask,
And Air, and Water, common Gifts to All.
On your Dominions nothing of Disgrace
Shall We reflect: nor small will be your Fame:
Nor shall by length of Time the grateful Sense
Of such an Obligation be effac'd:
Nor shall the Ausonian Nation e'er repent
To have receiv'd the Trojans.--
Some Gifts, besides, preserv'd from burning Troy,
The little Relicks of his former State,
Our Prince presents You. In this Gold his Sire
Anchises at the Altars sacrific'd:
These, By the Rite accustom'd, giving Laws
To the assembled Nations, Priam wore:
This Scepter, this Tiara, and these Robes,
The Labour of the Trojan Dames.--

So spake Ilioneus. Latinus fix'd,
Sits in one Posture, musing, on the Ground
Rolling his Eyes intent.--At length replies:

--Trojan, what Thou ask'st
Is granted: nor your Gifts do I refuse:
While King Latinus reigns, You shall not want
The fertile Glebe, and Opulence of Troy.
Let ev'n Æneas (if he so desires
Our Friendship and Alliance) hither come,
Nor shun the Interview: to me 'twill prove
A Pledge of Peace, to touch that Monarch's Hand.

Thus having said, the aged King selects
From all his Number chosen Steeds: There stood
Three hundred shining in their lofty Stalls:
To all the Trojans he commands to lead
The wingy--footed Coursers, cover'd o'er
With rich embroidered Crimson: Down their Breasts
Hang golden Collars: and adorn'd with Gold
They champ the yellow Gold between their Teeth.
Next to the absent Trojan Prince he sends
A Chariot, and its harness'd Pair, of Breed
Celestial, from their Nostrils snorting Fire.
Thus with the Gifts and Speeches of the King,
Th' Ambassadors, high on their stately Steeds,
Return exulting, and report the Peace.--

And now from King Latinus' Court arriv'd
Ambassadors, with Olive Branches wreath'd,
And Grace imploring: that he would permit
The Corps, which slain in Battle, o'er the Field
Lay scatter'd, to be quietly interr'd:
War with the Dead he wag'd not: Let him spare
A Nation, once by hospitable Tyes,
And plighted Spousals, to himself ally'd.
Them good Æneas, and their Suit so just,
Receives with gracious Air: and thus proceeds.
What Fortune, unpropitious, undeserv'd,
Plung'd You, ye Latins, in so deep a War,
And urg'd You from our Friendship to decline?
Peace to the Dead desire You? for the Corps
Which fell in Battle by the Chance of Arms?
Peace to the Living gladly would I grant.--
Go You: and grace your Friends in Battle slain,
With the last Rites, and fire their fun'ral--Piles.—