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 buried in fierce deluges of flame. Her towers, that boasted once a sovereign sway, The fate of fancied grandeur now betray. A famish’d heron from the ashes springs, And beats the ruin with disastrous wings. Calamities of towns distress’d she feigns, And oft, with woeful shrieks, of war complains.