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Browsing named entities in a specific section of P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams). Search the whole document.

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Tiber (Italy) (search for this): book 12, card 18
d to nonesoe'er of all her earlier wooers—so declared the gods and oracles; but overcome by love of thee, by thy dear, kindred blood, and by the sad eyes of my mournful Queen, I shattered every bond; I snatched away the plighted maiden from her destined lord, and took up impious arms. What evil case upon that deed ensued, what hapless wars, thou knowest, since thyself dost chiefly bear the cruel burden. In wide-ranging fight twice-conquered, our own city scarce upholds the hope of Italy. Yon Tiber's wave still runs warm with my people's blood; the plains far round us glisten with their bleaching bones. Why tell it o'er and o'er? What maddening dream perverts my mind? If after Turnus slain I must for friendship of the Trojan sue, were it not better to suspend the fray while Turnus lives? For what will be the word of thy Rutulian kindred—yea, of all Italia, if to death I give thee o'er— (Which Heaven avert!) because thou fain wouldst win my daughter and be sworn my friend and son? Bethi<
Ardea (Italy) (search for this): book 12, card 18
o'er and o'er? What maddening dream perverts my mind? If after Turnus slain I must for friendship of the Trojan sue, were it not better to suspend the fray while Turnus lives? For what will be the word of thy Rutulian kindred—yea, of all Italia, if to death I give thee o'er— (Which Heaven avert!) because thou fain wouldst win my daughter and be sworn my friend and son? Bethink thee what a dubious work is war; have pity on thy father's reverend years, who even now thy absence daily mourns in Ardea, his native land and thine.” But to this pleading Turnus' frenzied soul yields not at all, but rather blazes forth more wildly, and his fever fiercer burns beneath the healer's hand. In answer he, soon as his passion gathered voice, began: “This keen solicitude for love of me, I pray, good sire, for love of me put by! And let me traffic in the just exchange of death for glory. This right hand, O King, can scatter shafts not few, nor do I wield untempered steel. Whene'er I make a wound blood
Latium (Italy) (search for this): book 12, card 18
To him Latinus with unruffled mind thus made reply: “O youth surpassing brave! The more thy sanguinary valor burns beyond its wont, the more with toilsome care I ponder with just fear what chance may fall, weighing it well. Thy father Daunus' throne, and many a city by thy sword subdued, are still thy own. Latinus also boasts much golden treasure and a liberal hand. Other unwedded maids of noble stem in Latium and Laurentine land are found. Permit me, then, to tell thee without guile things hard to utter; let them deeply fill thy listening soul. My sacred duty 'twas to plight my daughter's hand to nonesoe'er of all her earlier wooers—so declared the gods and oracles; but overcome by love of thee, by thy dear, kindred blood, and by the sad eyes of my mournful Queen, I shattered every bond; I snatched away the plighted maiden from her destined lord, and took up impious arms. What evil case upon that deed ensued, what hapless wars, thou knowest, since thyself dost chiefly bear the cruel b
Italy (Italy) (search for this): book 12, card 18
m her destined lord, and took up impious arms. What evil case upon that deed ensued, what hapless wars, thou knowest, since thyself dost chiefly bear the cruel burden. In wide-ranging fight twice-conquered, our own city scarce upholds the hope of Italy. Yon Tiber's wave still runs warm with my people's blood; the plains far round us glisten with their bleaching bones. Why tell it o'er and o'er? What maddening dream perverts my mind? If after Turnus slain I must for friendship of the Trojan sue, were it not better to suspend the fray while Turnus lives? For what will be the word of thy Rutulian kindred—yea, of all Italia, if to death I give thee o'er— (Which Heaven avert!) because thou fain wouldst win my daughter and be sworn my friend and son? Bethink thee what a dubious work is war; have pity on thy father's reverend years, who even now thy absence daily mourns in Ardea, his native land and thine.” But to this pleading Turnus' frenzied soul yields not at all, but rather blazes forth<