1 Howsoever fortune fall, one and undivided shall be our peril, one the escape of us twain.
2 Through chequered fortunes, through many perilous ways, we steer for Latium, where destiny points us a quiet home.
3 Forth now, dupe, and face thankless perils; forth, cut down the Tyrrhenian lines; give the Latins peace in thy protection.
4 Mothers redouble their prayers in terror, as fear treads closer on peril and the likeness of the War God looms larger in sight.
5 All their battalions, sharing the lot of peril, keep watch along the walls, and take alternate charge of all that requires defence.
6 Choose out the old men stricken in years, and the matrons sick of the sea, and all that is weak and fearful of peril in thy company.
7 Next he strikes Lichas, cut from his mother already dead, and consecrated, Phoebus, to thee, since his infancy was granted escape from the perilous steel.
8 Myself I regain the city, girding on my shining armour; fixed to renew every danger, to retrace my way throughout Troy, and fling myself again on its perils.
9 So they restrain Ascanius' keenness for battle by the words of Phoebus' will; themselves they again close in conflict, and cast their lives into the perilous breach.
10 And he, for none other escape from peril is left, vomits from his throat vast jets of smoke, wonderful to tell, and enwreathes his dwelling in blind gloom, blotting view from the eyes, while in the cave's depth night thickens with smoke-bursts in a darkness shot with fire.
11 After hunger is driven away and the desire of food stayed, King Evander speaks: 'No idle superstition that knows not the gods of old hath ordered these our solemn rites, this customary feast, this altar of august sanctity; saved from bitter perils, O Trojan guest, do we worship, and most due are the rites we inaugurate.'