A custom in Hesperian Latium reigned, Which Alban cities kept with sacred care, And Rome, the world's great mistress, hath retained.
Thus still they wake the War-god, whensoe'er For Arabs or Hyrcanians they prepare, Or Getic tribes the tearful woes of war, Or push to Ind their distant arms, or dare To track the footsteps of the Morning star, And claim their standards back from Parthia's hosts afar.
LXXXII.

Twain are the Gates of War, to dreadful Mars With awe kept sacred and religious pride.
A hundred brazen bolts and iron bars Shut fast the doors, and Janus stands beside.
Here, when the senators on war decide, The Consul, decked in his Quirinal pall And Gabine cincture, flings the portals wide, And cries to arms; the warriors, one and all, With blare of brazen horns make answer to the call.
LXXXIII.

'Twas thus that now Latinus they require To dare AEneas' followers to the fray, And ope the portals.

But the good old Sire Shrank from the touch, and, shuddering with dismay, Shunned the foul office, and abjured the day.
Then, downward darting from the skies afar, Heaven's empress with her right hand wrenched away The lingering bars.

The grating hinges jar, As back Saturnia thrusts the iron gates of War.
LXXXIV.