557'Kindly one, dweller in the groves, maiden daughter of Latona, I, her father, vow this girl to you as your servant; 558holding your weapon as her first, a suppliant, she flees the enemy through the air. 559Accept, I beseech you, goddess, as your own her who is now entrusted to the uncertain breezes.' 561He spoke, and drawing back his arm he hurls the whirled shaft: the waters roared, and over the rapid river unhappy Camilla flies on the whistling javelin. 564But Metabus, as a great band now pressed closer, gives himself to the river and in triumph plucks from the grassy turf the spear with the girl, a gift to Trivia.
567No cities received him in their houses, none within their walls, nor would he himself in his wildness have yielded: he passed his life among shepherds on the lonely mountains. 570Here among thickets and bristling lairs he nursed his daughter at the udders of a mare from the herd and with wild milk, squeezing the teats into her tender lips. 573And as soon as the infant had planted her first steps with the soles of her feet, he armed her palms with a sharp javelin, and hung a quiver and bow from the little girl's shoulder. 576Instead of gold for her hair, instead of the covering of a long robe, a tiger's skin hangs from her head down her back.
578Even then with her tender hand she hurled childish spears, and whirled a sling round her head with its smooth thong, and brought down a Strymonian crane or a white swan. 581Many mothers throughout the Tyrrhenian towns wished in vain for her as a daughter-in-law: content with Diana alone, she cherishes, undefiled, an eternal love of weapons and maidenhood. 584I would have wished that she had not been swept up in such warfare, trying to provoke the Teucrians: she would now be dear to me and one of my companions. 587But come, since she is pressed by bitter fates, glide down from heaven, nymph, and visit the Latin lands, where a grim battle is being joined under an unlucky omen.
590Take these, and draw from the quiver an avenging arrow: with it let whoever violates her sacred body with a wound, Trojan or Italian, pay me alike the penalty with his blood. 593Afterwards I in a hollow cloud will carry the body of the pitiable girl and her arms unstripped to a tomb, and lay them to rest in her native land.' 595She spoke; 595but the other, gliding down through the light breezes of the sky, sounded loud, her body wrapped in a black whirlwind.