First in his path was Lagus, thither ledby evil stars; whom, as he tried to lifta heavy stone, the shaft of Pallas piercedwhere ribs and spine divide: backward he drewthe clinging spear; But Hisbo from abovesurprised him not, though meaning it; for while(In anger blind for friend unpitying slain)at Pallas' face he flew:—he, standing firm,plunged deep into that swelling breast the sword.Then Sthenius he slew; and next Anchemolusof Rhoetus' ancient line, who dared defilehis step-dame's bridal bed. And also ye,fair Thymber and Larides, Daucus' twins,fell on that Rutule field; so like were ye,your own kin scarce discerned, and parents proudsmiled at the dear deceit; but now in deathcruel unlikeness Pallas wrought; thy headfell, hapless Thymber, by Evander's sword;and thy right hand, Larides, shorn away,seemed feeling for its Iord; the fingers coldclutched, trembling, at the sword. Now all the troopof Arcady, their chief's great action seen,and by his warning roused, made at their foes,spurred on by grief and shame. Next Pallas piercedthe flying Rhoetus in his car; this gainedfor Ilus respite and delay, for himthe stout spear aimed at; but its flight was stoppedby Rhoetus, as in swift retreat he rode,by the two high-born brothers close pursued,Teuthras and Tyres: from his car he rolled,making deep furrows with his lifeless heelsalong the Rutule plain. Oft when the windsof summer, long awaited, rise and blow,a shepherd fires the forest, and the blazedevours the dense grove, while o'er the fields,in that one moment, swift and sudden spreadgrim Vulcan's serried flames; from some high seaton distant hill, the shepherd peering downsees, glad at heart, his own victorious fires:so now fierce valor spreads, uniting allin one confederate rage, 'neath Pallas' eyes.But the fierce warrior Halaesus nextled on the charge, behind his skilful shieldclose-crouching. Ladon and Demodocusand Pheres he struck down; his glittering bladecut Strymon's hand, which to his neck was raised,sheer off; with one great stone he crushed the browsof Thoas, scattering wide the broken skull,bones, brains, and gore. Halaesus' prophet-sire,foreseeing doom, had hid him in dark groves;but when the old man's fading eyes declinedin death, the hand of Fate reached forth and doomedthe young life to Evander's sword; him nowPallas assailed, first offering this prayer:“O Father Tiber, give my poising shaftthrough stout Halaesus' heart its lucky way!The spoil and trophy of the hero slainon thine own oak shall hang.” The god receivedthe vow, and while Halaesus held his shieldover Imaon, his ill-fated breastlay naked to th' Arcadian's hungry spear.
But Lausus, seeing such a hero slain,bade his troop have no fear, for he himselfwas no small strength in war; and first he slewAbas, who fought hard, and had ever seemedhimself the sticking-point and tug of war.Down went Arcadia's warriors, and slainetruscans fell, with many a Trojan bravethe Greek had spared. Troop charges upon troopwell-matched in might, with chiefs of like renown;the last rank crowds the first;—so fierce the pressscarce hand or sword can stir. Here Pallas stands,and pushes back the foe; before him loomsLausus, his youthful peer, conspicuous bothin beauty; but no star will them restoreto home and native land. Yet would the Kingof high Olympus suffer not the pairto close in battle, but each hero founda later doom at hands of mightier foes. Now Turnus' goddess-sister bids him hasteto Lausus' help. So he, in wheeling car,cut through the lines; and when his friends he saw,“Let the fight stop! “ he cried, “for none but Imay strike at Pallas; unto me alonethe prize of Pallas falls. I would his sirestood by to see.” He spake: his troop withdrewa fitting space. But as they made him room,the young prince, wondering at the scornful words,looked upon Turnus, glancing up and downthat giant frame, and with fierce-frowning browsscanned him from far, hurling defiant wordsin answer to the King's. “My honor nowshall have the royal trophy of this war,or glorious death. For either fortune fairmy sire is ready. Threaten me no more!”So saying, to the midmost space he strode,and in Arcadian hearts the blood stood still.Swift from his chariot Turnus leaped, and ranto closer fight. As when some lion seesfrom his far mountain-lair a raging bullthat sniffs the battle from the grassy field,and down the steep he flies—such picture showedgrim Turnus as he came. But when he seemedwithin a spear's cast, Pallas opened fight,expecting Fortune's favor to the bravein such unequal match; and thus he prayed:“O, by my hospitable father's roof,where thou didst enter as a stranger-guest,hear me, Alcides, and give aid divineto this great deed. Let Turnus see these handsstrip from his half-dead breast the bloody spoil!and let his eyes in death endure to seehis conqueror!” Alcides heard the youth:but prisoned in his heart a deep-drawn sigh,and shed vain tears; for Jove, the King and Sire, .spoke with benignant accents to his son:“To each his day is given. Beyond recallman's little time runs by: but to prolonglife's glory by great deeds is virtue's power.Beneath the lofty walls of fallen Troy
fell many a son of Heaven. Yea, there was slainSarpedon, my own offspring. Turnus toois summoned to his doom, and nears the boundsof his appointed span.” So speaking, Joveturned from Rutulia's war his eyes away.But Pallas hurled his lance with might and main,and from its hollow scabbard flashed his sword.The flying shaft touched where the plated steelover the shoulders rose, and worked its waythrough the shield's rim—then falling, glanced asidefrom Turnus' giant body. Turnus thenpoised, without haste, his iron-pointed spear,and, launching it on Pallas, cried, “Look nowwill not this shaft a good bit deeper drive?”He said: and through the mid-boss of the shield,steel scales and brass with bull's-hide folded round,the quivering spear-point crashed resistlessly,and through the corselet's broken barrierpierced Pallas' heart. The youth plucked out in vainthe hot shaft from the wound; his life and bloodtogether ebbed away, as sinking proneon his rent side he fell; above him ranghis armor; and from lips with blood defiledhe breathed his last upon his foeman's ground.Over him Turnus stood: “Arcadians all,”He cried, “take tidings of this feat of armsto King Evander. With a warrior's wagehis Pallas I restore, and freely grantwhat glory in a hero's tomb may lie,or comfort in a grave. They dearly paywho bid Aeneas welcome at their board.”So saying, with his left foot he held downthe lifeless form, and raised the heavy weightof graven belt, which pictured forth that crimeof youthful company by treason slain,all on their wedding night, in bridal bowersto horrid murder given,—which Clonus, sonof Eurytus, had wrought in lavish gold;this Turnus in his triumph bore away,exulting in the spoil. O heart of man,not knowing doom, nor of events to be!Nor, being lifted up, to keep thy boundsin prosperous days! To Turnus comes the hourwhen he would fain a prince's ransom givehad Pallas passed unscathed, and will bewailcuch spoil of victory. With weeping nowand lamentations Ioud his comrades layyoung Pallas on his shield, and thronging closecarry him homeward with a mournful song:alas! the sorrow and the glorious gainthy sire shall have in thee. For one brief daybore thee to battle and now bears away;yet leavest thou full tale of foemen slain. No doubtful rumor to Aeneas breaksthe direful news, but a sure messengertells him his followers' peril, and imploresprompt help for routed Troy. His ready swordreaped down the nearest foes, and through their lineclove furious path and broad; the valiant bladethrough oft-repeated bloodshed groped its way,proud Turnus, unto thee! His heart beholdsPallas and Sire Evander, their kind boardin welcome spread, their friendly league of peaceproffered and sealed with him, the stranger-guest.So Sulmo's sons, four warriors, and fourof Ufens sprung, he took alive—to slayas victims to the shades, and pour a streamof captives' blood upon a flaming pyre.Next from afar his hostile shaft he threwat Mago, who with wary motion bowedbeneath the quivering weapon, as it spedclean over him; then at Aeneas' kneeshe crouched and clung with supplicating cry:“O, by thy father's spirit, by thy hopein young Iulus, I implore thee, sparefor son and father's sake this life of mine.A lofty house have I, where safely hidare stores of graven silver and good weightof wrought and unwrought gold. The fate of warhangs not on me; nor can one little lifethy victory decide.” In answer spokeAeneas: “Hoard the silver and the goldfor thy own sons. Such bartering in warfinished with Turnus, when fair Pallas fell.Thus bids Anchises' shade, Iulus—thus!”He spoke: and, grasping with his mighty leftthe helmet of the vainly suppliant foe,bent back the throat and drove hilt-deep his sword.A little space removed, Haemonides,priest of Phoebus and pale Trivia, stood,whose ribboned brows a sacred fillet bound:in shining vesture he, and glittering arms.Him too the Trojan met, repelled, and toweredabove the fallen form, o'ermantling itin mortal shade; Serestus bore awaythose famous arms a trophy vowed to thee,Gradivus, Iord of war! Soon to fresh fightcame Caeculus, a child of Vulcan's line,and Umbro on the Marsic mountains bred:these met the Trojan's wrath. His sword shore offAnxur's left hand, and the whole orbed shielddropped earthward at the stroke: though Anxur's tongue had boasted mighty things, as if great wordswould make him strong, and lifting his proud heartas high as heaven, had hoped perchance to seegray hairs and length of days. Then Tarquitusstrode forth, exulting in his burnished arms(Him Dryope, the nymph, to Faunus bore),and dared oppose Aeneas' rage. But hedrew back his lance and, charging, crushed at oncecorselet and ponderous shield; then off he struckthe supplicating head, which seemed in vainpreparing speech; while o'er the reeking corpsethe victor stood, and thrusting it awayspoke thus with wrathful soul: “Now lie thou there,thou fearsome sight! No noble mother's handshall hide thee in the ground, or give those limbsto their ancestral tomb. Thou shalt be leftto birds of ravin; or go drifting faralong yon river to engulfing seas,where starving fishes on those wounds shall feed.”Antceus next and Lucas he pursues,though all in Turnus' van; and Numa boldand Camers tawny-tressed, the son and heirof Volscens the stout-hearted, whose domainsurpassed the richest of Ausonia's lords,when over hushed Amyclae he was king.Like old Aegaeon of the hundred arms,the hundred-handed, from whose mouths and breastsblazed fifty fiery blasts, as he made warwith fifty sounding shields and fifty swordsagainst Jove's thunder;—so Aeneas ragedvictorious o'er the field, when once his steelwarmed to its work. But lo, he turns him nowwhere come Niphaeus' bold-advancing wheelsand coursers four, who, when at furious speedthey faced his giant stride and dreadful cry,upreared in panic, and reversing spilledtheir captain to the ground, and bore awaythe chariot to the river's distant shore. Meanwhile, with two white coursers to their car,the brothers Lucagus and Liger droveinto the heart of battle: Liger keptwith skilful hand the manage of the steeds;bold Lucagus swung wide his naked sword.Aeneas, by their wrathful brows defied,brooked not the sight, but to the onset flew,huge-looming, with adverse and threatening spear.Cried Liger, “Not Achilles' chariot, ours!Nor team of Diomed on Phrygia's plain!The last of life and strife shall be thy meedupon this very ground.” Such raving wordflowed loud from Liger's lip: not with a wordthe Trojan hero answered him, but flunghis whirling spear; and even as Lucagusleaned o'er the horses, goading them with steel,and, left foot forward, gathered all his strengthto strike—the spear crashed through the under rimof his resplendent shield and entered deepin the left groin; then from the chariot fallen,the youth rolled dying on the field, while thuspious Aeneas paid him taunting words:“O Lucagus, thy chariot did not yieldbecause of horses slow to fly, or scaredby shadows of a foe. It was thyselfleaped o'er the wheel and fled.” So saying, he graspedthe horses by the rein. The brother then,spilled also from the car, reached wildly forthhis helpless hands: “O, by thy sacred head,and by the parents who such greatness gave,good Trojan, let me live! Some pity showto prostrate me!” But ere he longer sued,Aeneas cried, “Not so thy language rana moment gone! Die thou! Nor let this daybrother from brother part!” Then where the lifehides in the bosom, he thrust deep his sword.Thus o'er the field of war the Dardan Kingmoved on, death-dealing: like a breaking floodor cloudy whirlwind seemed his wrath. Straightwaythe boy Ascanius from the ramparts came,his warriors with him; for the siege had failed. Now Jupiter to Juno thus began:“O ever-cherished spouse and sister dear,surely 't is Venus—as thy mind misgave—whose favor props—O, what discernment thine! Yon Trojan power; not swift heroic hands,or souls of fury facing perilous war!”Juno made meek reply: “O noblest spouse!Why vex one sick at heart, who humbly fearsthy stern command? If I could claim to-daywhat once I had, my proper right and due,love's induence, I should not plead in vainto thee, omnipotent, to give me powerto lead off Turnus from the fight unscathed,and save him at his father Daunus' prayer.Aye, let him die! And with his loyal bloodthe Teucrians' vengeance feed! Yet he derivesfrom our Saturnian stem, by fourth removesprung from Pilumnus. Oft his liberal handshave heaped unstinted offering at thy shrine.”Thus in few words th' Olympian King replied:“If for the fated youth thy prayer imploresdelay and respite of impending doom,if but so far thou bidst me interpose,—go—favor Turnus' flight, and keep him safein this imperilled hour; I may concedesuch boon. But if thy pleading words intendsome larger grace, and fain would touch or changethe issue of the war, then art thou fedon expectation vain.” With weeping eyesJuno made answer: “Can it be thy mindgives what thy words refuse, and Turnus' life,if rescued, may endure? Yet afterwardsome cruel close his guiltless day shall see—or far from truth I stray! O, that I werethe dupe of empty fears! and O, that thouwouldst but refashion to some happier endthe things by thee begun—for thou hast power!”
She ceased; and swiftly from the peak of heavenmoved earthward, trailing cloud-wrack through the air,and girdled with the storm. She took her way to where Troy's warriors faced Laurentum's line.There of a hollow cloud the goddess frameda shape of airy, unsubstantial shade,Aeneas' image, wonderful to see,and decked it with a Dardan lance and shield,a crested helmet on the godlike head;and windy words she gave of soulless sound,and motion like a stride—such shapes, they say,the hovering phantoms of the dead put on,or empty dreams which cheat our slumbering eyes.Forth to the front of battle this vain shadestalked insolent, and with its voice and spearchallenged the warrior. At it Turnus flew,and hurled a hissing spear with distant aim;the thing wheeled round and fled. The foe forthwith,thinking Aeneas vanquished, with blind scornflattered his own false hope: “Where wilt thou fly,Aeneas? Wilt thou break a bridegroom's word?This sword will give thee title to some landthou hast sailed far to find!” So clamoring loudhe followed, flashing far his naked sword;nor saw the light winds waft his dream away. By chance in covert of a lofty craga ship stood fastened and at rest; her sidesshowed ready bridge and stairway; she had broughtOsinius, king of Clusium. Thither cameAeneas' counterfeit of flight and fear,and dropped to darkness. Turnus, nothing loth,gave close chase, overleaping every bar,and scaling the high bridge; but scarce he reachedthe vessel's prow, when Juno cut her loose,the cables breaking, and along swift wavespushed her to sea. Yet in that very hourAeneas to the battle vainly calledthe vanished foe, and round his hard-fought pathstretched many a hero dead. No longer nowthe mocking shadow sought to hide, but soaredvisibly upward and was Iost in cloud,while Turnus drifted o'er the waters widebefore the wind. Bewildered and amazedhe looked around him; little joy had hein his own safety, but upraised his handsin prayer to Heaven: “O Sire omnipotent!Didst thou condemn me to a shame like this?Such retribution dire? Whither now?Whence came I here? What panic wafts awaythis Turnus—if 't is he? Shall I beholdLaurentum's towers once more? But what of thosemy heroes yonder, who took oath to me,and whom—O sin and shame!—I have betrayedto horrible destruction? Even nowI see them routed, and my ears receivetheir dying groans. What is this thing I do?Where will the yawning earth crack wide enoughbeneath my feet? Ye tempests, pity me!On rocks and reef—'t is Turnus' faithful prayer,let this bark founder; fling it on the shoalsof wreckful isles, where no Rutulian eyecan follow me, or Rumor tell my shame.”With such wild words his soul tossed to and fro,not knowing if to hide his infamywith his own sword and madly drive its bladehome to his heart, or cast him in the sea,and, swimming to the rounded shore, renewhis battle with the Trojan foe. Three timeseach fatal course he tried; but Juno's powerthree times restrained, and with a pitying handthe warrior's purpose barred. So on he spedo'er yielding waters and propitious tides,far as his father Daunus' ancient town. At Jove's command Mezentius, breathing rage,now takes the field and leads a strong assaultagainst victorious Troy. The Tuscan ranksmeet round him, and press hard on him alone,on him alone with vengeance multipliedtheir host of swords they draw. As some tall cliff,projecting to the sea, receives the rageof winds and waters, and untrembling bearsvast, frowning enmity of seas and skies,—so he. First Dolichaon's son he slew,Hebrus; then Latagus and Palmus, thoughthey fled amain; he smote with mighty stonetorn from the mountain, full upon the faceof Latagus; and Palmus he let liehamstrung and rolling helpless; he bestowedthe arms on his son Lausus for a prize,another proud crest in his helm to wear;he laid the Phrygian Euanthus Iow;and Mimas, Paris' comrade, just his age,—born of Theano's womb to Amycushis sire, that night when royal Hecuba,teeming with firebrand, gave Paris birth:one in the city of his fathers sleeps;and one, inglorious, on Laurentian strand.As when a wild boar, harried from the hillsby teeth of dogs (one who for many a yearwas safe in pine-clad Vesulus, or roamedthe meres of Tiber, feeding in the reeds)falls in the toils at last, and stands at bay,raging and bristling, and no hunter daresdefy him or come near, but darts are hurledfrom far away, with cries unperilous:not otherwise, though righteous is their wrathagainst Mezentius, not a man so boldas face him with drawn sword, but at long rangethey throw their shafts and with loud cries assail;he, all unterrified, makes frequent stand,gnashing his teeth, and shaking off their spears. From ancient Corythus had Acron come,a Greek, who left half-sung his wedding-song,and was an exile; him Mezentius sawamong long lines of foes, with flaunting plumesand purple garments from his plighted spouse.Then as a starving lion when he prowlsabout high pasture-lands, urged on his wayby maddening hunger (if perchance he seea flying she-goat or tall-antlered stag)lifts up his shaggy mane, and gaping widehis monstrous jaws, springs at the creature's side,feeding foul-lipped, insatiable of gore:so through his gathered foes Mezentiusflew at his prey. He stretched along the groundill-fated Acron, who breathed life away,beating the dark dust with his heels, and bathedhis broken weapons in his blood. Nor deignedMezentius to strike Orodes downas he took flight, nor deal a wound unseenwith far-thrown spear; but ran before his face,fronting him man to man, nor would he winby sleight or trick, but by a mightier sword.Soon on the fallen foe he set his heel,and, pushing hard, with heel and spear, cried out:“Look ye, my men, where huge Orodes lies,himself a dangerous portion of this war!”With loyal, Ioud acclaim his peers reply;but thus the dying hero: “Victor mine,whoe'er thou art, I fall not unavenged!Thou shalt but triumph for a fleeting hour.Like doom for thee is written. Speedilythou shalt this dust inhabit, even as I!”Mezentius answered him with wrathful smile:“Now die! What comes on me concerns alonethe Sire of gods and Sovereign of mankind.”So saying, from the wounded breast he pluckedhis javelin: and on those eyes there fellinexorable rest and iron slumber,and in unending night their vision closed.
Then Caedicus cut down Alcathous,Sacrator slew Hydaspes, Rapo smoteParthenius and Orses stout and strong;Messapus, good blade cut down Cloniusand Ericetes, fierce Lycaon's child;the one from an unbridled war-horse thrown,the other slain dismounted. Then rode forthAgis the Lycian, but bold Valerus,true to his valiant breeding, hurled him down;having slain Thronius, Salius was slainby skilled Nealces, of illustrious namefor spear well cast and far-surprising bow.
Thus Mars relentless holds in equal scaleslaughters reciprocal and mutual woe;the victors and the vanquished kill or fallin equal measure; neither knows the wayto yield or fly. Th' Olympians Iook downout of Jove's house, and pity as they seethe unavailing wrath of either foe,and burdens measureless on mortals laid.Lo! Venus here, Saturnian Juno yon,in anxious watch; while pale Tisiphonemoves on infuriate through the battling lines.On strode Mezentius o'er the gory plain,and swollen with rage waved wide-his awful spear.Like tall Orion when on foot he goestrough the deep sea and lifts his shoulders highabove the waves; or when he takes his pathalong the mountain-tops, and has for staffan aged ash-tree, as he fixes firmhis feet in earth and hides his brows in cloud;—so Ioomed Mezentius with his ponderous arms.
To match him now, Aeneas, Iooking downthe long array of war, came forth in armsto challenge and defy. But quailing not,a mass immovable, the other stoodwaiting his noble foe, and with a glancemeasured to cast his spear the space between.“May this right hand“, he said, “and this swift spearwhich here I poise, be favoring gods for me!The spoils from yonder robber's carcase strippedI vow to hang on thee, my Lausus, thoushalt stand for trophy of Aeneas slain.”He said, and hurled from far the roaring spear,which from the shield glanced off, and speeding stillsmote famed Antores 'twixt the loin and side—antores, friend of Hercules, who camefrom Argos, and had joined Evander's cause,abiding in Italia. Lo, a woundmeant for another pierced him, and he lay,ill-fated! Iooking upward to the light,and dreaming of dear Argos as he died.Then good Aeneas hurled his spear; it passedthrough hollow orb of triple bronze, and throughlayers of flax and triple-twisted hides;then in the lower groin it lodged, but leftits work undone. Aeneas, not ill-pleasedto see the Tuscan wounded, swiftly drewthe falchion from his thigh, and hotly pressedhis startled foe. But Lausus at the sightgroaned loud, so much he loved his father dear,and tears his cheek bedewed. O storied youth!If olden worth may win believing ear,let not my song now fail of thee to sing,thy noble deeds, thy doom of death and pain!Mezentius, now encumbered and undone,fell backward, trailing from the broken shieldhis foeman's spear. His son leaped wildly forthto join the fray; and where Aeneas' handlifted to strike, he faced the thrusting swordand gave the hero pause. His comrades raisedapplauding cries, as shielded by his sonthe father made retreat; their darts they hurl,and vex with flying spears the distant foe:Aeneas, wrathful, stands beneath his shield.As when the storm-clouds break in pelting hail,the swains and ploughmen from the furrows fly,and every traveller cowers in sure defenceof river-bank or lofty shelving crag,while far and wide it pours; and by and by,each, when the sun returns, his task pursues:so great Aeneas, by assault o'erwhelmed,endured the cloud of battle, till its ragethundered no more; then with a warning wordto Lausus with upbraiding voice he called:“Why, O death-doomed, rush on to deeds too highfor strength like thine. Thou art betrayed, rash boy,by thine own loyal heart!” But none the lessthe youth made mad defence; while fiercer burnedthe Trojan's anger; and of Lausus' daysthe loom of Fate spun forth the last thin thread;for now Aeneas thrust his potent bladedeep through the stripling's breast and out of sight;through the light shield it passed—a frail defenceto threaten with!—and through the tunic finehis mother's hand had wrought with softest gold:blood filled his bosom, and on path of airdown to the shades the mournful soul withdrew,its body quitting. As Anchises' sonbeheld the agonizing lips and browso wondrous white in death, he groaned aloudin pity, and reached o'er him his right hand,touched to the heart such likeness to beholdof his own filial love. “Unhappy boy!What reward worthy of heroic deedscan I award thee now? Wear still those armsso proudly worn! And I will send thee home(Perhaps thou carest!) to the kindred shadesand ashes of thy sires. But let it besome solace in thy pitiable doomthat none but great Aeneas wrought thy fall.”Then to the stripling's tardy followershe sternly called, and lifted from the earthwith his own hand the fallen foe: dark blooddefiled those princely tresses braided fair. Meanwhile Mezentius by the Tiber's wavewith water staunched his wound, and propped his weightagainst a tree; upon its limbs abovehis brazen helmet hung, and on the swardhis ponderous arms lay resting. Round him watchedhis chosen braves. He, gasping and in pain,clutched at his neck and let his flowing beardloose on his bosom fall; he questions oftof Lausus, and sends many a messengerto bid him back, and bear him the commandof his sore-grieving sire. But lo! his peersbore the dead Lausus back upon his shield,and wept to see so strong a hero quelledby stroke so strong. From long way off the sire,with soul prophetic of its woe, perceivedwhat meant their wail and cry. On his gray hairsthe dust he flung, and, stretching both his handsto heaven, he cast himself the corpse along.“O son,” he cried, “was life to me so sweet,that I to save myself surrendered o'ermy own begotten to a foeman's steel?Saved by these gashes shall thy father be,and living by thy death? O wretched me,how foul an end have I! Now is my wounddeep! deep! 't was I, dear son, have stainedthy name with infamy—to exile drivenfrom sceptre and hereditary throneby general curse. Would that myself had bornemy country's vengeance and my nation's hate!Would my own guilty life my debt had paid—yea, by a thousand deaths! But, see, I live!Not yet from human kind and light of dayhave I departed. But depart I will.”So saying, he raised him on his crippled thigh,and though by reason of the grievous woundhis forces ebbed, yet with unshaken mienhe bade them lead his war-horse forth, his pride,his solace, which from every warvictorious bore him home. The master thento the brave beast, which seemed to know his pain,spoke thus: “My Rhoebus, we have passed our dayslong time together, if long time there befor mortal creatures. Either on this daythou shalt his bloody spoils in triumph bearand that Aeneas' head,—and so shalt beavenger of my Lausus' woe; or else,if I be vanquished, thou shalt sink and fallbeside me. For, my bravest, thou wouldst spurna stranger's will, and Teucrian lords to bear.”He spoke and, mounting to his back, disposedhis limbs the wonted way and filled both handswith pointed javelins; a helm of brasswith shaggy horse-hair crest gleamed o'er his brow.Swift to the front he rode: a mingled floodsurged in his heart of sorrow, wrath, and shame;and thrice with loud voice on his foe he called. Aeneas heard and made exulting vow:“Now may the Father of the gods on high,and great Apollo hear! Begin the fray!”He said, and moved forth with a threatening spear.The other cried: “Hast robbed me of my son,and now, implacable, wouldst fright me more?That way, that only, was it in thy powerto cast me down. No fear of death I feel.Nor from thy gods themselves would I refrain.Give o'er! For fated and resolved to dieI come thy way: but; bring thee as I passthese offerings.” With this he whirled a spearagainst his foe, and after it drove deepanother and another, riding swiftin wide gyration round him. But the shield,the golden boss, broke not. Three times he rodein leftward circles, hurling spear on spearagainst th' unmoved Aeneas: and three timesthe Trojan hero in his brazen shieldthe sheaf of spears upbore. But such slow fight,such plucking of spent shafts from out his shield,the Trojan liked not, vexed and sorely triedin duel so ill-matched. With wrathful soulat length he strode forth, and between the browsof the wild war-horse planted his Iong spear.Up reared the creature, beating at the airwith quivering feet, then o'er his fallen lordentangling dropped, and prone above him lay,pinning with ponderous shoulder to the ground.The Trojans and the Latins rouse the skieswith clamor Ioud. Aeneas hastening forthunsheathes his sword, and looming o'er him cries:“Where now is fierce Mezentius, and his soul'swild pulse of rage?” The Tuscan in replywith eyes uprolled, and gasping as he gavelong looks at heaven, recalled his fading mind:“Why frown at me and fume, O bitterest foe?Why threaten death? To slay me is no sin.Not to take quarter came I to this war,not truce with thee did my lost Lausus crave,yet this one boon I pray,—if mercy befor fallen foes: O, suffer me when deadin covering earth to hide! Full well I knowwhat curses of my people ring me round.Defend me from that rage! I pray to bemy son's companion in our common tomb.”He spoke: then offered with unshrinking eyehis veined throat to the sword. O'er the bright mailhis vital breath gushed forth in streaming gore.
Up from the sea now soared the dawning day:Aeneas, though his sorrow bids him hasteto burial of the slain, and his sad soulis clouded with the sight of death, fulfils,for reward to his gods, a conqueror's vow,at morning's earliest beam. A mighty oakshorn of its limbs he sets upon a hilland clothes it o'er with glittering arms, the spoilof King Mezentius, and a trophy proudto thee, great lord of war. The hero's plumesbedewed with blood are there, and splintered spears;there hangs the corselet, by the thrusting steeltwelve times gored through; upon the left he bindsthe brazen shield, and from the neck suspendsthe ivory-hilted sword. Aeneas thus,as crowding close his train of captains throng,addressed his followers: “Ye warriors mine,our largest work is done. Bid fear begoneof what is left to do. Behold the spoils!Yon haughty King was firstfruits of our war.See this Mezentius my hands have made!Now to the Latin town and King we go.Arm you in soul! With heart of perfect hopeprepare the war! So when the gods give signto open battle and lead forth our braveout of this stronghold, no bewilderment,nor tarrying, nor fearful, faltering mindshall slack our march. Meanwhile in earth we layour comrades fallen; for no honor elsein Acheron have they. Go forth,” said he,“bring gifts of honor and of last farewellto those high hearts by shedding of whose bloodour country lives. To sad Evander's townbear Pallas first; who, though he did not failof virtue's crown, was seized by doom unblest,and to the bitterness of death consigned.”
Weeping he spoke, and slowly backward drewto the tent-door, where by the breathless clayof Pallas stood Acoetes, aged man,once bearer of Evander's arms, but nowunder less happy omens set to guardhis darling child. Around him is a throngof slaves, with all the Trojan multitude,and Ilian women, who the wonted waylet sorrow's tresses loosely flow. When nowAeneas to the lofty doors drew near,all these from smitten bosoms raised to heavena mighty moaning, till the King's abodewas loud with anguish. There Aeneas viewedthe pillowed head of Pallas cold and pale,the smooth young breast that bore the gaping woundof that Ausonian spear, and weeping said:“Did Fortune's envy, smiling though she came,refuse me, hapless boy, that thou shouldst seemy throne established, and victorious ridebeside me to thy father's house? Not thismy parting promise to thy King and sire,Evander, when with friendly, fond embraceto win imperial power he bade me go;yet warned me anxiously I must resistbold warriors and a stubborn breed of foes.And haply even now he cheats his heartwith expectation vain, and offers vows,heaping with gifts the altars of his gods.But we with unavailing honors bringthis lifeless youth, who owes the gods of heavenno more of gift and vow. O ill-starred King!Soon shalt thou see thy son's unpitying doom!What a home-coming! This is glory's dayso Iong awaited; this the solemn pledgeI proudly gave. But fond Evander's eyeswill find no shameful wounding on the slain,nor for a son in coward safety keptwilt thou, the sire, crave death. But woe is me!How strong a bulwark in Ausonia falls!What loss is thine, Iulus!” Thus lamenting,he bids them lift the body to the bier,and sends a thousand heroes from his hostto render the last tributes, and to sharefather's tears:—poor solace and too smallfor grief so great, but due that mournful sire.Some busy them to build of osiers finethe simple litter, twining sapling oakswith evergreen, till o'er death's Iofty bedthe branching shade extends. Upon it lay,as if on shepherd's couch, the youthful dead,like fairest flower by virgin fingers culled,frail violet or hyacinth forlorn,of color still undimmed and leaf unmarred;but from the breast of mother-earth no moreits life doth feed. Then good Aeneas broughttwo broidered robes of scarlet and fine gold,which with the gladsome labor of her handsSidonian Dido wrought him long ago,the thin-spun gold inweaving. One of thesethe sad prince o'er the youthful body threwfor parting gift; and with the other veiledthose tresses from the fire; he heaped on highLaurentum's spoils of war, and bade to bringmuch tribute forth: horses and arms he gave,seized from the fallen enemy; with handsfettered behind them filed a captive traindoomed to appease the shades, and with the flamesto mix their flowing blood. He bade his chiefsset up the trunks of trees and clothe them wellwith captured arms, inscribing on each onesome foeman's name. Then came Acoetes forth,a wretched, worn old man, who beat his breastwith tight-clenched hands, and tore his wrinkled facewith ruthless fingers; oft he cast him downfull length along the ground. Then lead they forththe blood-stained Rutule chariots of war;Aethon, the war-horse, of his harness bare,walks mournful by; big teardrops wet his cheek.Some bear the lance and helm; for all the restvictorious Turnus seized. Then filed alonga mournful Teucrian cohort; next the hostEtrurian and the men of Arcadywith trailing arms reversed. Aeneas now,when the long company had passed him by,spoke thus and groaned aloud: “Ourselves from henceare summoned by the same dread doom of warto other tears. Farewell forevermore!Heroic Pallas! be forever blest!I bid thee hail, farewell!” In silence thenback to the stronghold's Iofty walls he moved.
Now envoys from the Latin citadelcame olive-crowned, to plead for clemency:would he not yield those bodies of the deadsword-scattered o'er the plain, and let them liebeneath an earth-built tomb? Who wages warupon the vanquished, the unbreathing slain?To people once his hosts and kindred called,would he not mercy show? To such a prayer,deemed not unworthy, good Aeneas gavethe boon, and this benignant answer made:“Ye Latins, what misfortune undeservedhas snared you in so vast a war, that nowyou shun our friendship? Have you here imploredpeace for your dead, by chance of battle fallen?Pain would I grant it for the living too.I sailed not hither save by Heaven's decree,which called me to this land. I wage no warwith you, the people; 't was your King refusedour proffered bond of peace, and gave his causeto Turnus' arms. More meet and just it werehad Turnus met this death that makes you mourn.If he would end our quarrel sword in hand,thrusting us Teucrians forth, 't was honor's wayto cross his blade with mine; that man to whomthe gods, or his own valor, had decreedthe longer life, had lived. But now depart!Beneath your lost friends light the funeral fires!”So spoke Aeneas; and with wonder muteall stood at gaze, each turning to beholdhis neighbor's face. Then Drances, full of years,and ever armed with spite and slanderous wordagainst young Turnus, made this answering plea:“O prince of mighty name, whose feats of armsare even mightier! Trojan hero, howshall my poor praise exalt thee to the skies?Is it thy rectitude or strenuous warmost bids me wonder? We will bear thy wordright gladly to the city of our sires;and there, if Fortune favor it, contrivea compact with the Latin King. Henceforthlet Turnus find his own allies! Ourselveswill much rejoice to see thy destined walls,and our own shoulders will be proud to bearthe stone for building Troy.” Such speech he made,and all the common voice consented loud.So twelve days' truce they swore, and safe from harmLatins and Teucrians unmolested rovedtogether o'er the wooded hills. Now rangloud steel on ash-tree bole; enormous pines,once thrusting starward, to the earth they threw;and with industrious wedge asunder clovestout oak and odorous cedar, piling highharvest of ash-trees on the creaking wain. Now Rumor, herald of prodigious woe,to King Evander hied, Evander's houseand city filling, where, but late, her wordhad told in Latium Pallas' victory.th' Arcadians thronging to the city-gatesbear funeral torches, the accustomed way;in lines of flame the long street flashes far,lighting the fields beyond. To meet them movesa Phrygian company, to join with theirsits lamentation loud. The Latin wives,soon as they saw them entering, arousedthe whole sad city with shrill songs of woe.No hand could stay Evander. Forth he flewinto the midmost tumult, and fell proneon his dead Pallas, on the resting bier;he clung to the pale corse with tears, with groans,till anguish for a space his lips unsealed:“Not this thy promise, Pallas, to thy sire,to walk not rashly in the war-god's way.I knew too well how honor's morning-star,and sweet, foretasted glory tempt and wooin a first battle. O first-fruit forlornof youth so fair! O prelude pitilessof war approaching! O my vows and prayers,which not one god would hear! My blessed wife,how happy was the death that spared thee notto taste this bitterness! But I, the while,by living longer lived to meet my doom,—a father sole-surviving. Would I myselfhad perished by the Rutule's cruel spear,the Trojan's cause espousing! This breath of lifehow gladly had I given! And O, that nowyon black solemnity were bearing homemyself, not Pallas, dead! Yet blame I not,O Teucrians, the hallowed pact we made,nor hospitable bond and clasp of hands.This doom ye bring me was writ long ago,for my old age. And though my child is fallenuntimely, I take comfort that he fellwhere thousands of the Volscians slaughtered lie,and into Latium led the Teucrian arms.What brighter glory could I crave in deathfor thee, my Pallas, than Aeneas brings,and Phrygian princes, and Etrurian lordswith all Etruria's legions? Lo, they bearyon glittering spoils of victims of thy sword!Thou, Turnus, too, wert now an effigyin giant armor clad, if but his yearsand strength full ripe had been fair match for thine!But now my woes detain the Trojan hostfrom battle. I beseech ye haste away,and bear this faithful message to your King:since I but linger out a life I loathe,without my Pallas, nothing but thy swordcan bid me live. Then let thy sword repayits debt to sire and son by Turnus slain!Such deed alone may with thy honor fit,and happier fortunes. But my life to mehas no joy left to pray for, save to bringmy son that solace in the shadowy land.” Meanwhile o'er sorrowing mortals the bright mornhad lifted her mild beam, renewing sothe burden of man's toil. Aeneas nowbuilt funeral pyres along the winding shore,King Tarchon at his side. Each thither broughtthe bodies of his kin, observing wellall ancient ritual. The fuming firesburned from beneath, till highest heaven was hidin blackest, overmantling cloud. Three timesthe warriors, sheathed in proud, resplendent steel,paced round the kindling pyres; and three timesfair companies of horsemen circled slow,with loud lamenting, round the doleful flame.The wail of warriors and the trumpets' blarethe very welkin rend. Cast on the flamesare spoils of slaughtered Latins,—helms and blades,bridles and chariot-wheels. Yet others bringgifts to the dead familiar, their own shieldsand unavailing spears. Around them slaingreat herds of kine give tribute unto death:swine, bristly-backed, from many a field are borne,and slaughtered sheep bleed o'er the sacred fire.So on the shore the wailing multitudebehold their comrades burning, and keep guardo'er the consuming pyres, nor turn awaytill cooling night re-shifts the globe of heaven,thick-strewn with numberless far-flaming stars.