‘Latona's daughter, whose benignant graceprotects this grove, behold, her father nowgives thee this babe for handmaid! Lo, thy spearher infant fingers hold, as from her foesshe flies a suppliant to thee! Receive,O goddess, I implore, what now I castupon the perilous air.’—He spoke, and hurledwith lifted arm the whirling shaft. The wavesroared loud, as on the whistling javelinhapless Camilla crossed th' impetuous flood.But Metabus, his foes in hot pursuit,dared plunge him in mid-stream, and, triumphing,soon plucked from grass-grown river-bank the spear,the child upon it,—now to Trivia vowed,a virgin offering. Him nevermorecould cities hold, nor would his wild heart yieldits sylvan freedom, but his days were passedwith shepherds on the solitary hills.His daughter too in tangled woods he bred:a brood-mare from the milk of her fierce breastsuckled the child, and to its tender lips.Her udders moved; and when the infant feettheir first firm steps had taken, the small palmswere armed with a keen javelin; her sirea bow and quiver from her shoulder slung.Instead of golden combs and flowing pall,she wore, from her girl-forehead backward thrown,the whole skin of a tigress; with soft handsshe made her plaything of a whirling spear,or, swinging round her head the polished thongof her good sling, she fetched from distant skyStrymonian cranes or swans of spotless wing.From Tuscan towns proud matrons oft in vainsought her in marriage for their sons; but sheto Dian only turned her stainless heart,her virgin freedom and her huntress' armswith faithful passion serving. Would that nowthis Iove of war had ne'er seduced her mindthe Teucrians to provoke! So might she beone of our wood-nymphs still. But haste, I pray,for bitter is her now impending doom.Descend, dear nymph, from heaven, and explorethe country of the Latins, where the fightwith unpropitious omens now begins.These weapons take, and from this quiver drawa vengeful arrow, wherewith he who daresto wound her sacred body, though he bea Trojan or Italian, shall receivebloody and swift reward at my command.Then, in a cloud concealed, I will consignher corpse, ill-fated but inviolateunto the sepulchre, restoring sothe virgin to her native land.” Thus spakethe goddess; but her handmaid, gliding down,took her loud pathway on the moving winds,and mantled in dark storm her shape divine.
Meanwhile the Teucrian legions to the walldraw near, with Tuscan lords and cavalryin numbered troops arrayed. Loud-footed steedsprance o'er the field, to manage of the reinrebellious, but turned deftly here or there.The iron harvest of keen spears spreads far,and all the plain burns bright with lifted steel.Messapus and swift Latin cavalry,Coras his brother, and th' attending trainof the fair maid Camilla, form their linesin the opposing field. Their poised right handspoint the long lances forward, and light shaftsare brandished in the air; the warrior hostson steeds of fire come kindling as they ride.One instant, at a spear-throw's space, each lineits motion stays; then with one sudden crythey rush forth, spurring on each frenzied steed.From-every side the multitudinous spearspour down like snowflakes, mantling heaven in shade.Now with contending spears and straining thews,Tyrrhenus, and Aconteus, champion bold,ride forward; with the onset terrible loudly their armor rings; their chargers twaincrash breast to breast, and like a thunderboltAconteus drops, or like a ponderous stonehurled from a catapult; full length he falls,surrend'ring to the winds his fleeting soul.
Now all is panic: holding their light shieldsbehind their backs, the Latin horse wheel round,retreating to the wall, the Trojan foein close pursuit. Asilas, chieftain proud,led on th' assault. Hard by the city gatesthe Latins wheeled once more and pressed the reinstrong on the yielding neck; the charging foetook flight and hurried far with loose-flung rein.'T was like the shock and onset of the seathat landward hurls the alternating floodand hides high cliffs in foam,—the tawny sandsupflinging as it rolls; then, suddenlywhirled backward on the reingulfing waves,it quits the ledges, and with ebbing flowfar from the shore retires. The Tuscans twicedrive back the flying Rutules to the town;and twice repulsed, with shields to rearward thrown,glare back at the pursuer; but conjoinedin the third battle-charge, both armies mergeconfusedly together in grim fightof man to man; then follow dying groans,armor blood-bathed and corpses, and strong steedsinextricably with their masters slain,so fierce the fray. Orsilochus—afraidto front the warrior's arms—launched forth a spearat Remulus' horse, and left the fatal steelclinging below its ear; the charger plungedmadly, and tossed its trembling hoofs in air,sustaining not the wound; the rider fell,flung headlong to the ground. Catillus slewIollas; and then struck Herminius down,great-bodied and great-hearted, who could wielda monster weapon, and whose yellow hairfrom naked head to naked shoulder flowed.By wounds unterrified he dared opposehis huge bulk to the foe: the quivering spearpierced to his broad back, and with throes of painbowed the man double and clean clove him through.Wide o'er the field th' ensanguined horror flowed,where fatal swords were crossed and cut their waythrough many a wound to famous death and fair.
Swift through the midmost slaughter proudly stridesthe quiver-girt Camilla, with one breastthrust naked to the fight, like Amazon.Oft from her hand her pliant shafts she rains,or whirls with indefatigable arma doughty battle-axe; her shoulder bearsDiana's sounding arms and golden bow.Sometimes retreating and to flight compelled,the maiden with a rearward-pointing bowshoots arrows as she flies. Around her moveher chosen peers, Larina, virgin brave,Tarpeia, brandishing an axe of bronze,and Tulla, virgins out of Italy
whom the divine Camilla chose to beher glory, each a faithful servitressin days of peace or war. The maids of Thrace
ride thus along Thermodon's frozen flood,and fight with blazoned Amazonian armsaround Hippolyta; or when returnsPenthesilea in triumphal car'mid acclamations shrill, and all her hostof women clash in air the moon-shaped shield. What warrior first, whom last, did thy strong spear,fierce virgin, earthward fling? Or what thy taleof prostrate foes laid gasping on the ground?Eunaeus first, the child of Clytius' Ioins,whose bared breast, as he faced his foe, she piercedwith fir-tree javelin; from his lips outpouredthe blood-stream as he fell; and as he bitthe gory dust, he clutched his mortal wound.Then Liris, and upon him Pagasusshe slew: the one clung closer to the reinsof his stabbed horse, and rolled off on the ground;the other, flying to his fallen friend,reached out a helpless hand; so both of thesefell on swift death together. Next in lineshe smote Amastrus, son of Hippotas;then, swift-pursuing, pierced with far-flung spearTereus, Harpalycus, Demophoon,and Chromis; every shaft the virgin threwlaid low its Phrygian warrior. From afarrode Ornytus on his Apulian steed,bearing a hunter's uncouth arms; for cloakhe wore upon his shoulders broad a hidefrom some wild bull stripped off; his helmet wasa wolf's great, gaping mouth, with either jawfull of white teeth; the weapon in his hand,a farmer's pole. He strode into the throng,head taller than them all. But him she seizedand clove him through (his panic-stricken troopgave her advantage), and with wrathful heartshe taunted thus the fallen: “Didst thou deemthis was a merry hunting in the woodin chase of game? Behold, thy fatal daybefalls thee at a woman's hand, and thusthy boasting answers. No small glory thouunto the ghosts of thy dead sires wilt tell,that 't was Camilla's javelin struck thee down.”
The turn of Butes and Orsilochuscame next, who were the Trojans, hugest twain:yet Butes with her javelin-point she clovefrom rearward, 'twixt the hauberk and the helm,just where the horseman's neck showed white, and wherefrom shoulder leftward slung the light-weight shield.From swift Orsilochus she feigned to fly,through a wide circle sweeping, craftilytaking the inside track, pursuing soher own pursuer; then she raised herselfto her full height, and through the warrior's helmdrove to his very skull with doubling blowsof her strong battle-axe,—while he imploredher mercy with loud prayers: his cloven brainspilt o'er his face. Next in her pathway came—but shrank in startled fear—the warrior sonof Aunus, haunter of the Apennine,not least of the Ligurians ere his doomcut short a life of lies. He, knowing wellno flight could save him from the shock of armsnor turn the royal maid's attack, beganwith words of cunning and insidious guile:“What glory is it if a girl be bold,on sturdy steed depending? Fly me not!But, venturing with me on this equal ground,gird thee to fight on foot. Soon shalt thou seewhich one of us by windy boast achievesa false renown.” He spoke; but she, to pangsof keenest fury stung, gave o'er her steedin charge of a companion, and opposedher foe at equal vantage, falchion drawn,on foot, and, though her shield no blazon bore,of fear incapable. But the warrior fled,thinking his trick victorious, and rode offfull speed, with reins reversed,—his iron heelgoading his charger's flight. Camilla cried:“Ligurian cheat! In vain thy boastful heartpuffs thee so large; in vain thou hast essayedthy father's slippery ways; nor shall thy trickbring thee to guileful Aunus safely home.”Herewith on winged feet that virgin boldflew past the war-horse, seized the streaming rein,and, fronting him, took vengeance on her foein bloody strokes: with not less ease a hawk,dark bird of omen, from his mountain cragpursues on pinions strong a soaring doveto distant cloud, and, clutching with hooked claws,holds tight and rips,—while through celestial airthe torn, ensanguined plumage floats along.
But now not blindly from Olympian thronethe Sire of gods and men observant sawhow sped the day. Then to the conflict direthe god thrust Tarchon forth, the Tyrrhene King,goading the warrior's rage. So Tarchon rodethrough slaughter wide and legions in retreat,and roused the ranks with many a wrathful cry:he called each man by name, and toward the foedrove back the routed lines. “What terrors now,Tuscan cowards, dead to noble rage,have seized ye? or what laggard sloth and vileunmans your hearts, that now a woman's armpursues ye and this scattered host confounds?Why dressed in steel, or to what purpose wearyour futile swords? Not slackly do ye jointhe ranks of Venus in a midnight war;or when fantastic pipes of Bacchus callyour dancing feet, right venturesome ye flyto banquets and the flowing wine—what zeal,what ardor then! Or if your flattering priestbegins the revel, and to Iofty grovesfat flesh of victims bids ye haste away!”So saying, his steed he spurred, and scorning deathdashed into the mid-fray, where, frenzy-driven,he sought out Venulus, and, grappling himwith one hand, from the saddle snatched his foe,and, clasping strongly to his giant breast,exultant bore away. The shouting roseto heaven, and all the Latins gazed his way,as o'er the plain the fiery Tarchon flewbearing the full-armed man; then, breaking offthe point of his own spear, he pried a waythrough the seam'd armor for the mortal wound;the other, struggling, thrust back from his throatthe griping hand, full force to force opposing.As when a golden eagle high in airknits to a victim—snake his clinging feetand deeply-thrusting claws; but, coiling back,the wounded serpent roughens his stiff scalesand stretches high his hissing head; whereatthe eagle with hooked beak the more doth rendher writhing foe, and with swift stroke of winglashes the air: so Tarchon, from the ranksof Tibur's sons, triumphant snatched his prey.The Tuscans rallied now, well pleased to viewtheir king's example and successful war.Then Arruns, marked for doom, made circling linearound Camilla's path, his crafty spearseeking its lucky chance. Where'er the maidsped furious to the battle, Arruns therein silence dogged her footsteps and pursued;or where triumphant from her fallen foesshe backward drew, the warrior stealthilyturned his swift reins that way: from every sidehe circled her, and scanned his vantage hereor vantage there, his skilful javelinstubbornly shaking. But it soon befellthat Chloreus, once a priest of Cybele,shone forth in far-resplendent Phrygian arms,and urged a foaming steed, which wore a robeo'erwrought with feathery scales of bronze and gold;while he, in purples of fine foreign stain,bore light Gortynian shafts and Lycian bow;his bow was gold; a golden casque he woreupon his priestly brow; the saffron cloak,all folds of rustling cambric, was enclaspedin glittering gold; his skirts and tunics gaywere broidered, and the oriental garbswathed his whole leg. Him when the maiden spied,(Perchance she fain on temple walls would hangthe Trojan prize, or in such captured goldher own fair shape array), she gave mad chase,and reckless through the ranks her prey pursued,desiring, woman-like, the splendid spoil.Then from his ambush Arruns seized at lastthe fatal moment and let speed his shaft,thus uttering his vow to heavenly powers:“Chief of the gods, Apollo, who dost guardSoracte's hallowed steep, whom we reverefirst of thy worshippers, for thee is fedthe heap of burning pine; for thee we passthrough the mid-blaze in sacred zeal secure,and deep in glowing embers plant our feet.O Sire Omnipotent, may this my spearour foul disgrace put by. I do not askfor plunder, spoils, or trophies in my name,when yonder virgin falls; let honor's crownbe mine for other deeds. But if my strokethat curse and plague destroy, may I unpraisedsafe to the cities of my sires return.”