When Turnus marks how much the Latins quailin adverse war, how on himself they callto keep his pledge, and with indignant eyesgaze all his way, fierce rage implacableswells his high heart. As when on Libyan plaina lion, gashed along his tawny breastby the huntsman's grievous thrust, awakens himunto his last grim fight, and gloriouslyshaking the great thews of his maned neck,shrinks not, but crushes the despoiler's spearwith blood-sprent, roaring mouth,—not less than soburns the wild soul of Turnus and his ire.Thus to the King he spoke with stormful brow:“The war lags not for Turnus' sake. No causeconstrains the Teucrian cowards and their Kingto eat their words and what they pledged refuse.On his own terms I come. Bring forward, sire,the sacrifice, and seal the pact I swear:either to deepest hell this hand shall flingyon Trojan runaway—the Latins allmay sit at ease and see!—and my sole swordefface the general shame; or let him claimthe conquest, and Lavinia be his bride.”
To him Latinus with unruffled mindthus made reply: “O youth surpassing brave!The more thy sanguinary valor burnsbeyond its wont, the more with toilsome careI ponder with just fear what chance may fall,weighing it well. Thy father Daunus' throne,and many a city by thy sword subdued,are still thy own. Latinus also boastsmuch golden treasure and a liberal hand.Other unwedded maids of noble stemin Latium and Laurentine land are found.Permit me, then, to tell thee without guilethings hard to utter; let them deeply fillthy listening soul. My sacred duty 'twasto plight my daughter's hand to nonesoe'erof all her earlier wooers—so declaredthe gods and oracles; but overcomeby love of thee, by thy dear, kindred blood,and by the sad eyes of my mournful Queen,I shattered every bond; I snatched awaythe plighted maiden from her destined lord,and took up impious arms. What evil caseupon that deed ensued, what hapless wars,thou knowest, since thyself dost chiefly bearthe cruel burden. In wide-ranging fighttwice-conquered, our own city scarce upholdsthe hope of Italy. Yon Tiber's wavestill runs warm with my people's blood; the plainsfar round us glisten with their bleaching bones.Why tell it o'er and o'er? What maddening dreamperverts my mind? If after Turnus slainI must for friendship of the Trojan sue,were it not better to suspend the fraywhile Turnus lives? For what will be the wordof thy Rutulian kindred—yea, of allItalia, if to death I give thee o'er—(Which Heaven avert!) because thou fain wouldst winmy daughter and be sworn my friend and son?Bethink thee what a dubious work is war;have pity on thy father's reverend years,who even now thy absence daily mournsin Ardea, his native land and thine.”But to this pleading Turnus' frenzied soulyields not at all, but rather blazes forthmore wildly, and his fever fiercer burnsbeneath the healer's hand. In answer he,soon as his passion gathered voice, began:“This keen solicitude for love of me,I pray, good sire, for love of me put by!And let me traffic in the just exchangeof death for glory. This right hand, O King,can scatter shafts not few, nor do I wielduntempered steel. Whene'er I make a woundblood follows. For my foeman when we meetwill find no goddess-mother near, with handto hide him in her woman's skirt of cloud,herself in dim, deluding shade concealed.” But now the Queen, whose whole heart shrank in fearfrom these new terms of duel, wept aloud,and like one dying clasped her fiery son:“O Turnus, by these tears-if in thy heartthou honorest Amata still—O thouwho art of our distressful, dark old agethe only hope and peace, the kingly nameand glory of Latinus rests in thee;thou art the mighty prop whereon is stayedour falling house. One favor I implore:give o'er this fight with Trojans. In such strifethy destined doom is destined to be mineby the same fatal stroke. For in that hourthis hated life shall cease, nor will I lookwith slave's eyes on Aeneas as my son.”Lavinia heard her mother's voice, and tearso'erflowed her scarlet cheek, where blushes spreadlike flame along her warm, young face and brow:as when the Indian ivory must wearensanguined crimson stain, or lilies palemingled with roses seem to blush, such huesher virgin features bore; and love's desiredisturbed his breast, as, gazing on the maid,his martial passion fiercer flamed; whereonin brief speech he addressed the Queen: “No tears!No evil omen, mother, I implore!Make me no sad farewells, as I departto the grim war-god's game! Can Turnus' handdelay death's necessary coming? Go,Idmon, my herald, to the Phrygian King,and tell him this—a word not framed to please:soon as Aurora from her crimson carflushes to-morrow's sky, let him no moreagainst the Rutule lead the Teucrian line;let Teucrian swords and Rutule take repose,while with our own spilt blood we twain will makean end of war; on yonder mortal fieldlet each man woo Lavinia for his bride.”
So saying, he hied him to his lordly halls,summoned his steeds, and with pleased eye surveyedtheir action proud: them Orithyia, brideof Boreas, to Sire Pilumnus gave,which in their whiteness did surpass the snowin speed the wind. The nimble charioteersstood by and smote with hollowed hand and palmthe sounding chests, or combed the necks and manes.But he upon his kingly shoulders claspedhis corselet, thick o'erlaid with blazoned goldand silvery orichalch; he fitted himwith falchion, shield, and helm of purple plume,that falchion which the Lord of Fire had madefor Daunus, tempering in the Stygian wavewhen white it glowed; next grasped he the good spearwhich leaned its weight against a column tall in the mid-court, Auruncan Actor's spoil,and waved it wide in air with mighty cry:“O spear, that ne'er did fail me when I called,the hour is come! Once mighty Actor's hand,but now the hand of Turnus is thy lord.Grant me to strike that carcase to the ground,and with strong hand the corselet rip and rendfrom off that Phrygian eunuch: let the dustbefoul those tresses, tricked to curl so finewith singeing steel and sleeked with odorous oil.”Such frenzy goads him: his impassioned browis all on flame, the wild eyes flash with fire.Thus, bellowing loud before the fearful fray,some huge bull proves the fury of his horns,pushing against a tree-trunk; his swift thrustswould tear the winds in pieces; while his hoofstoss up the turf and sand, rehearsing war.
That self-same day with aspect terribleAeneas girt him in the wondrous armshis mother gave; made sharp his martial steel,and roused his heart to ire; though glad was heto seal such truce and end the general war.Then he spoke comfort to his friends; and soothedIulus' fear, unfolding Heaven's intent;but on Latinus bade his heralds layunyielding terms and laws of peace impose.
Soon as the breaking dawn its glory threwalong the hills, and from the sea's profoundleaped forth the horses of the sun-god's car,from lifted nostrils breathing light and fire,then Teucrian and Rutulian measured outa place for duel, underneath the wallsof the proud city. In the midst were setaltars of turf and hearth-stones burning brightin honor of their common gods. Some broughtpure waters and the hallowed flame, their thighsin priestly skirt arrayed, and reverend browswith vervain bound. Th' Ausonians, spear in hand,out from the city's crowded portals movedin ordered column: next the Trojans all,with Tuscan host in various martial guise,equipped with arms of steel, as if they heardstern summons to the fight. Their captains, too,emerging from the multitude, in prideof gold and purple, hurried to and fro:Mnestheus of royal stem, Asilas brave;and Neptune's offspring, tamer of the steed,Messapus. Either host, at signal given,to its own ground retiring, fixed in earththe long shafts of the spears and stacked the shields.Then eagerly to tower and rampart flythe women, the infirm old men, the throngof the unarmed, and sit them there at gaze,or on the columned gates expectant stand.
But Juno, peering from that summit proudwhich is to-day the Alban (though that timenor name nor fame the hallowed mountain knew),surveyed the plain below and fair arrayof Trojan and Laurentine, by the wallsof King Latinus. Whereupon straightwaywith Turnus' sister she began converse,goddess with goddess; for that nymph divineo'er Alba's calm lakes and loud rivers reigns;Jove, the high monarch of th' ethereal sky,gave her such glory when he stole awayher virgin zone. “O nymph“, she said, “who artthe pride of flowing streams, and much belovedof our own heart! thou knowest thou alonehast been my favorite of those Latin maidsthat to proud Jove's unthankful bed have climbed;and willingly I found thee place and sharein our Olympian realm. So blame not me,but hear, Juturna, what sore grief is thine:while chance and destiny conceded aughtof strength to Latium's cause, I shielded wellboth Turnus and thy city's wall; but nowI see our youthful champion make his warwith fates adverse. The Parcae's day of doomimplacably impends. My eyes refuseto Iook upon such fight, such fatal league.If for thy brother's life thou couldst be boldto venture some swift blow, go, strike it now!'T is fit and fair! Some issue fortunatemay tread on sorrow's heel.” She scarce had said,when rained the quick tears from Juturna's eyes.Three times and yet again her desperate handsmote on her comely breast. But Juno cried,“No tears to-day! But haste thee, haste and findwhat way, if way there be, from clutch of deathto tear thy brother free; arouse the war;their plighted peace destroy. I grant thee leavesuch boldness to essay.” With this commandshe left the nymph dismayed and grieving sore. Meanwhile the kings ride forth: Latinus first,looming tall-statured from his four-horse car;twelve rays of gold encircle his bright brow,sign of the sun-god, his progenitor;next Turnus, driving snow-white steeds, is seen,—two bread-tipped javelins in his hand he bears;Aeneas, of Rome's blood the source and sire,with star-bright shield and panoply divine, far-shining comes; Ascanius by his side—of Roman greatness the next hope is he. To camp they rode, where, garbed in blameless white,with youngling swine and two-year sheep unshorn,the priest before the flaming altars drovehis flock and offering: to the rising sunall eyes are lifted, as with careful handthe salted meal is scattered, while with knivesthey mark each victim's brow, outpouring winefrom shallow bowls, the sacrifice to bless. Then good Aeneas, his sword drawn, put forththis votive prayer: “O Sun in heaven; and thou,Italia, for whom such toils I bear,be witness of my orison. On thee,Father omnipotent, I call; on thee,his Queen Saturnia,—now may she bemore gracious to my prayer! O glorious Mars,beneath whose godhead and paternityall wars begin and end, on thee I call;hail, all ye river-gods and haunted springs;hail, whatsoever gods have seat of awein yonder distant sky, and ye whose poweris in the keeping of the deep, blue sea:if victory to Ausonian Turnus fall,then let my vanquished people take its wayunto Evander's city! From these plainsIulus shall retire—so stands the bond;nor shall the Trojans with rebellious swordbring after-trouble on this land and King.But if on arms of ours success shall shine,as I doubt not it shall (may gods on hightheir will confirm!), I purpose not to chainItalian captive unto Teucrian lord,nor seek I kingly power. Let equal lawsunite in federation without endthe two unconquered nations; both shall sharemy worshipped gods. Latinus, as my sire,shall keep his sword, and as my sire receiveinviolable power. The Teucriansshall build my stronghold, but our citadelshall bear forevermore Lavinia's name.” Aeneas thus: then with uplifted eyesLatinus swore, his right hand raised to heaven:“I too, Aeneas, take the sacred vow.By earth and sea and stars in heaven I swear,by fair Latona's radiant children twain,and two-browed Janus; by the shadowy powersof Hades and th' inexorable shrinesof the Infernal King; and may Jove hear,who by his lightnings hallows what is sworn!I touch these altars, and my lips invokethe sacred altar-fires that 'twixt us burn:we men of Italy will make this peaceinviolate, and its bond forever keep,let come what will; there is no power can changemy purpose, not if ocean's waves o'erwhelmthe world in billowy deluge and obscurethe bounds of heaven and hell. We shall remainimmutable as my smooth sceptre is“(By chance a sceptre in his hand he bore),“which wears no more light leaf or branching shade;for long since in the grove 't was plucked awayfrom parent stem, and yielded to sharp steelits leaves and limbs; erewhile 't was but a tree,till the wise craftsman with fair sheath of bronzeencircled it and laid it in the handsof Latium's royal sires.” With words like thesethey swore the bond, in the beholding eyesof gathered princes. Then they slit the throatsof hallowed victims o'er the altar's blaze,drew forth the quivering vitals, and with fleshon loaded chargers heaped the sacrifice. But to Rutulian eyes th' approaching joustseemed all ill-matched; and shifting hopes and fearsdisturbed their hearts the closer they surveyedth' unequal risks: still worse it was to seehow Turnus, silent and with downcast eyes,dejectedly drew near the place of prayer,worn, pale, and wasted in his youthful bloom.The nymph Juturna, with a sister's fear,noted the growing murmur, and perceivedhow all the people's will did shift and change;she went from rank to rank, feigning the shapeof Camers, scion of illustrious line,with heritage of valor, and himselfdauntless in war; unceasingly she ranfrom rank to rank, spreading with skilful tongueopinions manifold, and thus she spoke:“Will ye not blush, Rutulians, so to stakeone life for many heroes? Are we nottheir match in might and numbers? O, beholdthose Trojan sons of Heaven making leaguewith exiled Arcady; see Tuscan hordesstorming at Turnus. Yet we scarce could findone foe apiece, forsooth, if we should darefight them with half our warriors. Of a truthyour champion brave shall to those gods ascendbefore whose altars his great heart he vows;and lips of men while yet on earth he stayswill spread his glory far. Ourselves, instead,must crouch to haughty masters, and resignthis fatherland upon whose fruitful fieldswe dwell at ease.” So speaking, she inflamedthe warriors' minds, and through the legions ranincreasing whisper; the Laurentine hostand even Latium wavered. Those who lateprayed but for rest and safety, clamored loudfor arms, desired annulment of the league,and pitied Turnus' miserable doom.Whereon Juturna tried a mightier stroke,a sign from heaven, which more than all besideconfused the Latins and deceived their heartswith prodigy. For through the flaming skiesJove's golden eagle swooped, and scattered fara clamorous tribe of river-haunting birds;then, swiftly to the waters falling, seizedone noble swan, which with keen, curving clawshe ruthless bore away: th' Italians allwatched eagerly, while the loud-screaming flockwheeled upward (wondrous sight!), with host of wingsshadowed the sky, and in a legion-cloudchased through the air the foe; till, overborneby heavier odds, the eagle from his clawsflung back his victim to the waves, and fledto the dim, distant heaven. The Rutules thenhailed the good omen with consenting cry,and grasped the sword and shield. Tolumniusthe augur spake first: “Lo, the sign I soughtwith many a prayer! I welcome and obeythe powers divine. Take me for captain, me!And draw your swords, ye wretches, whom th' assaultof yonder foreign scoundrel puts in fearlike feeble birds, and with his violencelays waste your shore. He too shall fly away,spreading his ships' wings on the distant seas.Close up your ranks—one soul in all our breasts!Defend in open war your stolen King.”So saying, he hurled upon th' opposing foehis javelin, running forward. The strong shaftof corner whistled shrill, and clove the airunerring. Instantly vast clamor rose,and all th' onlookers at the spectacleleaped up amazed, and every heart beat high.The spear sped flying to the foeman's line,where stood nine goodly brethren, pledges allof one true Tuscan mother to her lord,Gylippus of Arcadia; it struck fullon one of these at his gold-belted waist,and where the clasp clung, pierced the rib clean through.And stretched the fair youth in his glittering armsfull length and lifeless on the yellow sand.His brothers then, bold band to wrath arousedby sorrow, seize the sword or snatch the spearand blindly charge. Opposing them, the hostLaurentine makes advance, and close-arrayedthe Trojans like a torrent pour, enforcedby Tuscans and the gay-accoutred clansof Arcady. One passion moved in allto try the judgment of the sword. They torethe altars down: a very storm of spearsrose angrily to heaven, in iron raindown-pouring: while the priests bore far awaythe sacrificial bowls and sacred fires.Even Latinus fled; his stricken godsfar from his violated oath he bore. Some leaped to horse or chariot and rodewith naked swords in air. Messapus, wildto break the truce, assailed the Tuscan King,Aulestes, dressed in kingly blazon fair,with fearful shock of steeds; the Tuscan droppedhelplessly backward, striking as he fellhis head and shoulders on the altar-stonethat lay behind him. But Messapus flew,infuriate, a javelin in his hand,and, towering o'er the suppliant, smote him strongwith the great beam-like spear, and loudly cried:“Down with him! Ah! no common victim heto give the mighty gods!” Italia's mendespoiled the dead man ere his limbs were cold.Then Corynaeus snatched a burning brandout of the altar, and as Ebysuscame toward him for to strike, he hurled the flamefull in his face: the big beard quickly blazedwith smell of singeing; while the warrior boldstrode over him, and seized with firm left handhis quailing foe's Iong hair; then with one kneehe pushed and strained, compelled him to the `ground—and struck straight at his heart with naked steel.The shepherd Alsus in the foremost linecame leaping through the spears; when o'er him toweredhuge Podalirius with a flashing swordin close pursuit; the mighty battle-axeclove him with swinging stroke from brow to chin,and spilt along his mail the streaming gore:so stern repose and iron slumber fellupon that shepherd's eyes, and sealed their gaze in endless night. But good Aeneas nowstretched forth his unarmed hand, and all unhelmedthus Ioudly to his people called: “What meansthis frantic stir, this quarrel rashly bold?Recall your martial rage! The pledge is givenand all its terms agreed. 'T is only Ido lawful battle here. So let me forth,and tremble not. My own hand shall confirmthe solemn treaty. For these rites consignTurnus to none but me.” Yet while he spoke,behold, a winged arrow, hissing loud,the hero pierced; but what bold hand impelledits whirling speed, none knew; nor if it werechance or some power divine that brought this fameupon Rutulia; for the glorious deedwas covered o'er with silence: none would boastan arrow guilty of Aeneas' wound.When Turnus saw Aeneas from the lineretreating, and the captains in dismay,with sudden hope he burned: he called for steeds,for arms, and, leaping to his chariot,rode insolently forth, the reins in hand.Many strong heroes he dispatched to die,as on he flew, and many stretched half-dead,or from his chariot striking, or from farraining his javelins on the recreant foe.As Mars, forth-speeding by the wintry streamof Hebrus, smites his sanguinary shieldand whips the swift steeds to the front of war,who, flying past the winds of eve and morn,scour the wide champaign; the bounds of Thrace
beneath their hoof-beats thunder; the dark shapesof Terror, Wrath, and Treachery move onin escort of the god: in such grim guisebold Turnus lashed into the fiercest frayhis streaming steeds, that pitiful to seetrod down the slaughtered foe; each flying hoofscattered a bloody dew; their path was laidin mingled blood and sand. To death he flungPholus and Sthenelus and Thamyris:two smitten in close fight and one from far:also from far he smote with fatal spearGlaucus and Lades, the Imbrasidae,whom Imbrasus himself in Lycia bred,and honored them with arms of equal skillwhen grappling with a foe, or o'er the fieldspeeding a war-horse faster than the wind. Elsewhere Eumedes through a throng of foesto battle rode, the high-born Dolon's child,famous in war, who bore his grandsire's name,but seemed in might and courage like his sire:that prince, who reconnoitring crept so nearthe Argive camp, he dared to claim for spoilthe chariot of Achilles; but that daygreat Diomed for such audacious deedpaid wages otherwise,—and he no moredreamed to possess the steeds of Peleus' son.When Turnus recognized in open fieldthis warrior, though far, he aimed and flunghis javelin through the spacious air; then stayedhis coursers twain, and, leaping from his car,found the wretch helpless fallen; so planted hehis foot upon his neck, and from his handwrested the sword and thrust it glitteringdeep in the throat, thus taunting as he slew:“There's land for thee, thou Trojan! Measure thereth' Hesperian provinces thy sword would find.Such reward will I give to all who daredraw steel on me; such cities they shall build.”To bear him company his spear laid lowAsbutes, Sybaris, Thersilochus, Chloreus and Dares, and Thymoetes thrownsheer off the shoulders of his balking steed.As when from Thrace the north wind thunders downthe vast Aegean, flinging the swift floodagainst the shore, and where his blasts assailthe cloudy cohorts vanish out of heaven:so before Turnus, where his path he clove,the lines fell back, the wheeling legions fled.The warrior's own wild impulse swept him on,and every wind that o'er his chariot blewshook out his plume in air. But such advanceso bold, so furious, Phegeus could not brook,but, fronting the swift chariot's path, he seizedthe foam-flecked bridles of its coursers wild,while from the yoke his body trailed and swung;the broad lance found his naked side, and torehis double corselet, pricking lightly throughthe outer flesh; but he with lifted shieldstill fought his foe and thrust with falchion bare;but the fierce pace of whirling wheel and poleflung him down prone, and stretched him on the plain.Then Turnus, aiming with relentless swordbetween the corselet's edge and helmet's rimstruck off his whole head, leaving on the sandsthe mutilated corpse. While thus afieldvictorious Turnus dealt out death and doom,Mnestheus, Achates true, and by their sideAscanius, have carried to the campAeneas, gashed and bleeding, whose long lancesustained his limping step. With fruitless ragehe struggled with the spear-head's splintered barb,and bade them help him by the swiftest wayto carve the wound out with a sword, to ripthe clinging weapon forth, and send him backto meet the battle. Quickly to his sidecame Iapyx, dear favorite and friendof Phoebus, upon whom the god bestowedhis own wise craft and power, Iove-impelled.The gifts of augury were given, and song,with arrows of swift wing: he when his sirewas carried forth to die, deferred the doomfor many a day, by herbs of virtue knownto leechcraft; and without reward or praisehis silent art he plied. Aeneas stood,bitterly grieving, propped upon his spear;a throng of warriors were near him, andIulus, sorrowing. The aged mangathered his garments up as leeches do,and with skilled hand and Phoebus' herbs of powerbustled in vain; in vain his surgerypried at the shaft, and with a forceps strongseized on the buried barb. But Fortune gaveno remedy, nor did Apollo aidhis votary. So more and more grim fearstalks o'er the field of war, and nearer hiesthe fatal hour; the very heavens are dust;the horsemen charge, and in the midmost campa rain of javelins pours. The dismal cryof men in fierce fight, and of men who fallbeneath relentless Mars, rends all the air. Then Venus, by her offspring's guiltless woesore moved, did cull from Cretan Ida's crestsome dittany, with downy leaf and stemand flowers of purple bloom—a simple knownto mountain goats, when to their haunches clingsan arrow gone astray. This Venus brought,mantling her shape in cloud; and this she steepedin bowls of glass, infusing secretlyambrosia's healing essence and sweet dropsof fragrant panacea. Such a balmaged Iapyx poured upon the wound,though unaware; and sudden from the fleshall pain departed and the blood was staunched,while from the gash the arrow uncompelledfollowed the hand and dropped: his wonted strengthflowed freshly through the hero's frame. “Make haste!Bring forth his arms! Why tarry any more?”Iapyx shouted, being first to firetheir courage 'gainst the foe. “This thing is donenot of man's knowledge, nor by sovereign skill;nor has my hand, Aeneas, set thee free.Some mighty god thy vigor gives againfor mighty deeds.” Aeneas now put on,all fever for the fight, his golden greaves,and, brooking not delay, waved wide his spear.Soon as the corselet and the shield were boundon back and side, he clasped Ascaniusto his mailed breast, and through his helmet grimtenderly kissed his son. “My boy", he cried,“What valor is and patient, genuine toillearn thou of me; let others guide thy feetto prosperous fortune. Let this hand and sworddefend thee through the war and lead thee onto high rewards. Thou also play the man!And when thy riper vigor soon shall bloom,forget not in thy heart to ponder wellthe story of our line. Heed honor's call,like Sire Aeneas and Hector thy close kin.”
After such farewell word, he from the gatesin mighty stature strode, and swung on highhis giant spear. With him in serried lineAntheus and Mnestheus moved, and all the hostfrom the forsaken fortress poured. The plainwas darkened with their dust; the startled earthshook where their footing fell. From distant hillTurnus beheld them coming, and the eyesof all Ausonia saw: a chill of fearshot through each soldier's marrow; in their vanJuturna knew full well the dreadful sound,and fled before it, shuddering. But hehurried his murky cohorts o'er the plain.As when a tempest from the riven skydrives landward o'er mid-ocean, and from farthe hearts of husbandmen, foreboding woe,quake ruefully,—for this will come and rendtheir trees asunder, kill the harvests all,and sow destruction broadcast; in its pathfly roaring winds, swift heralds of the storm:such dire approach the Trojan chieftain showedbefore his gathered foes. In close arraythey wedge their ranks about him. With a swordThymbraeus cuts huge-limbed Osiris down;Mnestheus, Arcetius; from EpuloAchates shears the head; from Ufens, Gyas;Tolumnius the augur falls, the samewho flung the first spear to the foeman's line.Uprose to heaven the cries. In panic nowthe Rutules in retreating clouds of dustscattered across the plain. Aeneas scornedeither the recreant or resisting foeto slaughter, or the men who shoot from far:for through the war-cloud he but seeks the armsof Turnus, and to single combat calls.
The warrior-maid Juturna, seeing this,distraught with terror, strikes down from his placeMetiscus, Turnus' charioteer, who droppedforward among the reins and off the pole.Him leaving on the field, her own hand graspedthe loosely waving reins, while she took onMetiscus' shape, his voice, and blazoned arms.As when through some rich master's spacious hallsspeeds the black swallow on her lightsome wing,exploring the high roof, or harvestingsome scanty morsel for her twittering brood,round empty corridors or garden-poolsnoisily flitting: so Juturna roamsamong the hostile ranks, and wings her waybehind the swift steeds of the whirling car.At divers points she lets the people seeher brother's glory, but not yet allowsthe final tug of war; her pathless flightkeeps far away. Aeneas too must takea course circuitous, and follows closehis foeman's track; Ioud o'er the scattered lineshe shouts his challenge. But whene'er his eyesdiscern the foe, and fain he would confrontthe flying-footed steeds, Juturna veersthe chariot round and flies. What can he do?Aeneas' wrath storms vainly to and fro,and wavering purposes his heart divide.Against him lightly leaped Messapus forth,bearing two pliant javelins tipped with steel;and, whirling one in air, he aimed it well,with stroke unfailing. Great Aeneas pausedin cover of his shield and crouched low downupon his haunches. But the driven spearbattered his helmet's peak and plucked awaythe margin of his plume. Then burst his rage:his cunning foes had forced him; so at last,while steeds and chariot in the distance fly,he plunged him in the fray, and called on Jovethe altars of that broken oath to see.Now by the war-god's favor he begangrim, never-pitying slaughter, and flung freethe bridle of his rage.
What voice divinesuch horror can make known? What song declarethe bloodshed manifold, the princes slain,or flying o'er the field from Turnus' blade,or from the Trojan King? Did Jove ordainso vast a shock of arms should interpose'twixt nations destined to perpetual bond?Aeneas met the Rutule Sucro—thusstaying the Trojan charge—and with swift blowstruck at him sidewise, where the way of deathis quickest, cleaving ribs and rounded sidewith reeking sword. Turnus met Amycus,unhorsed him, though himself afoot, and slewDiores, his fair brother (one was piercedfronting the spear, the other felled to earthby strike of sword), and both their severed headshe hung all dripping to his chariot's rim.But Talon, Tanais, and Cethegus brave,three in one onset, unto death went downat great Aeneas' hand; and he dispatchedill-starred Onites of Echion's line,fair Peridia's child. Then Turnus slewtwo Lycian brothers unto Phoebus dear,and young Menoetes, an Arcadian,who hated war (though vainly) when he pliedhis native fisher-craft in Lerna's streams,where from his mean abode he ne'er went forthto wait at great men's doors, but with his sirereaped the scant harvest of a rented glebe.as from two sides two conflagrations sweepdry woodlands or full copse of crackling bay,or as, swift-leaping from the mountain-vales,two flooded, foaming rivers seaward roar,each on its path of death, not less uproused,speed Turnus and Aeneas o'er the field;now storms their martial rage; now fiercely swellseither indomitable heart; and noweach hero's full strength to the slaughter moves. Behold Murranus, boasting his high birthfrom far-descended sires of storied name,the line of Latium's kings! Aeneas nowwith mountain-boulder lays him low in dust,smitten with whirlwind of the monster stone;and o'er him fallen under yoke and reinroll his own chariot wheels, while with swift treadthe mad hoofs of his horses stamp him down,not knowing him their lord. But Turnus foundproud Hyllus fronting him with frantic rage,and at his golden helmet launched the shaftthat pierced it; in his cloven brain it clung.Nor could thy sword, O Cretheus, save thee thenfrom Turnus, though of bravest Greeks the peer;nor did Cupencus' gods their priest defendagainst Aeneas, but his breast he gaveunto the hostile blade; his brazen shielddelayed no whit his miserable doom.Thee also, Aeolus, Laurentum sawspread thy huge body dying on the ground;yea, dying, thou whom Greeks in serried armssubdued not, nor Achilles' hand that hurledthe throne of Priam down: here didst thou touchthy goal of death; one stately house was thineon Ida's mountain, at Lyrnessus, one;Laurentum's hallowed earth was but thy grave.Now the whole host contends; all Latium meetsall Ilium; Mnestheus and Serestus bold;Messapus, the steed-breaker, and high-souredAsilas; Tuscans in a phalanx proud;Arcadian riders of Evander's train:each warrior lifts him to his height supremeof might and skill; no sloth nor lingering now,but in one far-spread conflict all contend. His goddess-mother in Aeneas' mindnow stirred the purpose to make sudden wayagainst the city-wall, in swift advanceof all his line, confounding Latium sowith slaughter and surprise. His roving glance,seeking for Turnus through the scattered linesthis way and that, beholds in distant viewthe city yet unscathed and calmly freefrom the wide-raging fight. Then on his soulrushed the swift vision of a mightier war.Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus brave,his chosen chiefs, he summons to his side,and stands upon a hillock, whither throngthe Teucrian legions, each man holding fasthis shield and spear. He, towering high,thus from the rampart to his people calls:“Perform my bidding swiftly: Jove's own handsustains our power. Be ye not slack, becausethe thing I do is sudden. For this dayI will pluck out th' offending root of war,—yon city where Latinus reigns. Unlessit bear our yoke and heed a conqueror's will,will lay low in dust its blazing towers.Must I wait Turnus' pleasure, till he deignto meet my stroke, and have a mind once more,though vanquished, to show fight? My countrymen,see yonder stronghold of their impious war!Bring flames; avenge the broken oath with fire!”Scarce had he said, when with consenting souls,they speed them to the walls in dense array,forming a wedge. Ladders now leap in air,and sudden-blazing fires. In various warsome troops run charging at the city-gates,and slay the guards; some fling the whirling spearand darken heaven with arrows. In their van,his right hand lifted to the wails and towers,Aeneas, calling on the gods to hear,loudly upbraids Latinus that once moreconflict is thrust upon him; that once moreItalians are his foes and violatetheir second pledge of peace. So blazes forthdissension 'twixt the frighted citizens:some would give o'er the city and fling wideits portals to the Trojan, or drag forththe King himself to parley; others flyto arms, and at the rampart make a stand.'T is thus some shepherd from a caverned cragstirs up the nested bees with plenteous fumeof bitter smoke; they, posting to and fro,fly desperate round the waxen citadel,and whet their buzzing fury; through their hallsthe stench and blackness rolls; within the cavesnoise and confusion ring; the fatal cloudpours forth incessant on the vacant air. But now a new adversity befellthe weary Latins, which with common woeshook the whole city to its heart. The Queen,when at her hearth she saw the close assaultof enemies, the walls beset, and firespreading from roof to roof, but no defencefrom the Rutulian arms, nor front of warwith Turnus leading,—she, poor soul, believedher youthful champion in the conflict slain;and, mad with sudden sorrow, shrieked aloudagainst herself, the guilty chief and causeof all this ill; and, babbling her wild woein endless words, she rent her purple pall,and with her own hand from the rafter swunga noose for her foul death. The tidings direamong the moaning wives of Latium spread,and young Lavinia's frantic fingers toreher rose-red cheek and hyacinthine hair.Then all her company of women shriekedin anguish, and the wailing echoed faralong the royal seat; from whence the taleof sorrow through the peopled city flew;hearts sank; Latinus rent his robes, appalledto see his consort's doom, his falling throne;and heaped foul dust upon his hoary hair.