Now forth beneath the wide-swung city-gatesthe mounted squadron poured; Aeneas rode,companioned of Achates, in the van;then other lords of Troy. There Pallas shoneconspicuous in the midmost line, with cloakand blazoned arms, as when the Morning-star(To Venus dearest of all orbs that burn),out of his lucent bath in ocean wavelifts to the skies his countenance divine,and melts the shadows of the night away.Upon the ramparts trembling matrons standand follow with dimmed eyes the dusty cloudwhence gleam the brazen arms. The warriors ridestraight on through brake and fell, the nearest way;loud ring the war-cries, and in martial linethe pounding hoof-beats shake the crumbling ground.By Caere's cold flood lies an ample groverevered from age to age. The hollowing hillsenclasp it in wide circles of dark fir,and the Pelasgians, so the legends tell,primaeval settlers of the Latin plains,called it the haunt of Silvan, kindly godof flocks and fields, and honoring the grovegave it a festal day. Hard by this spothad Tarchon with the Tuscans fortifiedhis bivouac, and from the heights afarhis legions could be seen in wide arrayoutstretching through the plain. To meet them thereAeneas and his veteran chivalrymade sure advance, and found repose at evefor warrior travel-worn and fainting steed.

But now athwart the darkening air of heavencame Venus gleaming bright, to bring her sonthe gifts divine. In deep, sequestered valeshe found him by a cooling rill retired,and hailed him thus: “Behold the promised gift,by craft and power of my Olympian spousemade perfect, that my son need never fearLaurentum's haughty host, nor to provokefierce Turnus to the fray.” Cythera's Queenso saying, embraced her son, and hung the arms,all glittering, on an oak that stood thereby.The hero, with exultant heart and proud,gazing unwearied at his mother's gift,surveys them close, and poises in his handsthe helmet's dreadful crest and glancing flame,the sword death-dealing, and the corselet strong,impenetrable brass, blood-red and large,like some dark-lowering, purple cloud that gleamsbeneath the smiting sun and flashes farits answering ray; and burnished greaves were there,fine gold and amber; then the spear and shield —the shield—of which the blazonry divineexceeds all power to tell. Thereon were seenItalia's story and triumphant Rome,wrought by the Lord of Fire, who was not blindto lore inspired and prophesying song,fore-reading things to come. He pictured thereIulus' destined line of glorious sonsmarshalled for many a war. In cavern green,haunt of the war-god, lay the mother-wolf;the twin boy-sucklings at her udders played,nor feared such nurse; with long neck backward thrownshe fondled each, and shaped with busy tonguetheir bodies fair. Near these were pictured well the walls of Rome and ravished Sabine wivesin the thronged theatre violently seized,when the great games were done; then, sudden warof Romulus against the Cures grimand hoary Tatius; next, the end of strifebetween the rival kings, who stood in armsbefore Jove's sacred altar, cup in hand,and swore a compact o'er the slaughtered swine.Hard by, behold, the whirling chariots toreMettus asunder (would thou hadst been true,false Alban, to thy vow!); and Tullus trailedthe traitor's mangled corse along the hills,the wild thorn dripping gore. Porsenna, next,sent to revolted Rome his proud commandto take her Tarquin back, and with strong siegeassailed the city's wall; while unsubduedAeneas' sons took arms in freedom's name.there too the semblance of the frustrate King,a semblance of his wrath and menace vain,when Cocles broke the bridge, and Cloelia bursther captive bonds and swam the Tiber's wave.Lo, on the steep Tarpeian citadelstood Manlius at the sacred doors of Jove,holding the capitol, whereon was seenthe fresh-thatched house of Romulus the King.There, too, all silver, through arcade of goldfluttered the goose, whose monitory callrevealed the foeman at the gate: outsidebesieging Gauls the thorny pathway climbed,ambushed in shadow and the friendly darkof night without a star; their flowing hairwas golden, and their every vesture gold;their cloaks were glittering plaid; each milk-white neckbore circlet of bright gold; in each man's handtwo Alpine javelins gleamed, and for defencelong shields the wild northern warriors bore.There, graven cunningly, the Salian choirwent leaping, and in Lupercalian feastthe naked striplings ran; while others, crownedwith peaked cap, bore shields that fell from heaven;and, bearing into Rome their emblems old,chaste priestesses on soft-strewn litters passed.But far from these th' artificer divinehad wrought a Tartarus, the dreadful doorsof Pluto, and the chastisements of sin;swung o'er a threatening precipice, was seenthy trembling form, O Catiline, in fearof fury-faces nigh: and distant farth' assemblies of the righteous, in whose midstwas Cato, giving judgment and decree.

Encircled by these pictures ran the wavesof vast, unrestful seas in flowing gold,where seemed along the azure crests to flythe hoary foam, and in a silver ringthe tails of swift, emerging dolphins lashedthe waters bright, and clove the tumbling brine.For the shield's central glory could be seengreat fleets of brazen galleys, and the fightat Actium; where, ablaze with war's array,Leucate's peak glowed o'er the golden tide.Caesar Augustus led Italia's sonsto battle: at his side concordant movedSenate and Roman People, with their godsof hearth and home, and all Olympian Powers.Uplifted on his ship he stands; his browsbeneath a double glory smile, and brightover his forehead beams the Julian star.in neighboring region great Agrippa leads,by favor of fair winds and friendly Heaven,his squadron forth: upon his brows he wearsthe peerless emblem of his rostral crown.Opposing, in barbaric splendor shinethe arms of Antony: in victor's garbfrom nations in the land of morn he rides,and from the Red Sea, bringing in his trainEgypt and Syria, utmost Bactria's horde,and last—O shameless!—his Egyptian spouse.All to the fight make haste; the slanted oarsand triple beaks of brass uptear the wavesto angry foam, as to the deep they speedlike hills on hill-tops hurled, or Cyclades drifting and clashing in the sea: so vastthat shock of castled ships and mighty men!Swift, arrowy steel and balls of blazing towrain o'er the waters, till the sea-god's worldflows red with slaughter. In the midst, the Queen,sounding her native timbrel, wildly callsher minions to the fight, nor yet can seetwo fatal asps behind. Her monster-gods,barking Anubis, and his mongrel crew,on Neptune, Venus, and Minerva flingtheir impious arms; the face of angry Mars,carved out of iron, in the centre frowns,grim Furies fill the air; Discordia stridesin rent robe, mad with joy; and at her side,bellona waves her sanguinary scourge.There Actian Apollo watched the war,and o'er it stretched his bow; which when they knew, Egyptian, Arab, and swart Indian slave,and all the sons of Saba fled awayin terror of his arm. The vanquished Queenmade prayer to all the winds, and more and moreflung out the swelling sail: on wind-swept waveshe fled through dead and dying; her white browthe Lord of Fire had cunningly portrayedblanched with approaching doom. Beyond her laythe large-limbed picture of the mournful Nile,who from his bosom spread his garments wide,and offered refuge in his sheltering streamsand broad, blue breast, to all her fallen power.But Caesar in his triple triumph passedthe gates of Rome, and gave Italia's gods,for grateful offering and immortal praise,three hundred temples; all the city streetswith game and revel and applauding songrang loud; in all the temples altars burnedand Roman matrons prayed; the slaughtered herdsstrewed well the sacred ground. The hero, thronedat snow-white marble threshold of the faneto radiant Phoebus, views the gift and spoilthe nations bring, and on the portals proudhangs a perpetual garland: in long filethe vanquished peoples pass, of alien tongues,of arms and vesture strange. Here Vulcan showedungirdled Afric chiefs and Nomads bold,Gelonian bowmen, men of Caria,and Leleges. Euphrates seemed to flowwith humbler wave; the world's remotest men,Morini came, with double-horned Rhine,and Dahae, little wont to bend the knee,and swift Araxes, for a bridge too proud.

Such was the blazoned shield his mother gavefrom Vulcan's forge; which with astonished eyesAeneas viewed, and scanned with joyful mindsuch shadows of an unknown age to be;then on his shoulder for a burden borethe destined mighty deeds of all his sons.

While thus in distant region moves the war,down to bold Turnus Saturn's daughter sendscelestial Iris. In a sacred vale,the seat of worship at his grandsire's tomb,Pilumnus, Faunus' son, the hero mused.And thus the wonder-child of Thaumas calledwith lips of rose: “O Turnus, what no goddared give for reward of thy fondest vow,has come unbidden on its destined day.Behold, Aeneas, who has left behindthe city with his fleet and followers,is gone to kingly Palatine, the homeof good Evander. Yea, his march invadesthe far Etrurian towns, where now he armsthe Lydian rustics. Wilt thou longer muse?Call for thy chariot and steeds! Away!Take yonder tents by terror and surprise!”She spoke; and heavenward on poising wingssoared, cleaving as she fled from cloud to clouda vast, resplendent bow. The warrior saw,and, lifting both his hands, pursued with prayerthe fading glory: “Beauteous Iris, hail!Proud ornament of heaven! who sent thee hereacross yon cloud to earth, and unto me?Whence may this sudden brightness fall? I seethe middle welkin lift, and many a star,far-wandering in the sky. Such solemn signI shall obey, and thee, O god unknown!”So saying, he turned him to a sacred stream,took water from its brim, and offered Heavenmuch prayer, with many an importuning vow.

Soon o'er the spreading fields in proud arraythe gathered legions poured; no lack was thereof steeds all fire, and broidered pomp and gold.Messapus led the van; in rearguard rodethe sons of Tyrrheus; kingly Turnus toweredfrom the mid-column eminent: the hostmoved as great Ganges lifting silentlyhis seven peaceful streams, or when the floodof fructifying Nile from many a field back to his channel flows. A swift-blown cloudof black, uprolling dust the Teucrians seeo'ershadowing the plain; Calcus callsfrom lofty outpost: “O my countrymen,I see a huge, black ball of rolling smoke.Your swords and lances! Man the walls! To arms!The foe is here! What ho!” With clamors loudthe Teucrians through the city-gates retire,and muster on the walls. For, wise in war,Aeneas, ere he went, had left commandthey should not range in battle-line, nor dare,whate'er might hap, to risk in open plainthe bold sortie, but keep them safe entrenchedin mounded walls. So now, though rage and shameprick to a close fight, they defensive bareach portal strong, and, patient of control,from hollow towers expect th' encircling foe.

Turnus, at full speed, had outridden farhis laggard host, and, leading in his traina score of chosen knights, dashed into viewhard by the walls. A barb of Thracian breeddappled with white he rode; a crimson plumeflamed over his golden helmet. “Who,” he cries,“Is foremost at the foe? Who follows me?Behold!” And, with the word, he hurled in aira javelin, provoking instant war:and, towering from his horse, charged o'er the field.With answering shout his men-at-arms pursue,and war-cries terrible. They laugh to scorn“the craven hearts of Troy, that cannot givefair, equal vantage, matching man to man,but cuddle into camp.” This way and thatTurnus careers, and stormily surveysthe frowning rampart, and where way is nonesome entering breach would find: so prowls a wolfnigh the full sheepfold, and through wind and rainstands howling at the postern all night long;beneath the ewes their bleating lambs lie safe;but he, with undesisting fury, morerages from far, made frantic for his preyby hunger of long hours, his foaming jawsathirst for blood: not less the envy burnedof the Rutulian, as he scanned in vainthe stronghold of his foe. Indignant scornthrilled all his iron frame. But how contriveto storm the fortress or by force expelthe Trojans from the rampart, and dispersealong the plain? Straightway he spied the ships,in hiding near the camp, defended wellby mounded river-bank and fleeting wave.On these he fell; while his exultant crewbrought firebrands, and he with heart aflamegrasped with a vengeful hand the blazing pine.To the wild work his followers sped; for whocould prove him craven under Turnus' eye?The whole troop for the weapon of their rageseized smoking coals, of many a hearth the spoil;red glare of fuming torches burned abroad,and Vulcan starward flung a sparkling cloud.

What god, O Muses, saved the Trojans thenfrom wrathful flame? Who shielded then the fleet,I pray you tell, from bursting storm of fire?From hoary eld the tale, but its renownsings on forever. When Aeneas firston Phrygian Ida hewed the sacred woodfor rib and spar, and soon would put to sea,that mighty mother of the gods, they say,the Berecynthian goddess, thus to Joveaddressed her plea: “Grant, O my son, a boon,which thy dear mother asks, who aided theeto quell Olympian war. A grove I haveof sacred pine, long-loved from year to year.On lofty hill it grew, and thither camemy worshippers with gifts, in secret gloomof pine-trees dark and shadowing maple-boughs.;these on the Dardan warrior at his needI, not unwilling, for his fleet bestowed.But I have fears. O, Iet a parent's prayerin this prevail, and bid my care begone!Let not rude voyages nor the shock of stormmy ships subdue, but let their sacred birthon my charmed hills their strength and safety be!”Then spake her son, who guides the wheeling spheres:“Wouldst thou, my mother, strive to overswaythe course of Fate? What means this prayer of thine?Can it be granted ships of mortal mouldto wear immortal being? Wouldst thou seeAeneas pass undoubting and securethrough doubtful strait and peril? On what godwas e'er such power bestowed? Yet will I granta different boon. Whatever ships shall finda safe Ausonian haven, and conveysafe through the seas to yon Laurentian plainthe Dardan King, from such I will removetheir perishable shapes, and bid them besea-nymphs divine, like Nereus' daughters fair,Doto and Galatea, whose white breastsdivide the foaming wave.” He said, and sworeby his Tartarean brother's mournful stream,the pitch-black floods and dark engulfing shoreof Styx; then great Jove bowed his head, and allOlympus quaked at his consenting brow.

Now was the promised day at hand (for Fatehad woven the web so far) when Turnus' ragestirred the divine progenitress to saveher sacred ships from fire. Then sudden shonea strange effulgence in the eastern air;and in a storm-cloud wafted o'er the skywere Corybantic choirs, whose dreadful songsmote both on Teucrian and Rutulian ear:“O Teucrians, fear not for the sure defenceof all the ships, nor arm your mortal hands.Yon impious Turnus shall burn up the seasbefore my pine-trees blest. Arise! Be free,ye goddesses of ocean, and obeyyour mother's mighty word.” Then instant brokethe hawsers of the sterns; the beaked prowswent plunging like great dolphins from the shoredown to the deeps, and, wonderful to tell,the forms of virgin goddesses uprose,one for each ship, and seaward sped away.

The hearts of the Rutulian host stood stillin panic, and Messapus terrifiedhis trembling horses reined; the sacred streamof Father Tiber, harshly murmuring,held back his flood and checked his seaward way.But Turnus' courage failed not; he alonehis followers roused, and with reproachful wordsalone spoke forth: “These signs and prodigiesthreaten the Trojan only. Jove himselfhas stripped them of their wonted strength: no morecan they abide our deadly sword and fire.The Trojan path to sea is shut. What hopeof flight is left them now? The half their causeis fallen. The possession of this landis ours already; thousands of sharp swordsItalia's nations bring. Small fear have Iof Phrygia's boasted omens. What to metheir oracles from heaven? The will of Fateand Venus have achieved their uttermostin casting on Ausonia's fruitful shoreyon sons of Troy. I too have destinies: and mine, good match for theirs, with this true bladewill spill the blood of all the baneful brood,in vengeance for my stolen wife. Such wrongsmove not on Atreus' sons alone, nor rouseonly Mycenae to a righteous war.Say you, ‘Troy falls but once?’ One crime, say I,should have contented them; and now their soulsshould little less than loathe all womankind.These are the sort of soldiers that be bravebehind entrenchment, where the moated wallsmay stem the foe and make a little roombetwixt themselves and death. Did they not seehow Troy's vast bulwark built by Neptune's handcrumbled in flame? Forward, my chosen brave!Who follows me to cleave his deadly waythrough yonder battlement, and leap like stormupon its craven guard? I have no needof arms from Vulcan's smithy; nor of shipsa thousand strong against our Teucrian foes,though all Etruria's league enlarge their power.Let them not fear dark nights, nor coward theftof Pallas' shrine, nor murdered sentinelson their acropolis. We shall not hidein blinding belly of a horse. But Iin public eye and open day intendto compass their weak wall with siege and fire.I'll prove them we be no Pelasgic band,no Danaan warriors, such as Hector's armten years withstood. But look! this day hath spentits better part. In what remains, rejoicein noble deeds well done; let weary fleshhave rest and food. My warriors, husband wellyour strength against to-morrow's hopeful war.”Meanwhile to block their gates with wakeful guardis made Messapus' work, and to gird roundtheir camp with watchfires. Then a chosen band,twice seven Rutulian chieftains, man the wallswith soldiery; each leads a hundred mencrested with crimson, armed with glittering gold.Some post to separate sentries, and preparealternate vigil; others, couched on grass,laugh round the wine and lift the brazen bowls.The camp-fires cheerly burn; the jovial guardspend the long, sleepless night in sport and game.

The Trojans peering from the lofty wallssurvey the foe, and arm for sure defenceof every point exposed. They prove the gateswith fearful care, bind bridge with tower, and bringgood store of javelins. Serestus boldand Mnestheus to their labors promptly fly,whom Sire Aeneas bade in time of stressto have authority and free commandover his warriars. Along the wallsthe legions, by the cast of lots, dividethe pain and peril, giving each his dueof alternating vigil and repose.

Nisus kept sentry at the gate: a youthof eager heart for noble deeds, the sonof Hyrtacus, whom in Aeneas' trainIda the huntress sent; swift could he speedthe spear or light-winged arrow to its aim.Beside him was Euryalus, his friend:of all th' Aeneadae no youth more fairwore Trojan arms; upon his cheek unshornthe tender bloom of boyhood lingered still.Their loving hearts were one, and oft in warthey battled side by side, as in that houra common sentry at the gate they shared.Said Nisus: “Is it gods above that breathethis fever in my soul, Euryalus?or is the tyrant passion of each breastthe god it serves? Me now my urgent mindto battles or some mighty deed impels,and will not give me rest. Look yonder, wherethe Rutuli in dull securitythe siege maintain. Yet are their lights but few.They are asleep or drunk, and in their lineis many a silent space. O, hear my thought,and what my heart is pondering. To recallAeneas is the dearest wish to-nightof all, both high and low. They need true mento find him and bring tidings. If our chiefsbut grant me leave to do the thing I ask(Claiming no reward save what honor gives),methinks I could search out by yonder hilla path to Pallanteum.” The amazedEuryalus, flushed warm with eager lovefor deeds of glory, instantly repliedto his high-hearted friend: “Dost thou refuse,my Nisus, to go with me hand in handwhen mighty deeds are done? Could I beholdthee venturing alone on danger? Nay!Not thus my sire Opheltes, schooled in war,taught me his true child, 'mid the woes of Troy and Argive terrors reared; not thus with theehave I proved craven, since we twain were lealto great Aeneas, sharing all his doom.In this breast also is a heart which knowscontempt of life, and deems such deeds, such praise,well worth a glorious death.” Nisus to him:“I have not doubted thee, nor e'er could haveone thought disloyal. May almighty Jove,or whatsoe'er good power my purpose sees,bring me triumphant to thy arms once more!But if, as oft in doubtful deeds befalls,some stroke of chance, or will divine, should turnto adverse, 't is my fondest prayer that thoushouldst live the longer of us twain. Thy yearssuit better with more life. Oh! let there beone mourner true to carry to its gravemy corpse, recaptured in the desperate fray,or ransomed for a price. Or if this boonshould be—'t is Fortune's common way—refused,then pay the debt of grief and loyal woeunto my far-off dust, and garlands leaveupon an empty tomb. No grief I giveto any sorrowing mother; one alone,of many Trojan mothers, had the heartto follow thee, her child, and would not stayin great Acestes' land.” His friend replied:“Thou weavest but a web of empty wordsand reasons vain, nor dost thou shake at allmy heart's resolve. Come, let us haste away!”He answered so, and summoned to the gatea neighboring watch, who, bringing prompt relief,the sentry-station took; then quitted hehis post assigned; at Nisus' side he strode,and both impatient sped them to the King.

Now in all lands all creatures that have breathlulled care in slumber, and each heart forgotits load of toil and pain. But they who ledthe Teucrian cause, with all their chosen brave,took counsel in the kingdom's hour of needwhat action to command or whom dispatchwith tidings to Aeneas. In mid-campon long spears leaning and with ready shieldto leftward slung, th' assembled warriors stood.Thither in haste arrived the noble pair,brave Nisus with Euryalus his friend,and craved a hearing, for their suit, they said,was urgent and well-worth a patient ear.Iulus to the anxious striplings gavea friendly welcome, bidding Nisus speak.The son of Hyrtacus obeyed: “O, hear,Princes of Teucria, with impartial mind,nor judge by our unseasoned youth the worthof what we bring. Yon Rutule watch is nowin drunken sleep, and all is silent there.With our own eyes we picked out a good placeto steal a march, that cross-road by the gateclose-fronting on the bridge. Their lines of fireare broken, and a murky, rolling smokefills all the region. If ye grant us leaveby this good luck to profit, we will findAeneas and the walls of Palatine,and after mighty slaughter and huge spoilye soon shall see us back. Nor need ye fearwe wander from the way. Oft have we seenthat city's crest loom o'er the shadowy vales,where we have hunted all day long and knoweach winding of yon river.” Then uproseaged Aletes, crowned with wisdom's years:“Gods of our fathers, who forevermorewatch over Troy, ye surely had no mindto blot out Teucria's name, when ye bestowedsuch courage on young hearts, and bade them beso steadfast and so leal.” Joyful he claspedtheir hands in his, and on their shoulders leaned,his aged cheek and visage wet with tears.“What reward worthy of such actions fair,dear heroes, could be given? Your brightest prizewill come from Heaven and your own hearts. The restAeneas will right soon bestow; nor willAscanius, now in youth's unblemished prime,ever forget your praise.” Forthwith repliedAeneas' son, “By all our household gods,by great Assaracus, and every shrineof venerable Vesta, I confidemy hopes, my fortunes, and all future wealto your heroic hearts. O, bring me backmy father! Set him in these eyes once more!That day will tears be dry; and I will givetwo silver wine-cups graven and o'erlaidwith clear-cut figures, which my father choseout of despoiled Arisbe; also twofull talents of pure gold, and tripods twain,and ancient wine-bowl, Tyrian Dido's token.But if indeed our destiny shall beto vanquish Italy in prosperous war,to seize the sceptre and divide the spoil, —saw you that steed of Turnus and the armsin which he rode, all golden? That same steed,that glittering shield and haughty crimson crestI will reserve thee, e'er the lots are cast,and, Nisus, they are thine. Hereto my sirewill add twelve captive maids of beauty rare,and slaves in armor; last, thou hast the fieldswhich now Latinus holds. But as for thee,to whom my youth but binds me closer still,thee, kingly boy, my whole heart makes my own,and through all changeful fortune we shall beinseparable peers: nor will I seekrenown and glory, or in peace or war,forgetting thee: but trust thee from this dayin deed and word.” To him in answer spokeeuryalus, “O, may no future showthis heart unworthy thy heroic call!And may our fortune ever prosperous prove,not adverse. But I now implore of theea single boon worth all beside. I havea mother, from the venerated lineof Priam sprung, whom not the Trojan shorenor King Acestes' city could detain,alas! from following me. I leave her nowwithout farewell; nor is her love awareof my supposed peril. For I swearby darkness of this night and thy right hand,that all my courage fails me if I seea mother's tears. O, therefore, I implore,be thou her sorrow's comfort and sustainher solitary day. Such grace from theeequip me for my war, and I shall facewith braver heart whatever fortune brings.”With sudden sorrow thrilled, the veteran lordsof Teucria showed their tears. But most of allsuch likeness of his own heart's filial loveon fair Iulus moved, and thus he spoke:“Promise thyself what fits thy generous deeds.Thy mother shall be mine, Creusa's namealone not hers; nor is the womb unblestthat bore a child like thee. Whate'er successmay follow, I make oath immutableby my own head, on which my father swore,that all I promise thee of gift or praiseif home thou comest triumphing, shall bethe glory of thy mother and thy kin.”Weeping he spoke, and from his shoulder drewthe golden sword, well-wrought and wonderful,which once in Crete Lycaon's cunning madeand sheathed in ivory. On Nisus thenMnestheus bestowed a shaggy mantle tornfrom a slain lion; good Aletes gaveexchange of crested helms. In such arraythey hastened forth; and all the princely throng,young men and old, ran with them to the gates,praying all gods to bless. Iulus then,a fair youth, but of grave, heroic soulbeyond his years, gave them in solemn chargefull many a message for his sire, but thesethe hazard of wild winds soon scattered far,and flung them fruitless on the darkening storm.

Forth through the moat they climb, and steal awaythrough midnight shades, to where their foemen lieencamped in arms; of whom, before these fall,a host shall die. Along the turf were seen,laid low in heavy slumber and much wine,a prostrate troop; the horseless chariotsstood tilted on the shore, 'twixt rein and wheelthe drivers dozed, wine-cups and idle swordsstrewn round them without heed. The first to speakwas Nisus. “Look, Euryalus,” he cried,“Now boldly strike. The hour to do the deedis here, the path this way. Keep wide-eyed watchthat no man smite behind us. I myselfwill mow the mighty fieid, and lead thee onin a wide swath of slaughter.” With this wordhe shut his lips; and hurled him with his swordon haughty Rhamnes, who lay propped at easeon pillows huge, and from his heaving breastpoured slumber loud: of royal stem was heand honored of King Turnus for his skillin augury; yet could no augur's charmthat bloody stroke forefend. And Nisus slewthree slaves near by, that lay in reckless sleepupon their spears; then him that bore the shieldof Remus, then the driver of his carclose to the horses caught; his sword cut throughtheir prostrate necks; then their great master's headhe lifted high, and left decapitatethe huge corpse spilling forth its crimson goreo'er couch and ground. Like stroke on Lamus felland Lamyrus, with young Serranus, whohad gamed the midnight through and sleeping lay,his fair young body to the wine-god given;but happier now had that long-revelling nightbeen merry till the dawn! Thus round full foldsof sheep a famished lion fiercely prowls;mad hunger moves him; he devours and rendswith bloody, roaring mouth, the feeble flockthat trembles and is dumb. Nor was the swordof fair Euryalus less fatal found;but fiercely raging on his path of death,he pressed on through a base and nameless throng,Rhoetus, Herbesus, Fadus, Abaris;surprising all save Rhoetus, who awakesaw every stroke, and crouched in craven fearbehind a mighty wine-bowl; but not lessclean through his bare breast as he started forththe youth thrust home his sword, then drew it backdeath-dripping, while the bursting purple streamof life outflowed, with mingling blood and wine.Then, flushed with stealthy slaughter, he crept nearthe followers of Messapus, where he sawtheir camp-fire dying down, and tethered steedsupon the meadow feeding. Nisus thenknew the hot lust of slaughter had swept on too far, and cried, “Hold off! For, lo,the monitory dawn is nigh. Revengehas fed us to the full. We have achievedclean passage through the foe.” Full many a prizewas left untaken: princely suits of mailenwrought with silver pure, huge drinking-bowls,and broideries fair. Yet grasped Euryalusthe blazonry at Rhamnes' corselet hung,and belt adorned with gold: which were a giftto Remulus of Tibur from the storeof opulent Caedicus, who sued from farto be a friend; and these in death he gaveto his son's son, who slain in battle fell,and proud Rutulians seized them with the spoil.Euryalus about his shoulder strongthis booty slung—unprofitable gain! —and fitted on a gorgeous, crested helmwhich once Messapus wore. So from the camp,escaping danger, the two champions ran.

But horsemen from the Latin city sentto join the serried legions of the plainhad come at Turnus' call, three hundred strongall bearing shields, and under the commandof Volscens. Nigh the camp and walls they drew;and soon they spied upon the leftward pathth' heroic pair, where in dim shades of nightthe helmet of Euryalus betrayedthe heedless boy, and with a glancing beamflashed on the foe. Nor was it seen in vain.Loud from the line the voice of Volscens called:“Stand, gentlemen! What business brings you here?Whose your allegiance? Whither speed so fast?”No answer gave they save to fly in hasteto cover of the forest and deep gloomof the defensive night. The horsemen thenblocked every crossway known, and, scattering wide,kept sentry at the entrance. The great woodwas all of tangled brush and blinding shadeof flex-boughs. Impenetrable thornshad thickly overgrown, and seldom showeda pathway through the maze. Euryalus,by the black branches and his ponderous spoilimpeded, groped along in fearful doubt,deceived and quite astray. Nisus his friendhad quit him, and incautiously had forceda sally through the close-encircling foe,into that region which should after bearthe name of Alba—a rude shelter thenfor King Latinus' herds. He stayed him thereand looked, but vainly, for the comrade gone.“Euryalus, ill-fated boy!” he cried,“Where have I lost thee in the pathless wild?How find thee? How retrace the blinding mazeof yonder treacherous wood?” Yet ere he said,on his own path he turns him back, and scanshis own light footprints through the tangled thorn,so dark and still. But suddenly he hearsthe tread of horses, with confusing dinand tumult of pursuit. Nor was it longhe tarried ere upon his anguished earsmote a great cry: and, lo! Euryalus,trapped by the dark night, the deceptive ground,faced the whole onset, and fell back o'erwhelmedby a loud mob of foes, while his sole swordtried many a thrust in vain. O, what defencemay Nisus bring? With what audacious armshis chosen comrade save? Shall he make barehis dying breast to all their swords, and runto honorable death that bloody way?he swung his spear with lifted arm, then lookedto the still moon, in heaven, and thus implored:“O goddess, aid me in my evil case.O glory of the stars, Latona's child!O guardian of groves, if in my namemy father Hyrtacus made offeringson burning altars, if my own right hand,successful in the chase, ere hung its giftbeneath thy dome or on thy sacred wall,grant me yon troop to scatter. Guide my spearalong its path in air.” He spoke, and hurledwith all his gathered strength the shaft of steel.the swift spear clove the shades of night, and struckfull in the back of Sulmo, where it split,but tore through to his very heart. The breastpoured forth life's glowing stream, and he, o'erthrownlay cold in death, while his huge, heaving sidesgave lingering throes. The men about him stared this way and that. But Nisus, fiercer still,poised level with his ear a second shaft,and, while the foeman paused, the whizzing spear straight through the brows of Tagus drove, and clungdeep in the cloven brain. In frenzy roseVolscens, but nowhere could espy what handthe shaft had hurled, nor whither his wild ragecould make reply. “But thou,” he cried, “shalt feedwith thy hot blood my honor and revengefor both the slain.” Then with a sword unsheathedupon Euryalus he fell. Loud shriekedNisus, of reason reft, who could not bearsuch horror, nor in sheltering gloom of nightlonger abide: “'T is I, 't is I!” he said.look on the man who slew them! Draw on meyour swords, Rutulians! The whole stratagemwas mine, mine only, and the lad ye slaydared not, and could not. O, by Heaven aboveand by the all-beholding stars I swear,he did but love his hapless friend too well.”But while he spoke, the furious-thrusting swordhad pierced the tender body, and run throughthe bosom white as snow. Euryalussank prone in death; upon his goodly limbsthe life-blood ran unstopped, and low inclinedthe drooping head; as when some purpled flower,cut by the ploughshare, dies, or poppies proudwith stem forlorn their ruined beauty bowbefore the pelting storm. Then Nisus flewstraight at his foes; but in their throng would findVolscens alone, for none but Volscens stayed:they gathered thickly round and grappled himin shock of steel with steel. But on he plunged,swinging in ceaseless circles round his headhis lightning-sword, and thrust it through the faceof shrieking Volscens, with his own last breathstriking his foeman down; then cast himselfupon his fallen comrade's breast; and there,stabbed through, found tranquil death and sure repose.

Heroic pair and blest! If aught I singhave lasting music, no remotest ageshall blot your names from honor's storied scroll:not while the altars of Aeneas' lineshall crown the Capitol's unshaken hill,nor while the Roman Father's hand sustainsits empire o'er the world.

The Rutules seized the spoils of victory,and slowly to their camp, with wail and cry,bore Volscens' corse; and in the eamp they madelike wailing over Rhamnes lifeless found,o'er Numa and Serranus, and a throngof princes dead. The gazing people pressedaround the slain, the dying, where the earthran red with slaughter and full many a streamof trickling gore; nor did they fail to knowMessapus' glittering helm, his baldric fair,recaptured now with lavish sweat and pain.

Now, from Tithonus' saffron couch set free,Aurora over many a land outpouredthe rising morn; the sun's advancing beamunveiled the world; and Turnus to his hostgave signal to stand forth, while he arrayedhimself in glorious arms. Then every chiefawoke his mail-clad company, and stirredtheir slumbering wrath with tidings from the foe.Tumultuously shouting, they impaledon lifted spears—O pitiable sight! —the heads of Nisus and Euryalus.Th' undaunted Trojans stood in battle-linealong the wall to leftward (for the rightthe river-front defended) keeping guardon the broad moat; upon the ramparts highsad-eyed they stood, and shuddered as they sawthe hero-faces thrust aloft; too welltheir loyal grief the blood-stained features knew.

On restless pinions to the trembling townhad voiceful Rumor hied, and to the earsof that lone mother of Euryalusrelentless flown. Through all her feeble framethe chilling sorrow sped. From both her handsdropped web and shuttle; she flew shrieking forth,ill-fated mother! and with tresses torn,to the wide ramparts and the battle-lineran frantic, heeding naught of men-at-arms,nor peril nor the rain of falling spears;and thus with loud and lamentable cryfilled all the air: “Is it in yonder guise,Euryalus, thou comest? Art thou he,last comfort of my life? O cruel one!Couldst thou desert me? When they thrust thee forthto death and danger, did they dare refusea wretched mother's last embrace? But now —O woe is me!—upon this alien shorethou liest for a feast to Latin dogsand carrion birds. Nor did thy mother leadthe mourners to thy grave, nor shut those eyes,nor wash the dreadful wounds, nor cover theewith the fair shroud, which many a night and dayI swiftly wove, and at my web and loomforgot my years and sorrows. Whither nowto seek and follow thee? What spot of earthholds the torn body and the mangled limbs?Is all the gift thou bringest home, dear child,this? O, was this the prize for which I cameo'er land and sea? O, stab me very deep,if ye have any pity; hurl on meyour every spear, Rutulians; make of meyour swords' first work. Or, Father of the gods!Show mercy, thou! and with thy lightning touchthis head accurst, and let it fall by theedown to the dark. For else what power is minemy tortured life to end?” Her agonysmote on their listening souls; a wail of woealong the concourse ran. Stern men-at-armsfelt valor for a moment sleep, and alltheir rage of battle fail. But while she stirredthe passion of her grief, Ilioneusand young Iulus, weeping filial tears,bade Actor and Idaeus, lifting herin both their reverent arms, to bear her home.

But now the brazen trumpet's fearsome songblares loud, and startled shouts of soldieryspread through the roaring sky. The Volscian bandpress to the siege, and, locking shield with shield,fill the great trenches, tear the palisades,or seek approach by ladders up the walls,where'er the line of the defenders thins, and lightthrough their black circle shines. The Trojans pourpromiscuous missiles down, and push out hardwith heavy poles—so well have they been schooledto fight against long sieges. They fling downa crushing weight of rocks, in hope to breakth' assailing line, where roofed in serried shieldsthe foe each charge repels. But not for longthe siegers stand; along their dense arraythe crafty Teucrians down the rampart rolla boulder like a hill-top, laying lowthe Rutule troop and crashing through their shields.Nor may the bold Rutulian longer hopeto keep in cover, but essays to stormonly with far-flung shafts the bastion strong.Here grim Mezentius, terrible to see,waved an Etrurian pine, and made his warwith smoking firebrands; there, in equal rage,Messapus, the steed-tamer, Neptune's son,ripped down the palisade, and at the breachstrung a steep path of ladders up the wall.