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.

Aid, O Calliope, the martial song!Tell me what carnage and how many deathsthe sword of Turnus wrought: what peer in armseach hero to the world of ghosts sent down.Unroll the war's great book before these eyes.

A tower was there, well-placed and looming large,with many a lofty bridge, which desperatelyth' Italians strove to storm, and strangely pliedbesieging enginery to cast it down:the Trojans hurled back stones, or, standing close,flung through the loopholes a swift shower of spears.But Turnus launched a firebrand, and piercedthe wooden wall with flame, which in the windleaped larger, and devoured from floor to floor,burning each beam away. The trembling guardssought flight in vain; and while they crowded closeinto the side unkindled yet, the towerbowed its whole weight and fell, with sudden crashthat thundered through the sky. Along the groundhalf dead the warriors fell (the crushing masspiled over them) by their own pointed spearspierced to the heart, or wounded mortallyby cruel splinters of the wreck. Two men,Helenor one, and Lyeus at his side,alone get free. Helenor of the twainwas a mere youth; the slave Lycymniabore him in secret to the Lydian King,and, arming him by stealth, had sent awayto serve the Trojan cause. One naked swordfor arms had he, and on his virgin shieldno blazon of renown; but when he sawthe hosts of Turnus front him, and the linesthis way and that of Latins closing round, —as a fierce, forest-creature, brought to bayin circling pack of huntsmen, shows its teethagainst the naked spears, and scorning deathleaps upward on the javelins,—even so,not loth to die, the youthful soldier flewstraight at the centre of his foes, and wherethe shining swords looked thickest, there he sprung.But Lyeus, swifter-footed, forced his waypast the opposing spears and made escapefar as the ciity-wall, where he would fainclutch at the coping and climb up to claspsome friend above: but Turnus, spear in hand,had hotly followed, and exulting loudthus taunted him, “Hadst thou the hope, rash fool,beyond this grasp to fly?” So, as he clung,he tore him down; and with him broke and fella huge piece of the wall: not otherwisea frail hare, or a swan of snow-white wing,is clutched in eagle-talons, when the birdof Jove soars skyward with his prey; or tender lambfrom bleating mother and the broken foldis stolen by the wolf of Mars. Wild shoutson every side resound. In closer siegethe foe press on, and heap the trenches full,or hurl hot-flaming torches at the towers.Ilioneus with mountain-mass of stonestruck down Lucetius, as he crept with firetoo near the city-gate. Emathion fellby Liger's hand, and Corynteus' deathAsilas dealt: one threw the javelin well;th' insidious arrow was Asilas' skill.Ortygius was slain by Caeneus, thenvictorious Geneus fell by Turnus' ire.Then smote he Dioxippus, and laid lowItys and Promolus and Sagarisand Clonius, and from the lofty towershot Idas down. The shaft of Capys piercedPrivernus, whom Themilla's javelinbut now had lightly grazed, and he, too bold,casting his shield far from him, had outspreadhis left hand on the wound: then sudden flewthe feathered arrow, and the hand lay pinnedagainst his left side, while the fatal barbwas buried in his breathing life. The sonof Arcens now stood forth in glittering arms.His broidered cloak was red Iberian stain,and beautiful was he. Arcens his sirehad sent him to the war; but he was bredin a Sicilian forest by a streamto his nymph-mother dear, where rose the shrineof merciful Palicus, blest and fair.But, lo! Mezentius his spear laid by,and whirled three times about his head the thongof his loud sling: the leaden bullet clovethe youth's mid-forehead, and his towering formfell prostrate its full length along the ground.

'T was then Ascanius first shot forth in warthe arrow swift from which all creatures wildwere wont to fly in fear: and he struck downwith artful aim Numanus, sturdy foe,called Remulus, who lately was espousedto Turnus' younger sister. He had stalkedbefore the van, and made vociferous noiseof truths and falsehoods foul and base, his heartpuffed up with new-found greatness. Up and downhe strode, and swelled his folly with loud words:“No shame have ye this second time to staycooped close within a rampart's craven siege,O Phrygians twice-vanquished? Is a wallyour sole defence from death? Are such the menwho ask our maids in marriage? Say what god,what doting madness, rather, drove ye hereto Italy? This way ye will not findthe sons of Atreus nor the trickster tongueof voluble Ulysses. Sturdy stockare we; our softest new-born babes we dipin chilling rivers, till they bear right wellthe current's bitter cold. Our slender ladshunt night and day and rove the woods at large,or for their merriment break stubborn steeds,or bend the horn-tipped bow. Our manly primein willing labor lives, and is inuredto poverty and scantness; we subdueour lands with rake and mattock, or in warbid strong-walled cities tremble. Our whole lifeis spent in use of iron; and we goadthe flanks of bullocks with a javelin's end.Nor doth old age, arriving late, impairour brawny vigor, nor corrupt the soulto frail decay. But over silvered browswe bind the helmet. Our unfailing joyis rapine, and to pile the plunder high.But ye! your gowns-are saffron needleworkor Tyrian purple; ye love shameful ease,or dancing revelry. Your tunics fiowlong-sleeved, and ye have soft caps ribbon-bound.Aye, Phrygian girls are ye, not Phrygian men!Hence to your hill of Dindymus! Go hearthe twy-mouthed piping ye have loved so long.The timbrel, hark! the Berecynthian flutecalls you away, and Ida's goddess calls.Leave arms to men, true men! and quit the sword!”

Of such loud insolence and words of shameAscanius brooked no more, but laid a shaftathwart his bowstring, and with arms stretched widetook aim, first offering suppliant vow to Jove:“Almighty Jupiter, thy favor showto my bold deed! So to thy shrine I beargifts year by year, and to thine altars leada bull with gilded brows, snow-white, and tallas his own dam, what time his youth beginsto lower his horns and fling the sand in air.”The Father heard, and from a cloudless skythundered to leftward, while the deadly bowresounded and the arrow's fearful songhissed from the string; it struck unswervinglythe head of Remulus and clove its waydeep in the hollows of his brow. “Begone!Proud mocker at the brave! Lo, this replytwice-vanquished Phrygians to Rutulia send.”Ascanius said no more. The Teucrians with deep-voiced shout of joy applaud, and lifttheir exultation starward. Then from heaventhe flowing-haired Apollo bent his gazeupon Ausonia's host, and cloud-enthronedlooked downward o'er the city, speaking thusto fair Iulus in his victory:“Hail to thy maiden prowess, boy! This waythe starward path to dwelling-place divine.O sired of gods and sire of gods to come,all future storms of war by Fate ordainedshall into peace and lawful calm subsidebeneath the offspring of Assaracus.No Trojan destinies thy glory bound.”So saying, from his far, ethereal seathe hied him down, and, cleaving the quick windsdrew near Ascanius. He wore the guiseof aged Butes, who erewhile had borneAnchises, armor and kept trusty guardbefore his threshold, but attended nowAscanius, by commandment of his sire.Clad in this graybeard's every aspect, movedapollo forth,—his very voice and hue,his hoary locks and grimly sounding shield, —and to the flushed Iulus spoke this word:“Child of Aeneas, be content that nowNumanus unavenged thine arrows feels.Such dawn of glory great Apollo's willconcedes, nor envies thee the fatal shaftso like his own. But, tender youth, refrainhereafter from this war!” So said divineApollo, who, while yet he spoke, put byhis mortal aspect, and before their eyesmelted to viewless air. The Teucrians knewthe vocal god with armament divineof arrows; for his rattling quiver smotetheir senses as he fled. Obedientto Phoebus' voice they held back from the frayIulus' fury, and their eager soulsfaced the fresh fight and danger's darkest frown.From tower to tower along the bastioned walltheir war-cry flew: they bend with busy handthe cruel bow, or swing the whirling thongof javelins. The earth on every sideis strewn with spent shafts, the reverberant shieldand hollow helmet ring with blows; the fightmore fiercely swells; not less the bursting stormfrom watery Kid-stars in the western skylashes the plain, or multitudinous hailbeats upon shallow seas, when angry Joveflings forth tempestuous and-boundless rain,and splits the bellied clouds in darkened air.

The brothers Pandarus and Bitias,of whom Alcanor was the famous sire,on Ida born, and whom Iaera bredin sacred wood of Jove, an oread she,twin warriors, like their native hills and treesof stature proud, now burst those portals wideto them in ward consigned, and sword in handchallenge the foe to enter. Side by side,steel-clad, their tall heads in bright crested helms,to left and right, like towers, the champions standas when to skyward, by the gliding wavesof gentle Athesis or Padus wide,a pair of oaks uprise, and lift in airtheir shaggy brows and nodding crests sublime.In burst the Rutules where the onward wayseemed open wide; Quercens no tarrying knows,nor proud Aquiculus in well-wrought arms;Tmarus sweeps on impetuous, and the hostof Haemon, child of Mars. Some routed fly;some lay their lives-down at the gate. Wild rageo'erflows each martial breast, and gathered fastthe Trojans rally to one point, and dareclose conflict, or long sallies o'er the plain.

To Turnus, who upon a distant fieldwas storming with huge havoc, came the newsthat now his foe, before a gate thrown wide,was red with slaughter. His own fight he stays,and speeds him, by enormous rage thrust on,to those proud brethren at the Dardan wall.There first Antiphates, who made his warfar in the van (a Theban captive's childto great Sarpedon out of wedlock born),he felled to earth with whirling javelin:th' Italic shaft of cornel lightly flewalong the yielding air, and through his throatpierced deep into the breast; a gaping woundgushed blood; the hot shaft to his bosom clung.Then Erymas and Merops his strong handlaid low: Aphidnus next, then came the turnof Bitias, fiery-hearted, furious-eyed:but not by javelin,—such cannot fallby flying javelin,—the ponderous beamof a phalaric spear, with mighty roar,like thunderbolt upon him fell; such shockneither the bull's-hides of his double shieldnor twofold corselet's golden scales could staybut all his towering frame in ruin fell.Earth groaned, and o'er him rang his ample shield.so crashes down from Baiae's storied shorea rock-built mole, whose mighty masonry,piled up with care, men cast into the sea;it trails its wreckage far, and fathoms downlies broken in the shallows, while the waveswhirl every way, and showers of black sandare scattered on the air: with thunder-soundsteep Prochyta is shaken, and that bedof cruel stone, Inarime, which liesheaped o'er Typhoeus by revenge of Jove.

Now to the Latins Mars, the lord of war,gave might and valor, and to their wild heartshis spur applied, but on the Teucrians breatheddark fear and flight. From every quarter cameauxiliar hosts, where'er the conflict called,and in each bosom pulsed the god of war.When Pandarus now saw his brother's corselow Iying, and which way the chance and tideof battle ran, he violently movedthe swinging hinges of the gate, and strainedwith both his shoulders broad. He shut outsidenot few of his own people, left exposedin fiercest fight but others with himselfhe barred inside and saved them as they fled;nor noted, madman, how the Rutule Kinghad burst in midmost of the line, and nowstood prisoned in their wall, as if he weresome monstrous tiger among helpless kine.His eyeballs strangely glared; his armor rangterrific, his tall crest shook o'er his browsblood-red, and lightnings glittered from his shieldfamiliar loomed that countenance abhorredand frame gigantic on the shrinking eyesof the Aeneadae. Then Pandarussprang towering forth, all fever to revengehis brother's slaughter. “Not this way,” he cried“Amata's marriage-gift! No Ardea heremews Turnus in his fathers' halls. Beholdthy foeman's castle! Thou art not allowedto take thy leave.” But Turnus looked his way,and smiled with heart unmoved. “Begin! if thouhast manhood in thee, and meet steel with steel!Go tell dead Priam thou discoverest hereAchilles!” For reply, the champion tallhurled with his might and main along the airhis spear of knotted wood and bark untrimmed.But all it wounded was the passing wind,for Saturn's daughter turned its course awry,and deep in the great gate the spear-point drove.“Now from the stroke this right arm means for theethou shalt not fly. Not such the sender ofthis weapon and this wound.” He said, and toweredaloft to his full height; the lifted swordclove temples, brows, and beardless cheeks clean throughwith loudly ringing blow; the ground beneathshook with the giant's ponderous fall, and, lo,with nerveless limbs, and brains spilt o'er his shield,dead on the earth he lay! in equal halvesthe sundered head from either shoulder swung.