Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Nor thy renown may I forget, brave chief
- of the Ligurians, Cinyrus; nor thine,
- Cupavo, with few followers, thy crest
- the tall swan-wings, of love unblest the sign
- and of a father fair: for legends tell
- that Cycnus, for his Phaethon so dear
- lamenting loud beneath the poplar shade
- of the changed sisters, made a mournful song
- to soothe his grief and passion: but erewhile,
- in his old age, there clothed him as he sang
- soft snow-white plumes, and spurning earth he soared
- on high, and sped in music through the stars.
- His son with bands of youthful peers urged on
- a galley with a Centaur for its prow,
- which loomed high o'er the waves, and seemed to hurl
- a huge stone at the water, as the keel
- ploughed through the deep. Next Ocnus summoned forth
- a war-host from his native shores, the son
- of Tiber, Tuscan river, and the nymph
- Manto, a prophetess: he gave good walls,
- O Mantua, and his mother's name, to thee,—
- to Mantua so rich in noble sires,
- but of a blood diverse, a triple breed,
- four stems in each; and over all enthroned
- she rules her tribes: her strength is Tuscan born.
- Hate of Mezentius armed against his name
- five hundred men: upon their hostile prow
- was Mincius in a cloak of silvery sedge,—
- Lake Benacus the river's source and sire.
- Last good Aulestes smites the depths below,
- with forest of a hundred oars: the flood
- like flowing marble foams; his Triton prow
- threatens the blue waves with a trumpet-shell;
- far as the hairy flanks its form is man,
- but ends in fish below—the parting waves
- beneath the half-brute bosom break in foam.
- Such chosen chiefs in thirty galleys ploughed
- the salt-wave, bringing help to Trojan arms.
- Day now had left the sky. The moon benign
- had driven her night-wandering chariot
- to the mid-arch of heaven. Aeneas sate,
- for thought and care allowed him no repose,
- holding the helm and tending his own sails.
- but, as he sped, behold, the beauteous train,
- lately his own, of nymphs, anon transformed
- by kind Cybebe to sea-ruling powers.
- In even ranks they swam the cloven wave,—
- nymphs now, but once as brazen galleys moored
- along the sandy shore. With joy they knew
- their King from far, and with attending train
- around him drew. Cymodocea then,
- best skilled in mortal speech, sped close behind,
- with her right hand upon the stern, uprose
- breast-high, and with her left hand deeply plied
- the silent stream, as to the wondering King
- she called: “So late on watch, O son of Heaven,
- Aeneas? Slack thy sail, but still watch on!
- We were the pine-trees on the holy top
- of Ida's mountain. Sea-nymphs now are we,
- and thine own fleet. When, as we fled, the flames
- rained o'er us from the false Rutulian's hand
- 't was all unwillingly we cast away
- thy serviceable chains: and now once more
- we follow thee across the sea. These forms
- our pitying mother bade us take, with power
- to haunt immortally the moving sea.
- Lo, thy Ascanius lies close besieged
- in moated walls, assailed by threatening arms
- and Latium's front of war. Arcadia,
- her horsemen with the bold Etruscan joined,
- stands at the place appointed. Turnus means,
- with troop opposing, their advance to bar
- and hold them from the camp. Arouse thee, then,
- and with the rising beams of dawn call forth
- thy captains and their followers. Take that shield
- victorious, which for thee the Lord of Fire
- forged for a gift and rimmed about with gold.
- To-morrow's light—deem not my words be vain!—
- shall shine on huge heaps of Rutulia's dead.”
- So saying, she pushed with her right hand the stern
- with skilful thrust, and vanished. The ship sped
- swift as a spear, or as an arrow flies
- no whit behind the wind: and all the fleet
- quickened its course. Anchises' princely son,
- dumb and bewildered stood, but took good heart
- at such an omen fair. Then in few words
- with eyes upturned to heaven he made his prayer:
- “Mother of gods, O Ida's Queen benign,
- who Iovest Dindymus and towns with towers,
- and lion-yokes obedient to thy rein,
- be thou my guide in battle, and fulfil
- thine augury divine. In Phrygia's cause
- be present evermore with favoring power!”
- He spoke no more. For now the wheels of day
- had sped full circle into perfect light,
- the dark expelling. Then, for his first care,
- he bade his captains heed the signal given,
- equip their souls for war, and wait in arms
- the coming fray. Now holds he full in view
- his Trojans and their fortress, as he stands
- upon his towering ship. With his left hand
- he lifts his radiant shield; then from the wall
- the Dardan warriors send a battle-cry
- that echoes to the stars, as kindling hope
- their rage renews. A flight of spears they hurl:
- 't was like the cranes of Strymon, through dark clouds
- each other calling, when they cleave the skies
- vociferous, outwinging as they fly
- the swift south winds—Ioud music them pursues.
- Amazement on Ausonia's captains fell
- and Turnus, as they gazed. But soon they saw
- ships pointing shoreward and the watery plain
- all stirring with a fleet. Aeneas' helm
- uplifted its bright peak,—like streaming flame
- the crimson crest; his shield of orbed gold
- poured forth prodigious fire: it seemed as when
- in cloudless night a comet's blood-red beam
- makes mournful splendor, or the Dog-star glows,
- which rises to bring drought and pestilence
- to hapless men, and with ill-omened ray
- saddens the sky. But Turnus, undismayed,
- trusted not less to hurl th' invaders back
- and hold the shore against them. “Look!” he cried,
- your prayer is come to pass,—that sword in hand
- ye now may shatter them. The might of Mars
- is in a true man's blow. Remember well
- each man his home and wife! Now call to mind
- the glory and great deeds of all your sires!
- Charge to yon river-bank, while yet they take
- with weak and fearful steps their shoreward way!
- Fortune will help the brave.” With words like these,
- he chose, well-weighing, who should lead the charge,
- who at the leaguered walls the fight sustain.
- Aeneas straightway from his lofty ships
- lets down his troop by bridges. Some await
- the ebbing of slack seas, and boldly leap
- into the shallows; others ply the oar.
- Tarchon a beach discovers, where the sands
- sing not, nor waves with broken murmur fall,
- but full and silent swells the gentle sea.
- Steering in haste that way, he called his crews:
- “Now bend to your stout oars, my chosen brave.
- Lift each ship forward, till her beak shall cleave
- yon hostile shore; and let her keel's full weight
- the furrow drive. I care not if we break
- our ship's side in so sure an anchorage,
- if once we land.” While Tarchon urged them thus,
- the crews bent all together to their blades
- and sped their foaming barks to Latium's plain,
- till each beak gripped the sand and every keel
- lay on dry land unscathed:—all save thine own,
- O Tarchon! dashed upon a sand-bar, she!
- Long poised upon the cruel ridge she hung,
- tilted this way or that and beat the waves,
- then split, and emptied forth upon the tide
- her warriors; and now the drifting wreck
- of shattered oars and thwarts entangles them,
- or ebb of swirling waters sucks them down.
- Turnus no lingering knows, but fiercely hurls
- his whole line on the Teucrians, and makes stand
- along the shore. Now peals the trumpet's call.
- Aeneas in the van led on his troop
- against the rustic foe, bright augury
- for opening war, and laid the Latins low,
- slaughtering Theron, a huge chief who dared
- offer Aeneas battle; through the scales
- of brazen mail and corselet stiff with gold
- the sword drove deep, and gored the gaping side.
- Then smote he Lichas, from his mother's womb
- ripped in her dying hour, and unto thee,
- O Phoebus, vowed, because his infant days
- escaped the fatal steel. Hard by him fell
- stout Cisseus and gigantic Gyas; these
- to death were hurled, while with their knotted clubs
- they slew opposing hosts; but naught availed
- Herculean weapons, nor their mighty hands,
- or that Melampus was their sire, a peer
- of Hercules, what time in heavy toils
- through earth he roved. See next how Pharon boasts!
- But while he vainly raves, the whirling spear
- smites full on his loud mouth. And also thou,
- Cydon, wast by the Trojan stroke o'erthrown,
- while following in ill-omened haste the steps
- of Clytius, thy last joy, whose round cheek wore
- its youthful golden down: soon hadst thou lain
- in death, unheeding of thy fancies fond
- which ever turned to youth;—but now arose
- the troop of all thy brothers, Phorcus' sons,
- a close array of seven, and seven spears
- they hurled: some from Aeneas' helm or shield
- glanced off in vain; some Venus' kindly power,
- just as they touched his body, turned away.
- Aeneas then to true Achates cried:
- “Bring on my spears: not one shall fruitless fly
- against yon Rutules, even as they pierced
- the breasts of Greeks upon the Ilian plain.”
- Then one great shaft he seized and threw; it sped
- straight into Maeon's brazen shield, and clove
- his mail-clad heart. Impetuous to his aid
- brother Alcanor came, and lifted up
- with strong right hand his brother as he fell:
- but through his arm a second skilful shaft
- made bloody way, and by the sinews held
- the lifeless right hand from the shoulder swung.
- Then from his brother's body Numitor
- the weapon plucked and hurled it, furious,
- upon Aeneas; but it could not strike
- the hero's self, and grazed along the thigh
- of great Achates. Next into the fight
- Clausus of Cures came, in youthful bloom
- exulting, and with far-thrown javelin
- struck Dryops at the chin, and took away
- from the gashed, shrieking throat both life and voice;
- the warrior's fallen forehead smote the dust;
- his lips poured forth thick blood. There also fell
- three Thracians, odspring of the lordly stem
- of Boreas, and three of Idas' sons
- from Ismara, by various doom struck down.
- Halaesus here his wild Auruncans brings;
- and flying to the fight comes Neptune's son,
- Messapus, famous horseman. On both sides
- each charges on the foe. Ausonia's strand
- is one wide strife. As when o'er leagues of air
- the envious winds give battle to their peers,
- well-matched in rage and power; and neither they
- nor clouds above, nor plunging seas below
- will end the doubtful war, but each withstands
- the onset of the whole—in such wild way
- the line of Trojans on the Latian line
- hurls itself, limb on limb and man on man.
- But at a distance where the river's flood
- had scattered rolling boulders and torn trees
- uprooted from the shore, young Pallas spied
- th' Arcadian band, unused to fight on foot,
- in full retreat, the Latins following close—
- who also for the roughness of the ground
- were all unmounted: he (the last resource
- of men in straits) to wild entreaty turned
- and taunts, enkindling their faint hearts anew:
- “Whither, my men! O, by your own brave deeds,
- O, by our lord Evander's happy wars,
- the proud hopes I had to make my name
- a rival glory,—think not ye can fly!
- Your swords alone can carve ye the safe way
- straight through your foes. Where yonder warrior-throng
- is fiercest, thickest, there and only there
- your Country's honor calls for men like you,
- and for your captain Pallas. Nay, no gods
- against us fight; we are but mortal men
- pressed by a mortal foe. Not more than ours
- the number of their lives or swords. Behold,
- the barrier of yonder spreading sea
- emprisons us, and for a craven flight
- yon lands are all too small. Ha! Shall we steer
- across the sea to Troy?” He said, and sprang
- full in the centre of his gathered foes.
- First in his path was Lagus, thither led
- by evil stars; whom, as he tried to lift
- a heavy stone, the shaft of Pallas pierced
- where ribs and spine divide: backward he drew
- the clinging spear; But Hisbo from above
- surprised him not, though meaning it; for while
- (In anger blind for friend unpitying slain)
- at Pallas' face he flew:—he, standing firm,
- plunged deep into that swelling breast the sword.
- Then Sthenius he slew; and next Anchemolus
- of Rhoetus' ancient line, who dared defile
- his step-dame's bridal bed. And also ye,
- fair Thymber and Larides, Daucus' twins,
- fell on that Rutule field; so like were ye,
- your own kin scarce discerned, and parents proud
- smiled at the dear deceit; but now in death
- cruel unlikeness Pallas wrought; thy head
- fell, hapless Thymber, by Evander's sword;
- and thy right hand, Larides, shorn away,
- seemed feeling for its Iord; the fingers cold
- clutched, trembling, at the sword. Now all the troop
- of Arcady, their chief's great action seen,
- and by his warning roused, made at their foes,
- spurred on by grief and shame. Next Pallas pierced
- the flying Rhoetus in his car; this gained
- for Ilus respite and delay, for him
- the stout spear aimed at; but its flight was stopped
- by Rhoetus, as in swift retreat he rode,
- by the two high-born brothers close pursued,
- Teuthras and Tyres: from his car he rolled,
- making deep furrows with his lifeless heels
- along the Rutule plain. Oft when the winds
- of summer, long awaited, rise and blow,
- a shepherd fires the forest, and the blaze
- devours the dense grove, while o'er the fields,
- in that one moment, swift and sudden spread
- grim Vulcan's serried flames; from some high seat
- on distant hill, the shepherd peering down
- sees, glad at heart, his own victorious fires:
- so now fierce valor spreads, uniting all
- in one confederate rage, 'neath Pallas' eyes.
- But the fierce warrior Halaesus next
- led on the charge, behind his skilful shield
- close-crouching. Ladon and Demodocus
- and Pheres he struck down; his glittering blade
- cut Strymon's hand, which to his neck was raised,
- sheer off; with one great stone he crushed the brows
- of Thoas, scattering wide the broken skull,
- bones, brains, and gore. Halaesus' prophet-sire,
- foreseeing doom, had hid him in dark groves;
- but when the old man's fading eyes declined
- in death, the hand of Fate reached forth and doomed
- the young life to Evander's sword; him now
- Pallas assailed, first offering this prayer:
- “O Father Tiber, give my poising shaft
- through stout Halaesus' heart its lucky way!
- The spoil and trophy of the hero slain
- on thine own oak shall hang.” The god received
- the vow, and while Halaesus held his shield
- over Imaon, his ill-fated breast
- lay naked to th' Arcadian's hungry spear.
- But Lausus, seeing such a hero slain,
- bade his troop have no fear, for he himself
- was no small strength in war; and first he slew
- Abas, who fought hard, and had ever seemed
- himself the sticking-point and tug of war.
- Down went Arcadia's warriors, and slain
- etruscans fell, with many a Trojan brave
- the Greek had spared. Troop charges upon troop
- well-matched in might, with chiefs of like renown;
- the last rank crowds the first;—so fierce the press
- scarce hand or sword can stir. Here Pallas stands,
- and pushes back the foe; before him looms
- Lausus, his youthful peer, conspicuous both
- in beauty; but no star will them restore
- to home and native land. Yet would the King
- of high Olympus suffer not the pair
- to close in battle, but each hero found
- a later doom at hands of mightier foes.
- Now Turnus' goddess-sister bids him haste
- to Lausus' help. So he, in wheeling car,
- cut through the lines; and when his friends he saw,
- “Let the fight stop! “ he cried, “for none but I
- may strike at Pallas; unto me alone
- the prize of Pallas falls. I would his sire
- stood by to see.” He spake: his troop withdrew
- a fitting space. But as they made him room,
- the young prince, wondering at the scornful words,
- looked upon Turnus, glancing up and down
- that giant frame, and with fierce-frowning brows
- scanned him from far, hurling defiant words
- in answer to the King's. “My honor now
- shall have the royal trophy of this war,
- or glorious death. For either fortune fair
- my sire is ready. Threaten me no more!”
- So saying, to the midmost space he strode,
- and in Arcadian hearts the blood stood still.
- Swift from his chariot Turnus leaped, and ran
- to closer fight. As when some lion sees
- from his far mountain-lair a raging bull
- that sniffs the battle from the grassy field,
- and down the steep he flies—such picture showed
- grim Turnus as he came. But when he seemed
- within a spear's cast, Pallas opened fight,
- expecting Fortune's favor to the brave
- in such unequal match; and thus he prayed:
- “O, by my hospitable father's roof,
- where thou didst enter as a stranger-guest,
- hear me, Alcides, and give aid divine
- to this great deed. Let Turnus see these hands
- strip from his half-dead breast the bloody spoil!
- and let his eyes in death endure to see
- his conqueror!” Alcides heard the youth:
- but prisoned in his heart a deep-drawn sigh,
- and shed vain tears; for Jove, the King and Sire, .
- spoke with benignant accents to his son:
- “To each his day is given. Beyond recall
- man's little time runs by: but to prolong
- life's glory by great deeds is virtue's power.
- Beneath the lofty walls of fallen Troy
- fell many a son of Heaven. Yea, there was slain
- Sarpedon, my own offspring. Turnus too
- is summoned to his doom, and nears the bounds
- of his appointed span.” So speaking, Jove
- turned from Rutulia's war his eyes away.
- But Pallas hurled his lance with might and main,
- and from its hollow scabbard flashed his sword.
- The flying shaft touched where the plated steel
- over the shoulders rose, and worked its way
- through the shield's rim—then falling, glanced aside
- from Turnus' giant body. Turnus then
- poised, without haste, his iron-pointed spear,
- and, launching it on Pallas, cried, “Look now
- will not this shaft a good bit deeper drive?”
- He said: and through the mid-boss of the shield,
- steel scales and brass with bull's-hide folded round,
- the quivering spear-point crashed resistlessly,
- and through the corselet's broken barrier
- pierced Pallas' heart. The youth plucked out in vain
- the hot shaft from the wound; his life and blood
- together ebbed away, as sinking prone
- on his rent side he fell; above him rang
- his armor; and from lips with blood defiled
- he breathed his last upon his foeman's ground.
- Over him Turnus stood: “Arcadians all,”
- He cried, “take tidings of this feat of arms
- to King Evander. With a warrior's wage
- his Pallas I restore, and freely grant
- what glory in a hero's tomb may lie,
- or comfort in a grave. They dearly pay
- who bid Aeneas welcome at their board.”
- So saying, with his left foot he held down
- the lifeless form, and raised the heavy weight
- of graven belt, which pictured forth that crime
- of youthful company by treason slain,
- all on their wedding night, in bridal bowers
- to horrid murder given,—which Clonus, son
- of Eurytus, had wrought in lavish gold;
- this Turnus in his triumph bore away,
- exulting in the spoil. O heart of man,
- not knowing doom, nor of events to be!
- Nor, being lifted up, to keep thy bounds
- in prosperous days! To Turnus comes the hour
- when he would fain a prince's ransom give
- had Pallas passed unscathed, and will bewail
- cuch spoil of victory. With weeping now
- and lamentations Ioud his comrades lay
- young Pallas on his shield, and thronging close
- carry him homeward with a mournful song:
- alas! the sorrow and the glorious gain
- thy sire shall have in thee. For one brief day
- bore thee to battle and now bears away;
- yet leavest thou full tale of foemen slain.
- No doubtful rumor to Aeneas breaks
- the direful news, but a sure messenger
- tells him his followers' peril, and implores
- prompt help for routed Troy. His ready sword
- reaped down the nearest foes, and through their line
- clove furious path and broad; the valiant blade
- through oft-repeated bloodshed groped its way,
- proud Turnus, unto thee! His heart beholds
- Pallas and Sire Evander, their kind board
- in welcome spread, their friendly league of peace
- proffered and sealed with him, the stranger-guest.
- So Sulmo's sons, four warriors, and four
- of Ufens sprung, he took alive—to slay
- as victims to the shades, and pour a stream
- of captives' blood upon a flaming pyre.
- Next from afar his hostile shaft he threw
- at Mago, who with wary motion bowed
- beneath the quivering weapon, as it sped
- clean over him; then at Aeneas' knees
- he crouched and clung with supplicating cry:
- “O, by thy father's spirit, by thy hope
- in young Iulus, I implore thee, spare
- for son and father's sake this life of mine.
- A lofty house have I, where safely hid
- are stores of graven silver and good weight
- of wrought and unwrought gold. The fate of war
- hangs not on me; nor can one little life
- thy victory decide.” In answer spoke
- Aeneas: “Hoard the silver and the gold
- for thy own sons. Such bartering in war
- finished with Turnus, when fair Pallas fell.
- Thus bids Anchises' shade, Iulus—thus!”
- He spoke: and, grasping with his mighty left
- the helmet of the vainly suppliant foe,
- bent back the throat and drove hilt-deep his sword.
- A little space removed, Haemonides,
- priest of Phoebus and pale Trivia, stood,
- whose ribboned brows a sacred fillet bound:
- in shining vesture he, and glittering arms.
- Him too the Trojan met, repelled, and towered
- above the fallen form, o'ermantling it
- in mortal shade; Serestus bore away
- those famous arms a trophy vowed to thee,
- Gradivus, Iord of war! Soon to fresh fight
- came Caeculus, a child of Vulcan's line,
- and Umbro on the Marsic mountains bred:
- these met the Trojan's wrath. His sword shore off
- Anxur's left hand, and the whole orbed shield
- dropped earthward at the stroke: though Anxur's tongue
- had boasted mighty things, as if great words
- would make him strong, and lifting his proud heart
- as high as heaven, had hoped perchance to see
- gray hairs and length of days. Then Tarquitus
- strode forth, exulting in his burnished arms
- (Him Dryope, the nymph, to Faunus bore),
- and dared oppose Aeneas' rage. But he
- drew back his lance and, charging, crushed at once
- corselet and ponderous shield; then off he struck
- the supplicating head, which seemed in vain
- preparing speech; while o'er the reeking corpse
- the victor stood, and thrusting it away
- spoke thus with wrathful soul: “Now lie thou there,
- thou fearsome sight! No noble mother's hand
- shall hide thee in the ground, or give those limbs
- to their ancestral tomb. Thou shalt be left
- to birds of ravin; or go drifting far
- along yon river to engulfing seas,
- where starving fishes on those wounds shall feed.”
- Antceus next and Lucas he pursues,
- though all in Turnus' van; and Numa bold
- and Camers tawny-tressed, the son and heir
- of Volscens the stout-hearted, whose domain
- surpassed the richest of Ausonia's lords,
- when over hushed Amyclae he was king.
- Like old Aegaeon of the hundred arms,
- the hundred-handed, from whose mouths and breasts
- blazed fifty fiery blasts, as he made war
- with fifty sounding shields and fifty swords
- against Jove's thunder;—so Aeneas raged
- victorious o'er the field, when once his steel
- warmed to its work. But lo, he turns him now
- where come Niphaeus' bold-advancing wheels
- and coursers four, who, when at furious speed
- they faced his giant stride and dreadful cry,
- upreared in panic, and reversing spilled
- their captain to the ground, and bore away
- the chariot to the river's distant shore.
- Meanwhile, with two white coursers to their car,
- the brothers Lucagus and Liger drove
- into the heart of battle: Liger kept
- with skilful hand the manage of the steeds;
- bold Lucagus swung wide his naked sword.
- Aeneas, by their wrathful brows defied,
- brooked not the sight, but to the onset flew,
- huge-looming, with adverse and threatening spear.
- Cried Liger, “Not Achilles' chariot, ours!
- Nor team of Diomed on Phrygia's plain!
- The last of life and strife shall be thy meed
- upon this very ground.” Such raving word
- flowed loud from Liger's lip: not with a word
- the Trojan hero answered him, but flung
- his whirling spear; and even as Lucagus
- leaned o'er the horses, goading them with steel,
- and, left foot forward, gathered all his strength
- to strike—the spear crashed through the under rim
- of his resplendent shield and entered deep
- in the left groin; then from the chariot fallen,
- the youth rolled dying on the field, while thus
- pious Aeneas paid him taunting words:
- “O Lucagus, thy chariot did not yield
- because of horses slow to fly, or scared
- by shadows of a foe. It was thyself
- leaped o'er the wheel and fled.” So saying, he grasped
- the horses by the rein. The brother then,
- spilled also from the car, reached wildly forth
- his helpless hands: “O, by thy sacred head,
- and by the parents who such greatness gave,
- good Trojan, let me live! Some pity show
- to prostrate me!” But ere he longer sued,
- Aeneas cried, “Not so thy language ran
- a moment gone! Die thou! Nor let this day
- brother from brother part!” Then where the life
- hides in the bosom, he thrust deep his sword.
- Thus o'er the field of war the Dardan King
- moved on, death-dealing: like a breaking flood
- or cloudy whirlwind seemed his wrath. Straightway
- the boy Ascanius from the ramparts came,
- his warriors with him; for the siege had failed.
- Now Jupiter to Juno thus began:
- “O ever-cherished spouse and sister dear,
- surely 't is Venus—as thy mind misgave—
- whose favor props—O, what discernment thine!
- Yon Trojan power; not swift heroic hands,
- or souls of fury facing perilous war!”
- Juno made meek reply: “O noblest spouse!
- Why vex one sick at heart, who humbly fears
- thy stern command? If I could claim to-day
- what once I had, my proper right and due,
- love's induence, I should not plead in vain
- to thee, omnipotent, to give me power
- to lead off Turnus from the fight unscathed,
- and save him at his father Daunus' prayer.
- Aye, let him die! And with his loyal blood
- the Teucrians' vengeance feed! Yet he derives
- from our Saturnian stem, by fourth remove
- sprung from Pilumnus. Oft his liberal hands
- have heaped unstinted offering at thy shrine.”
- Thus in few words th' Olympian King replied:
- “If for the fated youth thy prayer implores
- delay and respite of impending doom,
- if but so far thou bidst me interpose,—
- go—favor Turnus' flight, and keep him safe
- in this imperilled hour; I may concede
- such boon. But if thy pleading words intend
- some larger grace, and fain would touch or change
- the issue of the war, then art thou fed
- on expectation vain.” With weeping eyes
- Juno made answer: “Can it be thy mind
- gives what thy words refuse, and Turnus' life,
- if rescued, may endure? Yet afterward
- some cruel close his guiltless day shall see—
- or far from truth I stray! O, that I were
- the dupe of empty fears! and O, that thou
- wouldst but refashion to some happier end
- the things by thee begun—for thou hast power!”
- She ceased; and swiftly from the peak of heaven
- moved earthward, trailing cloud-wrack through the air,
- and girdled with the storm. She took her way
- to where Troy's warriors faced Laurentum's line.
- There of a hollow cloud the goddess framed
- a shape of airy, unsubstantial shade,
- Aeneas' image, wonderful to see,
- and decked it with a Dardan lance and shield,
- a crested helmet on the godlike head;
- and windy words she gave of soulless sound,
- and motion like a stride—such shapes, they say,
- the hovering phantoms of the dead put on,
- or empty dreams which cheat our slumbering eyes.
- Forth to the front of battle this vain shade
- stalked insolent, and with its voice and spear
- challenged the warrior. At it Turnus flew,
- and hurled a hissing spear with distant aim;
- the thing wheeled round and fled. The foe forthwith,
- thinking Aeneas vanquished, with blind scorn
- flattered his own false hope: “Where wilt thou fly,
- Aeneas? Wilt thou break a bridegroom's word?
- This sword will give thee title to some land
- thou hast sailed far to find!” So clamoring loud
- he followed, flashing far his naked sword;
- nor saw the light winds waft his dream away.
- By chance in covert of a lofty crag
- a ship stood fastened and at rest; her sides
- showed ready bridge and stairway; she had brought
- Osinius, king of Clusium. Thither came
- Aeneas' counterfeit of flight and fear,
- and dropped to darkness. Turnus, nothing loth,
- gave close chase, overleaping every bar,
- and scaling the high bridge; but scarce he reached
- the vessel's prow, when Juno cut her loose,
- the cables breaking, and along swift waves
- pushed her to sea. Yet in that very hour
- Aeneas to the battle vainly called
- the vanished foe, and round his hard-fought path
- stretched many a hero dead. No longer now
- the mocking shadow sought to hide, but soared
- visibly upward and was Iost in cloud,
- while Turnus drifted o'er the waters wide
- before the wind. Bewildered and amazed
- he looked around him; little joy had he
- in his own safety, but upraised his hands
- in prayer to Heaven: “O Sire omnipotent!
- Didst thou condemn me to a shame like this?
- Such retribution dire? Whither now?
- Whence came I here? What panic wafts away
- this Turnus—if 't is he? Shall I behold
- Laurentum's towers once more? But what of those
- my heroes yonder, who took oath to me,
- and whom—O sin and shame!—I have betrayed
- to horrible destruction? Even now
- I see them routed, and my ears receive
- their dying groans. What is this thing I do?
- Where will the yawning earth crack wide enough
- beneath my feet? Ye tempests, pity me!
- On rocks and reef—'t is Turnus' faithful prayer,
- let this bark founder; fling it on the shoals
- of wreckful isles, where no Rutulian eye
- can follow me, or Rumor tell my shame.”
- With such wild words his soul tossed to and fro,
- not knowing if to hide his infamy
- with his own sword and madly drive its blade
- home to his heart, or cast him in the sea,
- and, swimming to the rounded shore, renew
- his battle with the Trojan foe. Three times
- each fatal course he tried; but Juno's power
- three times restrained, and with a pitying hand
- the warrior's purpose barred. So on he sped
- o'er yielding waters and propitious tides,
- far as his father Daunus' ancient town.
- At Jove's command Mezentius, breathing rage,
- now takes the field and leads a strong assault
- against victorious Troy. The Tuscan ranks
- meet round him, and press hard on him alone,
- on him alone with vengeance multiplied
- their host of swords they draw. As some tall cliff,
- projecting to the sea, receives the rage
- of winds and waters, and untrembling bears
- vast, frowning enmity of seas and skies,—
- so he. First Dolichaon's son he slew,
- Hebrus; then Latagus and Palmus, though
- they fled amain; he smote with mighty stone
- torn from the mountain, full upon the face
- of Latagus; and Palmus he let lie
- hamstrung and rolling helpless; he bestowed
- the arms on his son Lausus for a prize,
- another proud crest in his helm to wear;
- he laid the Phrygian Euanthus Iow;
- and Mimas, Paris' comrade, just his age,—
- born of Theano's womb to Amycus
- his sire, that night when royal Hecuba,
- teeming with firebrand, gave Paris birth:
- one in the city of his fathers sleeps;
- and one, inglorious, on Laurentian strand.
- As when a wild boar, harried from the hills
- by teeth of dogs (one who for many a year
- was safe in pine-clad Vesulus, or roamed
- the meres of Tiber, feeding in the reeds)
- falls in the toils at last, and stands at bay,
- raging and bristling, and no hunter dares
- defy him or come near, but darts are hurled
- from far away, with cries unperilous:
- not otherwise, though righteous is their wrath
- against Mezentius, not a man so bold
- as face him with drawn sword, but at long range
- they throw their shafts and with loud cries assail;
- he, all unterrified, makes frequent stand,
- gnashing his teeth, and shaking off their spears.
- From ancient Corythus had Acron come,
- a Greek, who left half-sung his wedding-song,
- and was an exile; him Mezentius saw
- among long lines of foes, with flaunting plumes
- and purple garments from his plighted spouse.
- Then as a starving lion when he prowls
- about high pasture-lands, urged on his way
- by maddening hunger (if perchance he see
- a flying she-goat or tall-antlered stag)
- lifts up his shaggy mane, and gaping wide
- his monstrous jaws, springs at the creature's side,
- feeding foul-lipped, insatiable of gore:
- so through his gathered foes Mezentius
- flew at his prey. He stretched along the ground
- ill-fated Acron, who breathed life away,
- beating the dark dust with his heels, and bathed
- his broken weapons in his blood. Nor deigned
- Mezentius to strike Orodes down
- as he took flight, nor deal a wound unseen
- with far-thrown spear; but ran before his face,
- fronting him man to man, nor would he win
- by sleight or trick, but by a mightier sword.
- Soon on the fallen foe he set his heel,
- and, pushing hard, with heel and spear, cried out:
- “Look ye, my men, where huge Orodes lies,
- himself a dangerous portion of this war!”
- With loyal, Ioud acclaim his peers reply;
- but thus the dying hero: “Victor mine,
- whoe'er thou art, I fall not unavenged!
- Thou shalt but triumph for a fleeting hour.
- Like doom for thee is written. Speedily
- thou shalt this dust inhabit, even as I!”
- Mezentius answered him with wrathful smile:
- “Now die! What comes on me concerns alone
- the Sire of gods and Sovereign of mankind.”
- So saying, from the wounded breast he plucked
- his javelin: and on those eyes there fell
- inexorable rest and iron slumber,
- and in unending night their vision closed.
- Then Caedicus cut down Alcathous,
- Sacrator slew Hydaspes, Rapo smote
- Parthenius and Orses stout and strong;
- Messapus, good blade cut down Clonius
- and Ericetes, fierce Lycaon's child;
- the one from an unbridled war-horse thrown,
- the other slain dismounted. Then rode forth
- Agis the Lycian, but bold Valerus,
- true to his valiant breeding, hurled him down;
- having slain Thronius, Salius was slain
- by skilled Nealces, of illustrious name
- for spear well cast and far-surprising bow.
- Thus Mars relentless holds in equal scale
- slaughters reciprocal and mutual woe;
- the victors and the vanquished kill or fall
- in equal measure; neither knows the way
- to yield or fly. Th' Olympians Iook down
- out of Jove's house, and pity as they see
- the unavailing wrath of either foe,
- and burdens measureless on mortals laid.
- Lo! Venus here, Saturnian Juno yon,
- in anxious watch; while pale Tisiphone
- moves on infuriate through the battling lines.
- On strode Mezentius o'er the gory plain,
- and swollen with rage waved wide-his awful spear.
- Like tall Orion when on foot he goes
- trough the deep sea and lifts his shoulders high
- above the waves; or when he takes his path
- along the mountain-tops, and has for staff
- an aged ash-tree, as he fixes firm
- his feet in earth and hides his brows in cloud;—
- so Ioomed Mezentius with his ponderous arms.
- To match him now, Aeneas, Iooking down
- the long array of war, came forth in arms
- to challenge and defy. But quailing not,
- a mass immovable, the other stood
- waiting his noble foe, and with a glance
- measured to cast his spear the space between.
- “May this right hand“, he said, “and this swift spear
- which here I poise, be favoring gods for me!
- The spoils from yonder robber's carcase stripped
- I vow to hang on thee, my Lausus, thou
- shalt stand for trophy of Aeneas slain.”
- He said, and hurled from far the roaring spear,
- which from the shield glanced off, and speeding still
- smote famed Antores 'twixt the loin and side—
- antores, friend of Hercules, who came
- from Argos, and had joined Evander's cause,
- abiding in Italia. Lo, a wound
- meant for another pierced him, and he lay,
- ill-fated! Iooking upward to the light,
- and dreaming of dear Argos as he died.
- Then good Aeneas hurled his spear; it passed
- through hollow orb of triple bronze, and through
- layers of flax and triple-twisted hides;
- then in the lower groin it lodged, but left
- its work undone. Aeneas, not ill-pleased
- to see the Tuscan wounded, swiftly drew
- the falchion from his thigh, and hotly pressed
- his startled foe. But Lausus at the sight
- groaned loud, so much he loved his father dear,
- and tears his cheek bedewed. O storied youth!
- If olden worth may win believing ear,
- let not my song now fail of thee to sing,
- thy noble deeds, thy doom of death and pain!
- Mezentius, now encumbered and undone,
- fell backward, trailing from the broken shield
- his foeman's spear. His son leaped wildly forth
- to join the fray; and where Aeneas' hand
- lifted to strike, he faced the thrusting sword
- and gave the hero pause. His comrades raised
- applauding cries, as shielded by his son
- the father made retreat; their darts they hurl,
- and vex with flying spears the distant foe:
- Aeneas, wrathful, stands beneath his shield.
- As when the storm-clouds break in pelting hail,
- the swains and ploughmen from the furrows fly,
- and every traveller cowers in sure defence
- of river-bank or lofty shelving crag,
- while far and wide it pours; and by and by,
- each, when the sun returns, his task pursues:
- so great Aeneas, by assault o'erwhelmed,
- endured the cloud of battle, till its rage
- thundered no more; then with a warning word
- to Lausus with upbraiding voice he called:
- “Why, O death-doomed, rush on to deeds too high
- for strength like thine. Thou art betrayed, rash boy,
- by thine own loyal heart!” But none the less
- the youth made mad defence; while fiercer burned
- the Trojan's anger; and of Lausus' days
- the loom of Fate spun forth the last thin thread;
- for now Aeneas thrust his potent blade
- deep through the stripling's breast and out of sight;
- through the light shield it passed—a frail defence
- to threaten with!—and through the tunic fine
- his mother's hand had wrought with softest gold:
- blood filled his bosom, and on path of air
- down to the shades the mournful soul withdrew,
- its body quitting. As Anchises' son
- beheld the agonizing lips and brow
- so wondrous white in death, he groaned aloud
- in pity, and reached o'er him his right hand,
- touched to the heart such likeness to behold
- of his own filial love. “Unhappy boy!
- What reward worthy of heroic deeds
- can I award thee now? Wear still those arms
- so proudly worn! And I will send thee home
- (Perhaps thou carest!) to the kindred shades
- and ashes of thy sires. But let it be
- some solace in thy pitiable doom
- that none but great Aeneas wrought thy fall.”
- Then to the stripling's tardy followers
- he sternly called, and lifted from the earth
- with his own hand the fallen foe: dark blood
- defiled those princely tresses braided fair.
- Meanwhile Mezentius by the Tiber's wave
- with water staunched his wound, and propped his weight
- against a tree; upon its limbs above
- his brazen helmet hung, and on the sward
- his ponderous arms lay resting. Round him watched
- his chosen braves. He, gasping and in pain,
- clutched at his neck and let his flowing beard
- loose on his bosom fall; he questions oft
- of Lausus, and sends many a messenger
- to bid him back, and bear him the command
- of his sore-grieving sire. But lo! his peers
- bore the dead Lausus back upon his shield,
- and wept to see so strong a hero quelled
- by stroke so strong. From long way off the sire,
- with soul prophetic of its woe, perceived
- what meant their wail and cry. On his gray hairs
- the dust he flung, and, stretching both his hands
- to heaven, he cast himself the corpse along.
- “O son,” he cried, “was life to me so sweet,
- that I to save myself surrendered o'er
- my own begotten to a foeman's steel?
- Saved by these gashes shall thy father be,
- and living by thy death? O wretched me,
- how foul an end have I! Now is my wound
- deep! deep! 't was I, dear son, have stained
- thy name with infamy—to exile driven
- from sceptre and hereditary throne
- by general curse. Would that myself had borne
- my country's vengeance and my nation's hate!
- Would my own guilty life my debt had paid—
- yea, by a thousand deaths! But, see, I live!
- Not yet from human kind and light of day
- have I departed. But depart I will.”
- So saying, he raised him on his crippled thigh,
- and though by reason of the grievous wound
- his forces ebbed, yet with unshaken mien
- he bade them lead his war-horse forth, his pride,
- his solace, which from every war
- victorious bore him home. The master then
- to the brave beast, which seemed to know his pain,
- spoke thus: “My Rhoebus, we have passed our days
- long time together, if long time there be
- for mortal creatures. Either on this day
- thou shalt his bloody spoils in triumph bear
- and that Aeneas' head,—and so shalt be
- avenger of my Lausus' woe; or else,
- if I be vanquished, thou shalt sink and fall
- beside me. For, my bravest, thou wouldst spurn
- a stranger's will, and Teucrian lords to bear.”
- He spoke and, mounting to his back, disposed
- his limbs the wonted way and filled both hands
- with pointed javelins; a helm of brass
- with shaggy horse-hair crest gleamed o'er his brow.
- Swift to the front he rode: a mingled flood
- surged in his heart of sorrow, wrath, and shame;
- and thrice with loud voice on his foe he called.
- Aeneas heard and made exulting vow:
- “Now may the Father of the gods on high,
- and great Apollo hear! Begin the fray!”
- He said, and moved forth with a threatening spear.
- The other cried: “Hast robbed me of my son,
- and now, implacable, wouldst fright me more?
- That way, that only, was it in thy power
- to cast me down. No fear of death I feel.
- Nor from thy gods themselves would I refrain.
- Give o'er! For fated and resolved to die
- I come thy way: but; bring thee as I pass
- these offerings.” With this he whirled a spear
- against his foe, and after it drove deep
- another and another, riding swift
- in wide gyration round him. But the shield,
- the golden boss, broke not. Three times he rode
- in leftward circles, hurling spear on spear
- against th' unmoved Aeneas: and three times
- the Trojan hero in his brazen shield
- the sheaf of spears upbore. But such slow fight,
- such plucking of spent shafts from out his shield,
- the Trojan liked not, vexed and sorely tried
- in duel so ill-matched. With wrathful soul
- at length he strode forth, and between the brows
- of the wild war-horse planted his Iong spear.
- Up reared the creature, beating at the air
- with quivering feet, then o'er his fallen lord
- entangling dropped, and prone above him lay,
- pinning with ponderous shoulder to the ground.
- The Trojans and the Latins rouse the skies
- with clamor Ioud. Aeneas hastening forth
- unsheathes his sword, and looming o'er him cries:
- “Where now is fierce Mezentius, and his soul's
- wild pulse of rage?” The Tuscan in reply
- with eyes uprolled, and gasping as he gave
- long looks at heaven, recalled his fading mind:
- “Why frown at me and fume, O bitterest foe?
- Why threaten death? To slay me is no sin.
- Not to take quarter came I to this war,
- not truce with thee did my lost Lausus crave,
- yet this one boon I pray,—if mercy be
- for fallen foes: O, suffer me when dead
- in covering earth to hide! Full well I know
- what curses of my people ring me round.
- Defend me from that rage! I pray to be
- my son's companion in our common tomb.”
- He spoke: then offered with unshrinking eye
- his veined throat to the sword. O'er the bright mail
- his vital breath gushed forth in streaming gore.