Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- 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.