Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Meanwhile the Teucrian legions to the wall
- draw near, with Tuscan lords and cavalry
- in numbered troops arrayed. Loud-footed steeds
- prance o'er the field, to manage of the rein
- rebellious, but turned deftly here or there.
- The iron harvest of keen spears spreads far,
- and all the plain burns bright with lifted steel.
- Messapus and swift Latin cavalry,
- Coras his brother, and th' attending train
- of the fair maid Camilla, form their lines
- in the opposing field. Their poised right hands
- point the long lances forward, and light shafts
- are brandished in the air; the warrior hosts
- on steeds of fire come kindling as they ride.
- One instant, at a spear-throw's space, each line
- its motion stays; then with one sudden cry
- they rush forth, spurring on each frenzied steed.
- From-every side the multitudinous spears
- pour down like snowflakes, mantling heaven in shade.
- Now with contending spears and straining thews,
- Tyrrhenus, and Aconteus, champion bold,
- ride forward; with the onset terrible
- loudly their armor rings; their chargers twain
- crash breast to breast, and like a thunderbolt
- Aconteus drops, or like a ponderous stone
- hurled from a catapult; full length he falls,
- surrend'ring to the winds his fleeting soul.
- Now all is panic: holding their light shields
- behind their backs, the Latin horse wheel round,
- retreating to the wall, the Trojan foe
- in close pursuit. Asilas, chieftain proud,
- led on th' assault. Hard by the city gates
- the Latins wheeled once more and pressed the rein
- strong on the yielding neck; the charging foe
- took flight and hurried far with loose-flung rein.
- 'T was like the shock and onset of the sea
- that landward hurls the alternating flood
- and hides high cliffs in foam,—the tawny sands
- upflinging as it rolls; then, suddenly
- whirled backward on the reingulfing waves,
- it quits the ledges, and with ebbing flow
- far from the shore retires. The Tuscans twice
- drive back the flying Rutules to the town;
- and twice repulsed, with shields to rearward thrown,
- glare back at the pursuer; but conjoined
- in the third battle-charge, both armies merge
- confusedly together in grim fight
- of man to man; then follow dying groans,
- armor blood-bathed and corpses, and strong steeds
- inextricably with their masters slain,
- so fierce the fray. Orsilochus—afraid
- to front the warrior's arms—launched forth a spear
- at Remulus' horse, and left the fatal steel
- clinging below its ear; the charger plunged
- madly, and tossed its trembling hoofs in air,
- sustaining not the wound; the rider fell,
- flung headlong to the ground. Catillus slew
- Iollas; and then struck Herminius down,
- great-bodied and great-hearted, who could wield
- a monster weapon, and whose yellow hair
- from naked head to naked shoulder flowed.
- By wounds unterrified he dared oppose
- his huge bulk to the foe: the quivering spear
- pierced to his broad back, and with throes of pain
- bowed the man double and clean clove him through.
- Wide o'er the field th' ensanguined horror flowed,
- where fatal swords were crossed and cut their way
- through many a wound to famous death and fair.
- Swift through the midmost slaughter proudly strides
- the quiver-girt Camilla, with one breast
- thrust naked to the fight, like Amazon.
- Oft from her hand her pliant shafts she rains,
- or whirls with indefatigable arm
- a doughty battle-axe; her shoulder bears
- Diana's sounding arms and golden bow.
- Sometimes retreating and to flight compelled,
- the maiden with a rearward-pointing bow
- shoots arrows as she flies. Around her move
- her chosen peers, Larina, virgin brave,
- Tarpeia, brandishing an axe of bronze,
- and Tulla, virgins out of Italy
- whom the divine Camilla chose to be
- her glory, each a faithful servitress
- in days of peace or war. The maids of Thrace
- ride thus along Thermodon's frozen flood,
- and fight with blazoned Amazonian arms
- around Hippolyta; or when returns
- Penthesilea in triumphal car
- 'mid acclamations shrill, and all her host
- of women clash in air the moon-shaped shield.
- What warrior first, whom last, did thy strong spear,
- fierce virgin, earthward fling? Or what thy tale
- of prostrate foes laid gasping on the ground?
- Eunaeus first, the child of Clytius' Ioins,
- whose bared breast, as he faced his foe, she pierced
- with fir-tree javelin; from his lips outpoured
- the blood-stream as he fell; and as he bit
- the gory dust, he clutched his mortal wound.
- Then Liris, and upon him Pagasus
- she slew: the one clung closer to the reins
- of his stabbed horse, and rolled off on the ground;
- the other, flying to his fallen friend,
- reached out a helpless hand; so both of these
- fell on swift death together. Next in line
- she smote Amastrus, son of Hippotas;
- then, swift-pursuing, pierced with far-flung spear
- Tereus, Harpalycus, Demophoon,
- and Chromis; every shaft the virgin threw
- laid low its Phrygian warrior. From afar
- rode Ornytus on his Apulian steed,
- bearing a hunter's uncouth arms; for cloak
- he wore upon his shoulders broad a hide
- from some wild bull stripped off; his helmet was
- a wolf's great, gaping mouth, with either jaw
- full of white teeth; the weapon in his hand,
- a farmer's pole. He strode into the throng,
- head taller than them all. But him she seized
- and clove him through (his panic-stricken troop
- gave her advantage), and with wrathful heart
- she taunted thus the fallen: “Didst thou deem
- this was a merry hunting in the wood
- in chase of game? Behold, thy fatal day
- befalls thee at a woman's hand, and thus
- thy boasting answers. No small glory thou
- unto the ghosts of thy dead sires wilt tell,
- that 't was Camilla's javelin struck thee down.”
- The turn of Butes and Orsilochus
- came next, who were the Trojans, hugest twain:
- yet Butes with her javelin-point she clove
- from rearward, 'twixt the hauberk and the helm,
- just where the horseman's neck showed white, and where
- from shoulder leftward slung the light-weight shield.
- From swift Orsilochus she feigned to fly,
- through a wide circle sweeping, craftily
- taking the inside track, pursuing so
- her own pursuer; then she raised herself
- to her full height, and through the warrior's helm
- drove to his very skull with doubling blows
- of her strong battle-axe,—while he implored
- her mercy with loud prayers: his cloven brain
- spilt o'er his face. Next in her pathway came—
- but shrank in startled fear—the warrior son
- of Aunus, haunter of the Apennine,
- not least of the Ligurians ere his doom
- cut short a life of lies. He, knowing well
- no flight could save him from the shock of arms
- nor turn the royal maid's attack, began
- with words of cunning and insidious guile:
- “What glory is it if a girl be bold,
- on sturdy steed depending? Fly me not!
- But, venturing with me on this equal ground,
- gird thee to fight on foot. Soon shalt thou see
- which one of us by windy boast achieves
- a false renown.” He spoke; but she, to pangs
- of keenest fury stung, gave o'er her steed
- in charge of a companion, and opposed
- her foe at equal vantage, falchion drawn,
- on foot, and, though her shield no blazon bore,
- of fear incapable. But the warrior fled,
- thinking his trick victorious, and rode off
- full speed, with reins reversed,—his iron heel
- goading his charger's flight. Camilla cried:
- “Ligurian cheat! In vain thy boastful heart
- puffs thee so large; in vain thou hast essayed
- thy father's slippery ways; nor shall thy trick
- bring thee to guileful Aunus safely home.”
- Herewith on winged feet that virgin bold
- flew past the war-horse, seized the streaming rein,
- and, fronting him, took vengeance on her foe
- in bloody strokes: with not less ease a hawk,
- dark bird of omen, from his mountain crag
- pursues on pinions strong a soaring dove
- to distant cloud, and, clutching with hooked claws,
- holds tight and rips,—while through celestial air
- the torn, ensanguined plumage floats along.
- But now not blindly from Olympian throne
- the Sire of gods and men observant saw
- how sped the day. Then to the conflict dire
- the god thrust Tarchon forth, the Tyrrhene King,
- goading the warrior's rage. So Tarchon rode
- through slaughter wide and legions in retreat,
- and roused the ranks with many a wrathful cry:
- he called each man by name, and toward the foe
- drove back the routed lines. “What terrors now,
- Tuscan cowards, dead to noble rage,
- have seized ye? or what laggard sloth and vile
- unmans your hearts, that now a woman's arm
- pursues ye and this scattered host confounds?
- Why dressed in steel, or to what purpose wear
- your futile swords? Not slackly do ye join
- the ranks of Venus in a midnight war;
- or when fantastic pipes of Bacchus call
- your dancing feet, right venturesome ye fly
- to banquets and the flowing wine—what zeal,
- what ardor then! Or if your flattering priest
- begins the revel, and to Iofty groves
- fat flesh of victims bids ye haste away!”
- So saying, his steed he spurred, and scorning death
- dashed into the mid-fray, where, frenzy-driven,
- he sought out Venulus, and, grappling him
- with one hand, from the saddle snatched his foe,
- and, clasping strongly to his giant breast,
- exultant bore away. The shouting rose
- to heaven, and all the Latins gazed his way,
- as o'er the plain the fiery Tarchon flew
- bearing the full-armed man; then, breaking off
- the point of his own spear, he pried a way
- through the seam'd armor for the mortal wound;
- the other, struggling, thrust back from his throat
- the griping hand, full force to force opposing.
- As when a golden eagle high in air
- knits to a victim—snake his clinging feet
- and deeply-thrusting claws; but, coiling back,
- the wounded serpent roughens his stiff scales
- and stretches high his hissing head; whereat
- the eagle with hooked beak the more doth rend
- her writhing foe, and with swift stroke of wing
- lashes the air: so Tarchon, from the ranks
- of Tibur's sons, triumphant snatched his prey.
- The Tuscans rallied now, well pleased to view
- their king's example and successful war.
- Then Arruns, marked for doom, made circling line
- around Camilla's path, his crafty spear
- seeking its lucky chance. Where'er the maid
- sped furious to the battle, Arruns there
- in silence dogged her footsteps and pursued;
- or where triumphant from her fallen foes
- she backward drew, the warrior stealthily
- turned his swift reins that way: from every side
- he circled her, and scanned his vantage here
- or vantage there, his skilful javelin
- stubbornly shaking. But it soon befell
- that Chloreus, once a priest of Cybele,
- shone forth in far-resplendent Phrygian arms,
- and urged a foaming steed, which wore a robe
- o'erwrought with feathery scales of bronze and gold;
- while he, in purples of fine foreign stain,
- bore light Gortynian shafts and Lycian bow;
- his bow was gold; a golden casque he wore
- upon his priestly brow; the saffron cloak,
- all folds of rustling cambric, was enclasped
- in glittering gold; his skirts and tunics gay
- were broidered, and the oriental garb
- swathed his whole leg. Him when the maiden spied,
- (Perchance she fain on temple walls would hang
- the Trojan prize, or in such captured gold
- her own fair shape array), she gave mad chase,
- and reckless through the ranks her prey pursued,
- desiring, woman-like, the splendid spoil.
- Then from his ambush Arruns seized at last
- the fatal moment and let speed his shaft,
- thus uttering his vow to heavenly powers:
- “Chief of the gods, Apollo, who dost guard
- Soracte's hallowed steep, whom we revere
- first of thy worshippers, for thee is fed
- the heap of burning pine; for thee we pass
- through the mid-blaze in sacred zeal secure,
- and deep in glowing embers plant our feet.
- O Sire Omnipotent, may this my spear
- our foul disgrace put by. I do not ask
- for plunder, spoils, or trophies in my name,
- when yonder virgin falls; let honor's crown
- be mine for other deeds. But if my stroke
- that curse and plague destroy, may I unpraised
- safe to the cities of my sires return.”
- Apollo heard and granted half the prayer,
- but half upon the passing breeze he threw:
- granting his votary he should confound
- Camilla by swift death; but 't was denied
- the mountain-fatherland once more to see,
- or safe return,—that prayer th' impetuous winds
- swept stormfully away. Soon as the spear
- whizzed from his hand, straight-speeding on the air,
- the Volscians all turned eager thought and eyes
- toward their Queen. She only did not heed
- that windy roar, nor weapon dropped from heaven,
- till in her bare, protruded breast the spear
- drank, deeply driven, of her virgin blood.
- Her terror-struck companians swiftly throng
- around her, and uplift their sinking Queen.
- But Arruns, panic-stricken more than all,
- makes off, half terror and half joy, nor dares
- hazard his lance again, nor dares oppose
- a virgin's arms. As creeps back to the hills
- in pathless covert ere his foes pursue,
- from shepherd slain or mighty bull laid low,
- some wolf, who, now of his bold trespass ware,
- curls close against his paunch a quivering tail
- and to the forest tries: so Arruns speeds
- from sight of men in terror, glad to fly,
- and hides him in the crowd. But his keen spear
- dying Camilla from her bosom drew,
- though the fixed barb of deeply-wounding steel
- clung to the rib. She sank to earth undone,
- her cold eyes closed in death, and from her cheeks
- the roses fled. With failing breath she called
- on Acca—who of all her maiden peers
- was chiefly dear and shared her heart's whole pain—
- and thus she spoke: “O Acca, sister mine,
- I have been strong till now. The cruel wound
- consumes me, and my world is growing dark.
- Haste thee to Turnus! Tell my dying words!
- 'T is he must bear the battle and hold back
- the Trojan from our city wall. Farewell!”
- So saying, her fingers from the bridle-rein
- unclasped, and helpless to the earth she fell;
- then, colder grown, she loosed her more and more
- out of the body's coil; she gave to death
- her neck, her drooping head, and ceased to heed
- her war-array. So fled her spirit forth
- with wrath and moaning to the world below.
- Then clamor infinite uprose and smote
- the golden stars, as round Camilla slain
- the battle newly raged. To swifter charge
- the gathered Trojans ran, with Tuscan lords
- and King Evander's troops of Arcady.
- Fair Opis, keeping guard for Trivia
- in patient sentry on a lofty hill, beheld
- unterrified the conflict's rage. Yet when,
- amid the frenzied shouts of soldiery,
- she saw from far Camilla pay the doom
- of piteous death, with deep-drawn voice of sight
- she thus complained: “O virgin, woe is me!
- Too much, too much, this agony of thine,
- to expiate that thou didst lift thy spear
- for wounding Troy. It was no shield in war,
- nor any vantage to have kept thy vow
- to chaste Diana in the thorny wild.
- Our maiden arrows at thy shoulder slung
- availed thee not! Yet will our Queen divine
- not leave unhonored this thy dying day,
- nor shall thy people let thy death remain
- a thing forgot, nor thy bright name appear
- a glory unavenged. Whoe'er he be
- that marred thy body with the mortal wound
- shall die as he deserves.” Beneath that hill
- an earth-built mound uprose, the tomb
- of King Dercennus, a Laurentine old,
- by sombre ilex shaded: thither hied
- the fair nymph at full speed, and from the mound
- looked round for Arruns. When his shape she saw
- in glittering armor vainly insolent,
- “Whither so fast?” she cried. “This way, thy path!
- This fatal way approach, and here receive
- thy reward for Camilla! Thou shalt fall,
- vile though thou art, by Dian's shaft divine.”
- She said; and one swift-coursing arrow took
- from golden quiver, like a maid of Thrace,
- and stretched it on her bow with hostile aim,
- withdrawing far, till both the tips of horn
- together bent, and, both hands poising well,
- the left outreached to touch the barb of steel,
- the right to her soft breast the bowstring drew:
- the hissing of the shaft, the sounding air,
- Arruns one moment heard, as to his flesh
- the iron point clung fast. But his last groan
- his comrades heeded not, and let him lie,
- scorned and forgotten, on the dusty field,
- while Opis soared to bright Olympian air.
- Camilla's light-armed troop, its virgin chief
- now fallen, were the first to fly; in flight
- the panic-stricken Rutule host is seen
- and Acer bold; his captains in dismay
- with shattered legions from the peril fly,
- and goad their horses to the city wall.
- Not one sustains the Trojan charge, or stands
- in arms against the swift approach of death.
- Their bows unstrung from drooping shoulder fall,
- and clatter of hoof-beats shakes the crumbling ground.
- On to the city in a blinding cloud
- the dust uprolls. From watch-towers Iooking forth,
- the women smite their breasts and raise to heaven
- shrill shouts of fear. Those fliers who first passed
- the open gates were followed by the foe,
- routed and overwhelmed. They could not fly
- a miserable death, but were struck down
- in their own ancient city, or expired
- before the peaceful shrines of hearth and home.
- Then some one barred the gates. They dared not now
- give their own people entrance, and were deaf
- to all entreaty. Woeful deaths ensued,
- both of the armed defenders of the gate,
- and of the foe in arms. The desperate band,
- barred from the city in the face and eyes
- of their own weeping parents, either dropped
- with headlong and inevitable plunge
- into the moat below; or, frantic, blind,
- battered with beams against the stubborn door
- and columns strong. Above in conflict wild
- even the women (who for faithful love
- of home and country schooled them to be brave
- Camilla's way) rained weapons from the walls,
- and used oak-staves and truncheons shaped in flame,
- as if, well-armed in steel, each bosom bold
- would fain in such defence be first to die.
- Meanwhile th' unpitying messenger had flown
- to Turnus in the wood; the warrior heard
- from Acca of the wide confusion spread,
- the Volscian troop destroyed, Camilla slain,
- the furious foe increasing, and, with Mars
- to help him, grasping all, till in that hour
- far as the city-gates the panic reigned.
- Then he in desperate rage (Jove's cruel power
- decreed it) from the ambushed hills withdrew
- and pathless wild. He scarce had passed beyond
- to the bare plain, when forth Aeneas marched
- along the wide ravine, climbed up the ridge,
- and from the dark, deceiving grove stood clear.
- Then swiftly each with following ranks of war
- moved to the city-wall, nor wide the space
- that measured 'twixt the twain. Aeneas saw
- the plain with dust o'erclouded, and the lines
- of the Laurentian host extending far;
- Turnus, as clearly, saw the war array
- of dread Aeneas, and his ear perceived
- loud tramp of mail-clad men and snorting steeds.
- Soon had they sped to dreadful shock of arms,
- hazard of war to try; but Phoebus now,
- glowing rose-red, had dipped his wearied wheel
- deep in Iberian seas, and brought back night
- above the fading day. So near the town
- both pitch their camps and make their ramparts strong.
- When Turnus marks how much the Latins quail
- in adverse war, how on himself they call
- to keep his pledge, and with indignant eyes
- gaze all his way, fierce rage implacable
- swells his high heart. As when on Libyan plain
- a lion, gashed along his tawny breast
- by the huntsman's grievous thrust, awakens him
- unto his last grim fight, and gloriously
- shaking the great thews of his maned neck,
- shrinks not, but crushes the despoiler's spear
- with blood-sprent, roaring mouth,—not less than so
- burns the wild soul of Turnus and his ire.
- Thus to the King he spoke with stormful brow:
- “The war lags not for Turnus' sake. No cause
- constrains the Teucrian cowards and their King
- to eat their words and what they pledged refuse.
- On his own terms I come. Bring forward, sire,
- the sacrifice, and seal the pact I swear:
- either to deepest hell this hand shall fling
- yon Trojan runaway—the Latins all
- may sit at ease and see!—and my sole sword
- efface the general shame; or let him claim
- the conquest, and Lavinia be his bride.”
- To him Latinus with unruffled mind
- thus made reply: “O youth surpassing brave!
- The more thy sanguinary valor burns
- beyond its wont, the more with toilsome care
- I ponder with just fear what chance may fall,
- weighing it well. Thy father Daunus' throne,
- and many a city by thy sword subdued,
- are still thy own. Latinus also boasts
- much golden treasure and a liberal hand.
- Other unwedded maids of noble stem
- in Latium and Laurentine land are found.
- Permit me, then, to tell thee without guile
- things hard to utter; let them deeply fill
- thy listening soul. My sacred duty 'twas
- to plight my daughter's hand to nonesoe'er
- of all her earlier wooers—so declared
- the gods and oracles; but overcome
- by love of thee, by thy dear, kindred blood,
- and by the sad eyes of my mournful Queen,
- I shattered every bond; I snatched away
- the plighted maiden from her destined lord,
- and took up impious arms. What evil case
- upon that deed ensued, what hapless wars,
- thou knowest, since thyself dost chiefly bear
- the cruel burden. In wide-ranging fight
- twice-conquered, our own city scarce upholds
- the hope of Italy. Yon Tiber's wave
- still runs warm with my people's blood; the plains
- far round us glisten with their bleaching bones.
- Why tell it o'er and o'er? What maddening dream
- perverts my mind? If after Turnus slain
- I must for friendship of the Trojan sue,
- were it not better to suspend the fray
- while Turnus lives? For what will be the word
- of thy Rutulian kindred—yea, of all
- Italia, if to death I give thee o'er—
- (Which Heaven avert!) because thou fain wouldst win
- my daughter and be sworn my friend and son?
- Bethink thee what a dubious work is war;
- have pity on thy father's reverend years,
- who even now thy absence daily mourns
- in Ardea, his native land and thine.”
- But to this pleading Turnus' frenzied soul
- yields not at all, but rather blazes forth
- more wildly, and his fever fiercer burns
- beneath the healer's hand. In answer he,
- soon as his passion gathered voice, began:
- “This keen solicitude for love of me,
- I pray, good sire, for love of me put by!
- And let me traffic in the just exchange
- of death for glory. This right hand, O King,
- can scatter shafts not few, nor do I wield
- untempered steel. Whene'er I make a wound
- blood follows. For my foeman when we meet
- will find no goddess-mother near, with hand
- to hide him in her woman's skirt of cloud,
- herself in dim, deluding shade concealed.”
- But now the Queen, whose whole heart shrank in fear
- from these new terms of duel, wept aloud,
- and like one dying clasped her fiery son:
- “O Turnus, by these tears-if in thy heart
- thou honorest Amata still—O thou
- who art of our distressful, dark old age
- the only hope and peace, the kingly name
- and glory of Latinus rests in thee;
- thou art the mighty prop whereon is stayed
- our falling house. One favor I implore:
- give o'er this fight with Trojans. In such strife
- thy destined doom is destined to be mine
- by the same fatal stroke. For in that hour
- this hated life shall cease, nor will I look
- with slave's eyes on Aeneas as my son.”
- Lavinia heard her mother's voice, and tears
- o'erflowed her scarlet cheek, where blushes spread
- like flame along her warm, young face and brow:
- as when the Indian ivory must wear
- ensanguined crimson stain, or lilies pale
- mingled with roses seem to blush, such hues
- her virgin features bore; and love's desire
- disturbed his breast, as, gazing on the maid,
- his martial passion fiercer flamed; whereon
- in brief speech he addressed the Queen: “No tears!
- No evil omen, mother, I implore!
- Make me no sad farewells, as I depart
- to the grim war-god's game! Can Turnus' hand
- delay death's necessary coming? Go,
- Idmon, my herald, to the Phrygian King,
- and tell him this—a word not framed to please:
- soon as Aurora from her crimson car
- flushes to-morrow's sky, let him no more
- against the Rutule lead the Teucrian line;
- let Teucrian swords and Rutule take repose,
- while with our own spilt blood we twain will make
- an end of war; on yonder mortal field
- let each man woo Lavinia for his bride.”
- So saying, he hied him to his lordly halls,
- summoned his steeds, and with pleased eye surveyed
- their action proud: them Orithyia, bride
- of Boreas, to Sire Pilumnus gave,
- which in their whiteness did surpass the snow
- in speed the wind. The nimble charioteers
- stood by and smote with hollowed hand and palm
- the sounding chests, or combed the necks and manes.
- But he upon his kingly shoulders clasped
- his corselet, thick o'erlaid with blazoned gold
- and silvery orichalch; he fitted him
- with falchion, shield, and helm of purple plume,
- that falchion which the Lord of Fire had made
- for Daunus, tempering in the Stygian wave
- when white it glowed; next grasped he the good spear
- which leaned its weight against a column tall
- in the mid-court, Auruncan Actor's spoil,
- and waved it wide in air with mighty cry:
- “O spear, that ne'er did fail me when I called,
- the hour is come! Once mighty Actor's hand,
- but now the hand of Turnus is thy lord.
- Grant me to strike that carcase to the ground,
- and with strong hand the corselet rip and rend
- from off that Phrygian eunuch: let the dust
- befoul those tresses, tricked to curl so fine
- with singeing steel and sleeked with odorous oil.”
- Such frenzy goads him: his impassioned brow
- is all on flame, the wild eyes flash with fire.
- Thus, bellowing loud before the fearful fray,
- some huge bull proves the fury of his horns,
- pushing against a tree-trunk; his swift thrusts
- would tear the winds in pieces; while his hoofs
- toss up the turf and sand, rehearsing war.
- That self-same day with aspect terrible
- Aeneas girt him in the wondrous arms
- his mother gave; made sharp his martial steel,
- and roused his heart to ire; though glad was he
- to seal such truce and end the general war.
- Then he spoke comfort to his friends; and soothed
- Iulus' fear, unfolding Heaven's intent;
- but on Latinus bade his heralds lay
- unyielding terms and laws of peace impose.
- Soon as the breaking dawn its glory threw
- along the hills, and from the sea's profound
- leaped forth the horses of the sun-god's car,
- from lifted nostrils breathing light and fire,
- then Teucrian and Rutulian measured out
- a place for duel, underneath the walls
- of the proud city. In the midst were set
- altars of turf and hearth-stones burning bright
- in honor of their common gods. Some brought
- pure waters and the hallowed flame, their thighs
- in priestly skirt arrayed, and reverend brows
- with vervain bound. Th' Ausonians, spear in hand,
- out from the city's crowded portals moved
- in ordered column: next the Trojans all,
- with Tuscan host in various martial guise,
- equipped with arms of steel, as if they heard
- stern summons to the fight. Their captains, too,
- emerging from the multitude, in pride
- of gold and purple, hurried to and fro:
- Mnestheus of royal stem, Asilas brave;
- and Neptune's offspring, tamer of the steed,
- Messapus. Either host, at signal given,
- to its own ground retiring, fixed in earth
- the long shafts of the spears and stacked the shields.
- Then eagerly to tower and rampart fly
- the women, the infirm old men, the throng
- of the unarmed, and sit them there at gaze,
- or on the columned gates expectant stand.
- But Juno, peering from that summit proud
- which is to-day the Alban (though that time
- nor name nor fame the hallowed mountain knew),
- surveyed the plain below and fair array
- of Trojan and Laurentine, by the walls
- of King Latinus. Whereupon straightway
- with Turnus' sister she began converse,
- goddess with goddess; for that nymph divine
- o'er Alba's calm lakes and loud rivers reigns;
- Jove, the high monarch of th' ethereal sky,
- gave her such glory when he stole away
- her virgin zone. “O nymph“, she said, “who art
- the pride of flowing streams, and much beloved
- of our own heart! thou knowest thou alone
- hast been my favorite of those Latin maids
- that to proud Jove's unthankful bed have climbed;
- and willingly I found thee place and share
- in our Olympian realm. So blame not me,
- but hear, Juturna, what sore grief is thine:
- while chance and destiny conceded aught
- of strength to Latium's cause, I shielded well
- both Turnus and thy city's wall; but now
- I see our youthful champion make his war
- with fates adverse. The Parcae's day of doom
- implacably impends. My eyes refuse
- to Iook upon such fight, such fatal league.
- If for thy brother's life thou couldst be bold
- to venture some swift blow, go, strike it now!
- 'T is fit and fair! Some issue fortunate
- may tread on sorrow's heel.” She scarce had said,
- when rained the quick tears from Juturna's eyes.
- Three times and yet again her desperate hand
- smote on her comely breast. But Juno cried,
- “No tears to-day! But haste thee, haste and find
- what way, if way there be, from clutch of death
- to tear thy brother free; arouse the war;
- their plighted peace destroy. I grant thee leave
- such boldness to essay.” With this command
- she left the nymph dismayed and grieving sore.
- Meanwhile the kings ride forth: Latinus first,
- looming tall-statured from his four-horse car;
- twelve rays of gold encircle his bright brow,
- sign of the sun-god, his progenitor;
- next Turnus, driving snow-white steeds, is seen,—
- two bread-tipped javelins in his hand he bears;
- Aeneas, of Rome's blood the source and sire,
- with star-bright shield and panoply divine,
- far-shining comes; Ascanius by his side—
- of Roman greatness the next hope is he.
- To camp they rode, where, garbed in blameless white,
- with youngling swine and two-year sheep unshorn,
- the priest before the flaming altars drove
- his flock and offering: to the rising sun
- all eyes are lifted, as with careful hand
- the salted meal is scattered, while with knives
- they mark each victim's brow, outpouring wine
- from shallow bowls, the sacrifice to bless.
- Then good Aeneas, his sword drawn, put forth
- this votive prayer: “O Sun in heaven; and thou,
- Italia, for whom such toils I bear,
- be witness of my orison. On thee,
- Father omnipotent, I call; on thee,
- his Queen Saturnia,—now may she be
- more gracious to my prayer! O glorious Mars,
- beneath whose godhead and paternity
- all wars begin and end, on thee I call;
- hail, all ye river-gods and haunted springs;
- hail, whatsoever gods have seat of awe
- in yonder distant sky, and ye whose power
- is in the keeping of the deep, blue sea:
- if victory to Ausonian Turnus fall,
- then let my vanquished people take its way
- unto Evander's city! From these plains
- Iulus shall retire—so stands the bond;
- nor shall the Trojans with rebellious sword
- bring after-trouble on this land and King.
- But if on arms of ours success shall shine,
- as I doubt not it shall (may gods on high
- their will confirm!), I purpose not to chain
- Italian captive unto Teucrian lord,
- nor seek I kingly power. Let equal laws
- unite in federation without end
- the two unconquered nations; both shall share
- my worshipped gods. Latinus, as my sire,
- shall keep his sword, and as my sire receive
- inviolable power. The Teucrians
- shall build my stronghold, but our citadel
- shall bear forevermore Lavinia's name.”
- Aeneas thus: then with uplifted eyes
- Latinus swore, his right hand raised to heaven:
- “I too, Aeneas, take the sacred vow.
- By earth and sea and stars in heaven I swear,
- by fair Latona's radiant children twain,
- and two-browed Janus; by the shadowy powers
- of Hades and th' inexorable shrines
- of the Infernal King; and may Jove hear,
- who by his lightnings hallows what is sworn!
- I touch these altars, and my lips invoke
- the sacred altar-fires that 'twixt us burn:
- we men of Italy will make this peace
- inviolate, and its bond forever keep,
- let come what will; there is no power can change
- my purpose, not if ocean's waves o'erwhelm
- the world in billowy deluge and obscure
- the bounds of heaven and hell. We shall remain
- immutable as my smooth sceptre is“
- (By chance a sceptre in his hand he bore),
- “which wears no more light leaf or branching shade;
- for long since in the grove 't was plucked away
- from parent stem, and yielded to sharp steel
- its leaves and limbs; erewhile 't was but a tree,
- till the wise craftsman with fair sheath of bronze
- encircled it and laid it in the hands
- of Latium's royal sires.” With words like these
- they swore the bond, in the beholding eyes
- of gathered princes. Then they slit the throats
- of hallowed victims o'er the altar's blaze,
- drew forth the quivering vitals, and with flesh
- on loaded chargers heaped the sacrifice.