Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- 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.
- But to Rutulian eyes th' approaching joust
- seemed all ill-matched; and shifting hopes and fears
- disturbed their hearts the closer they surveyed
- th' unequal risks: still worse it was to see
- how Turnus, silent and with downcast eyes,
- dejectedly drew near the place of prayer,
- worn, pale, and wasted in his youthful bloom.
- The nymph Juturna, with a sister's fear,
- noted the growing murmur, and perceived
- how all the people's will did shift and change;
- she went from rank to rank, feigning the shape
- of Camers, scion of illustrious line,
- with heritage of valor, and himself
- dauntless in war; unceasingly she ran
- from rank to rank, spreading with skilful tongue
- opinions manifold, and thus she spoke:
- “Will ye not blush, Rutulians, so to stake
- one life for many heroes? Are we not
- their match in might and numbers? O, behold
- those Trojan sons of Heaven making league
- with exiled Arcady; see Tuscan hordes
- storming at Turnus. Yet we scarce could find
- one foe apiece, forsooth, if we should dare
- fight them with half our warriors. Of a truth
- your champion brave shall to those gods ascend
- before whose altars his great heart he vows;
- and lips of men while yet on earth he stays
- will spread his glory far. Ourselves, instead,
- must crouch to haughty masters, and resign
- this fatherland upon whose fruitful fields
- we dwell at ease.” So speaking, she inflamed
- the warriors' minds, and through the legions ran
- increasing whisper; the Laurentine host
- and even Latium wavered. Those who late
- prayed but for rest and safety, clamored loud
- for arms, desired annulment of the league,
- and pitied Turnus' miserable doom.
- Whereon Juturna tried a mightier stroke,
- a sign from heaven, which more than all beside
- confused the Latins and deceived their hearts
- with prodigy. For through the flaming skies
- Jove's golden eagle swooped, and scattered far
- a clamorous tribe of river-haunting birds;
- then, swiftly to the waters falling, seized
- one noble swan, which with keen, curving claws
- he ruthless bore away: th' Italians all
- watched eagerly, while the loud-screaming flock
- wheeled upward (wondrous sight!), with host of wings
- shadowed the sky, and in a legion-cloud
- chased through the air the foe; till, overborne
- by heavier odds, the eagle from his claws
- flung back his victim to the waves, and fled
- to the dim, distant heaven. The Rutules then
- hailed the good omen with consenting cry,
- and grasped the sword and shield. Tolumnius
- the augur spake first: “Lo, the sign I sought
- with many a prayer! I welcome and obey
- the powers divine. Take me for captain, me!
- And draw your swords, ye wretches, whom th' assault
- of yonder foreign scoundrel puts in fear
- like feeble birds, and with his violence
- lays waste your shore. He too shall fly away,
- spreading his ships' wings on the distant seas.
- Close up your ranks—one soul in all our breasts!
- Defend in open war your stolen King.”
- So saying, he hurled upon th' opposing foe
- his javelin, running forward. The strong shaft
- of corner whistled shrill, and clove the air
- unerring. Instantly vast clamor rose,
- and all th' onlookers at the spectacle
- leaped up amazed, and every heart beat high.
- The spear sped flying to the foeman's line,
- where stood nine goodly brethren, pledges all
- of one true Tuscan mother to her lord,
- Gylippus of Arcadia; it struck full
- on one of these at his gold-belted waist,
- and where the clasp clung, pierced the rib clean through.
- And stretched the fair youth in his glittering arms
- full length and lifeless on the yellow sand.
- His brothers then, bold band to wrath aroused
- by sorrow, seize the sword or snatch the spear
- and blindly charge. Opposing them, the host
- Laurentine makes advance, and close-arrayed
- the Trojans like a torrent pour, enforced
- by Tuscans and the gay-accoutred clans
- of Arcady. One passion moved in all
- to try the judgment of the sword. They tore
- the altars down: a very storm of spears
- rose angrily to heaven, in iron rain
- down-pouring: while the priests bore far away
- the sacrificial bowls and sacred fires.
- Even Latinus fled; his stricken gods
- far from his violated oath he bore.
- Some leaped to horse or chariot and rode
- with naked swords in air. Messapus, wild
- to break the truce, assailed the Tuscan King,
- Aulestes, dressed in kingly blazon fair,
- with fearful shock of steeds; the Tuscan dropped
- helplessly backward, striking as he fell
- his head and shoulders on the altar-stone
- that lay behind him. But Messapus flew,
- infuriate, a javelin in his hand,
- and, towering o'er the suppliant, smote him strong
- with the great beam-like spear, and loudly cried:
- “Down with him! Ah! no common victim he
- to give the mighty gods!” Italia's men
- despoiled the dead man ere his limbs were cold.
- Then Corynaeus snatched a burning brand
- out of the altar, and as Ebysus
- came toward him for to strike, he hurled the flame
- full in his face: the big beard quickly blazed
- with smell of singeing; while the warrior bold
- strode over him, and seized with firm left hand
- his quailing foe's Iong hair; then with one knee
- he pushed and strained, compelled him to the `ground—
- and struck straight at his heart with naked steel.
- The shepherd Alsus in the foremost line
- came leaping through the spears; when o'er him towered
- huge Podalirius with a flashing sword
- in close pursuit; the mighty battle-axe
- clove him with swinging stroke from brow to chin,
- and spilt along his mail the streaming gore:
- so stern repose and iron slumber fell
- upon that shepherd's eyes, and sealed their gaze
- in endless night. But good Aeneas now
- stretched forth his unarmed hand, and all unhelmed
- thus Ioudly to his people called: “What means
- this frantic stir, this quarrel rashly bold?
- Recall your martial rage! The pledge is given
- and all its terms agreed. 'T is only I
- do lawful battle here. So let me forth,
- and tremble not. My own hand shall confirm
- the solemn treaty. For these rites consign
- Turnus to none but me.” Yet while he spoke,
- behold, a winged arrow, hissing loud,
- the hero pierced; but what bold hand impelled
- its whirling speed, none knew; nor if it were
- chance or some power divine that brought this fame
- upon Rutulia; for the glorious deed
- was covered o'er with silence: none would boast
- an arrow guilty of Aeneas' wound.
- When Turnus saw Aeneas from the line
- retreating, and the captains in dismay,
- with sudden hope he burned: he called for steeds,
- for arms, and, leaping to his chariot,
- rode insolently forth, the reins in hand.
- Many strong heroes he dispatched to die,
- as on he flew, and many stretched half-dead,
- or from his chariot striking, or from far
- raining his javelins on the recreant foe.
- As Mars, forth-speeding by the wintry stream
- of Hebrus, smites his sanguinary shield
- and whips the swift steeds to the front of war,
- who, flying past the winds of eve and morn,
- scour the wide champaign; the bounds of Thrace
- beneath their hoof-beats thunder; the dark shapes
- of Terror, Wrath, and Treachery move on
- in escort of the god: in such grim guise
- bold Turnus lashed into the fiercest fray
- his streaming steeds, that pitiful to see
- trod down the slaughtered foe; each flying hoof
- scattered a bloody dew; their path was laid
- in mingled blood and sand. To death he flung
- Pholus and Sthenelus and Thamyris:
- two smitten in close fight and one from far:
- also from far he smote with fatal spear
- Glaucus and Lades, the Imbrasidae,
- whom Imbrasus himself in Lycia bred,
- and honored them with arms of equal skill
- when grappling with a foe, or o'er the field
- speeding a war-horse faster than the wind.
- Elsewhere Eumedes through a throng of foes
- to battle rode, the high-born Dolon's child,
- famous in war, who bore his grandsire's name,
- but seemed in might and courage like his sire:
- that prince, who reconnoitring crept so near
- the Argive camp, he dared to claim for spoil
- the chariot of Achilles; but that day
- great Diomed for such audacious deed
- paid wages otherwise,—and he no more
- dreamed to possess the steeds of Peleus' son.
- When Turnus recognized in open field
- this warrior, though far, he aimed and flung
- his javelin through the spacious air; then stayed
- his coursers twain, and, leaping from his car,
- found the wretch helpless fallen; so planted he
- his foot upon his neck, and from his hand
- wrested the sword and thrust it glittering
- deep in the throat, thus taunting as he slew:
- “There's land for thee, thou Trojan! Measure there
- th' Hesperian provinces thy sword would find.
- Such reward will I give to all who dare
- draw steel on me; such cities they shall build.”
- To bear him company his spear laid low
- Asbutes, Sybaris, Thersilochus,
- Chloreus and Dares, and Thymoetes thrown
- sheer off the shoulders of his balking steed.
- As when from Thrace the north wind thunders down
- the vast Aegean, flinging the swift flood
- against the shore, and where his blasts assail
- the cloudy cohorts vanish out of heaven:
- so before Turnus, where his path he clove,
- the lines fell back, the wheeling legions fled.
- The warrior's own wild impulse swept him on,
- and every wind that o'er his chariot blew
- shook out his plume in air. But such advance
- so bold, so furious, Phegeus could not brook,
- but, fronting the swift chariot's path, he seized
- the foam-flecked bridles of its coursers wild,
- while from the yoke his body trailed and swung;
- the broad lance found his naked side, and tore
- his double corselet, pricking lightly through
- the outer flesh; but he with lifted shield
- still fought his foe and thrust with falchion bare;
- but the fierce pace of whirling wheel and pole
- flung him down prone, and stretched him on the plain.
- Then Turnus, aiming with relentless sword
- between the corselet's edge and helmet's rim
- struck off his whole head, leaving on the sands
- the mutilated corpse. While thus afield
- victorious Turnus dealt out death and doom,
- Mnestheus, Achates true, and by their side
- Ascanius, have carried to the camp
- Aeneas, gashed and bleeding, whose long lance
- sustained his limping step. With fruitless rage
- he struggled with the spear-head's splintered barb,
- and bade them help him by the swiftest way
- to carve the wound out with a sword, to rip
- the clinging weapon forth, and send him back
- to meet the battle. Quickly to his side
- came Iapyx, dear favorite and friend
- of Phoebus, upon whom the god bestowed
- his own wise craft and power, Iove-impelled.
- The gifts of augury were given, and song,
- with arrows of swift wing: he when his sire
- was carried forth to die, deferred the doom
- for many a day, by herbs of virtue known
- to leechcraft; and without reward or praise
- his silent art he plied. Aeneas stood,
- bitterly grieving, propped upon his spear;
- a throng of warriors were near him, and
- Iulus, sorrowing. The aged man
- gathered his garments up as leeches do,
- and with skilled hand and Phoebus' herbs of power
- bustled in vain; in vain his surgery
- pried at the shaft, and with a forceps strong
- seized on the buried barb. But Fortune gave
- no remedy, nor did Apollo aid
- his votary. So more and more grim fear
- stalks o'er the field of war, and nearer hies
- the fatal hour; the very heavens are dust;
- the horsemen charge, and in the midmost camp
- a rain of javelins pours. The dismal cry
- of men in fierce fight, and of men who fall
- beneath relentless Mars, rends all the air.
- Then Venus, by her offspring's guiltless woe
- sore moved, did cull from Cretan Ida's crest
- some dittany, with downy leaf and stem
- and flowers of purple bloom—a simple known
- to mountain goats, when to their haunches clings
- an arrow gone astray. This Venus brought,
- mantling her shape in cloud; and this she steeped
- in bowls of glass, infusing secretly
- ambrosia's healing essence and sweet drops
- of fragrant panacea. Such a balm
- aged Iapyx poured upon the wound,
- though unaware; and sudden from the flesh
- all pain departed and the blood was staunched,
- while from the gash the arrow uncompelled
- followed the hand and dropped: his wonted strength
- flowed freshly through the hero's frame. “Make haste!
- Bring forth his arms! Why tarry any more?”
- Iapyx shouted, being first to fire
- their courage 'gainst the foe. “This thing is done
- not of man's knowledge, nor by sovereign skill;
- nor has my hand, Aeneas, set thee free.
- Some mighty god thy vigor gives again
- for mighty deeds.” Aeneas now put on,
- all fever for the fight, his golden greaves,
- and, brooking not delay, waved wide his spear.
- Soon as the corselet and the shield were bound
- on back and side, he clasped Ascanius
- to his mailed breast, and through his helmet grim
- tenderly kissed his son. “My boy", he cried,
- “What valor is and patient, genuine toil
- learn thou of me; let others guide thy feet
- to prosperous fortune. Let this hand and sword
- defend thee through the war and lead thee on
- to high rewards. Thou also play the man!
- And when thy riper vigor soon shall bloom,
- forget not in thy heart to ponder well
- the story of our line. Heed honor's call,
- like Sire Aeneas and Hector thy close kin.”
- After such farewell word, he from the gates
- in mighty stature strode, and swung on high
- his giant spear. With him in serried line
- Antheus and Mnestheus moved, and all the host
- from the forsaken fortress poured. The plain
- was darkened with their dust; the startled earth
- shook where their footing fell. From distant hill
- Turnus beheld them coming, and the eyes
- of all Ausonia saw: a chill of fear
- shot through each soldier's marrow; in their van
- Juturna knew full well the dreadful sound,
- and fled before it, shuddering. But he
- hurried his murky cohorts o'er the plain.
- As when a tempest from the riven sky
- drives landward o'er mid-ocean, and from far
- the hearts of husbandmen, foreboding woe,
- quake ruefully,—for this will come and rend
- their trees asunder, kill the harvests all,
- and sow destruction broadcast; in its path
- fly roaring winds, swift heralds of the storm:
- such dire approach the Trojan chieftain showed
- before his gathered foes. In close array
- they wedge their ranks about him. With a sword
- Thymbraeus cuts huge-limbed Osiris down;
- Mnestheus, Arcetius; from Epulo
- Achates shears the head; from Ufens, Gyas;
- Tolumnius the augur falls, the same
- who flung the first spear to the foeman's line.
- Uprose to heaven the cries. In panic now
- the Rutules in retreating clouds of dust
- scattered across the plain. Aeneas scorned
- either the recreant or resisting foe
- to slaughter, or the men who shoot from far:
- for through the war-cloud he but seeks the arms
- of Turnus, and to single combat calls.