Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- After these things Jove gave his kingly mind
- to further action, that he might forthwith
- cut off Juturna from her brother's cause.
- Two plagues there be, called Furies, which were spawned
- at one birth from the womb of wrathful Night
- with dread Megaera, phantom out of hell;
- and of their mother's gift, each Fury wears
- grim-coiling serpents and tempestuous wings.
- These at Jove's throne attend, and watch the doors
- of that stern King—to whet the edge of fear
- for wretched mortals, when the King of gods
- hurls pestilence and death, or terrifies
- offending nations with the scourge of war.
- 'T was one of these which Jove sent speeding down
- from his ethereal seat, and bade her cross
- the pathway of Juturna for a sign.
- Her wings she spread, and earthward seemed to ride
- upon a whirling storm. As when some shaft,
- with Parthian poison tipped or Cretan gall,
- a barb of death, shoots cloudward from the bow,
- and hissing through the dark hastes forth unseen:
- so earthward flew that daughter of the night.
- Soon as she spied the Teucrians in array
- and Turnus' lines, she shrivelled to the shape
- of that small bird which on lone tombs and towers
- sits perching through the midnight, and prolongs
- in shadow and deep gloom her troubling cry.
- In such disguise the Fury, screaming shrill,
- flitted in Turnus' face, and with her wings
- smote on his hollow shield. A strange affright
- palsied his every limb; each several hair
- lifted with horror, and his gasping voice
- died on his lips. But when Juturna knew
- from far the shrieking fiend's infernal wing,
- she loosed her tresses, and their beauty tore,
- to tell a sister's woe; with clenching hands
- she marred her cheeks and beat her naked breast.
- “What remedy or help, my Turnus, now
- is in a sister's power? What way remains
- for stubborn me? Or with what further guile
- thy life prolong? What can my strength oppose
- to this foul thing? I quit the strife at last.
- Withdraw thy terror from my fearful eyes,
- thou bird accurst! The tumult of thy wings
- I know full well, and thy death-boding call.
- The harsh decrees of that large-minded Jove
- I plainly see. Is this the price he pays
- for my lost maidenhood? Why flatter me
- with immortality, and snatch away
- my property of death? What boon it were
- to end this grief this hour, and hie away
- to be my brother's helpmeet in his grave!
- I, an immortal? O, what dear delight
- is mine, sweet brother, living without thee?
- O, where will earth yawn deep enough and wide
- to hide a goddess with the ghosts below?”
- She spoke; and veiled in glistening mantle gray
- her mournful brow; then in her stream divine
- the nymph sank sighing to its utmost cave.
- Aeneas now is near; and waving wide
- a spear like some tall tree, he called aloud
- with unrelenting heart: “What stays thee now?
- Or wherefore, Turnus, backward fly? Our work
- is not a foot-race, but the wrathful strife
- of man with man. Aye, hasten to put on
- tricks and disguises; gather all thou hast
- of skill or courage; wish thou wert a bird
- to fly to starry heaven, or hide thy head
- safe in the hollow ground!” The other then
- shook his head, saying: “It is not thy words,
- not thy hot words, affright me, savage man!
- Only the gods I fear, and hostile Jove.”
- Silent he stood, and glancing round him saw
- a huge rock Iying by, huge rock and old,
- a landmark justly sundering field from field,
- which scarce six strong men's shoulders might upraise,
- such men as mother-Earth brings forth to-day:
- this grasped he with impetuous hand and hurled,
- stretched at full height and roused to all his speed,
- against his foe. Yet scarcely could he feel
- it was himself that ran, himself that moved
- with lifted hand to fling the monster stone;
- for his knees trembled, and his languid blood
- ran shuddering cold; nor could the stone he threw,
- tumbling in empty air, attain its goal
- nor strike the destined blow. But as in dreams,
- when helpless slumber binds the darkened eyes,
- we seem with fond desire to tread in vain
- along a lengthening road, yet faint and fall
- when straining to the utmost, and the tongue
- is palsied, and the body's wonted power
- obeys not, and we have no speech or cry:
- so unto Turnus, whatsoever way
- his valiant spirit moved, the direful Fiend
- stopped in the act his will. Swift-changing thoughts
- rush o'er his soul; on the Rutulian host,
- then at the town he glares, shrinks back in fear,
- and trembles at th' impending lance; nor sees
- what path to fly, what way confront the foe:—
- no chariot now, nor sister-charioteer!
- Above his faltering terror gleams in air
- Aeneas' fatal spear; whose eye perceived
- the moment of success, and all whose strength
- struck forth: the vast and ponderous rock outflung
- from engines which make breach in sieged walls
- not louder roars nor breaks in thunder-sound
- more terrible; like some black whirlwind flew
- the death-delivering spear, and, rending wide
- the corselet's edges and the heavy rim
- of the last circles of the seven-fold shield,
- pierced, hissing, through the thigh. Huge Turnus sinks
- o'erwhelmed upon the ground with doubling knee.
- Up spring the Rutules, groaning; the whole hill
- roars answering round them, and from far and wide
- the lofty groves give back an echoing cry.
- Lowly, with suppliant eyes, and holding forth
- his hand in prayer: “I have my meed,” he cried,
- “Nor ask for mercy. Use what Fate has given!
- But if a father's grief upon thy heart
- have power at all,—for Sire Anchises once
- to thee was dear,—I pray thee to show grace
- to Daunus in his desolate old age;
- and me, or, if thou wilt, my lifeless clay,
- to him and his restore. For, lo, thou art
- my conqueror! Ausonia's eyes have seen
- me suppliant, me fallen. Thou hast made
- Lavinia thy bride. Why further urge
- our enmity?”With swift and dreadful arms
- Aeneas o'er him stood, with rolling eyes,
- but his bare sword restraining; for such words
- moved on him more and more: when suddenly,
- over the mighty shoulder slung, he saw
- that fatal baldric studded with bright gold
- which youthful Pallas wore, what time he fell
- vanquished by Turnus' stroke, whose shoulders now
- carried such trophy of a foeman slain.
- Aeneas' eyes took sure and slow survey
- of spoils that were the proof and memory
- of cruel sorrow; then with kindling rage
- and terrifying look, he cried, “Wouldst thou,
- clad in a prize stripped off my chosen friend,
- escape this hand? In this thy mortal wound
- 't is Pallas has a victim; Pallas takes
- the lawful forfeit of thy guilty blood!”
- He said, and buried deep his furious blade
- in the opposer's heart. The failing limbs
- sank cold and helpless; and the vital breath
- with moan of wrath to darkness fled away.