Aeneid

Virgil

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

Such was the blazoned shield his mother gave
from Vulcan's forge; which with astonished eyes
Aeneas viewed, and scanned with joyful mind
such shadows of an unknown age to be;
then on his shoulder for a burden bore
the destined mighty deeds of all his sons.

While thus in distant region moves the war,
down to bold Turnus Saturn's daughter sends
celestial Iris. In a sacred vale,
the seat of worship at his grandsire's tomb,
Pilumnus, Faunus' son, the hero mused.
And thus the wonder-child of Thaumas called
with lips of rose: “O Turnus, what no god
dared give for reward of thy fondest vow,
has come unbidden on its destined day.
Behold, Aeneas, who has left behind
the city with his fleet and followers,
is gone to kingly Palatine, the home
of good Evander. Yea, his march invades
the far Etrurian towns, where now he arms
the Lydian rustics. Wilt thou longer muse?
Call for thy chariot and steeds! Away!
Take yonder tents by terror and surprise!”
She spoke; and heavenward on poising wings
soared, cleaving as she fled from cloud to cloud
a vast, resplendent bow. The warrior saw,
and, lifting both his hands, pursued with prayer
the fading glory: “Beauteous Iris, hail!
Proud ornament of heaven! who sent thee here
across yon cloud to earth, and unto me?
Whence may this sudden brightness fall? I see
the middle welkin lift, and many a star,
far-wandering in the sky. Such solemn sign
I shall obey, and thee, O god unknown!”
So saying, he turned him to a sacred stream,
took water from its brim, and offered Heaven
much prayer, with many an importuning vow.

Soon o'er the spreading fields in proud array
the gathered legions poured; no lack was there
of steeds all fire, and broidered pomp and gold.
Messapus led the van; in rearguard rode
the sons of Tyrrheus; kingly Turnus towered
from the mid-column eminent: the host
moved as great Ganges lifting silently
his seven peaceful streams, or when the flood
of fructifying Nile from many a field
back to his channel flows. A swift-blown cloud
of black, uprolling dust the Teucrians see
o'ershadowing the plain; Calcus calls
from lofty outpost: “O my countrymen,
I see a huge, black ball of rolling smoke.
Your swords and lances! Man the walls! To arms!
The foe is here! What ho!” With clamors loud
the Teucrians through the city-gates retire,
and muster on the walls. For, wise in war,
Aeneas, ere he went, had left command
they should not range in battle-line, nor dare,
whate'er might hap, to risk in open plain
the bold sortie, but keep them safe entrenched
in mounded walls. So now, though rage and shame
prick to a close fight, they defensive bar
each portal strong, and, patient of control,
from hollow towers expect th' encircling foe.

Turnus, at full speed, had outridden far
his laggard host, and, leading in his train
a score of chosen knights, dashed into view
hard by the walls. A barb of Thracian breed
dappled with white he rode; a crimson plume
flamed over his golden helmet. “Who,” he cries,
“Is foremost at the foe? Who follows me?
Behold!” And, with the word, he hurled in air
a javelin, provoking instant war:
and, towering from his horse, charged o'er the field.
With answering shout his men-at-arms pursue,
and war-cries terrible. They laugh to scorn
“the craven hearts of Troy, that cannot give
fair, equal vantage, matching man to man,
but cuddle into camp.” This way and that
Turnus careers, and stormily surveys
the frowning rampart, and where way is none
some entering breach would find: so prowls a wolf
nigh the full sheepfold, and through wind and rain
stands howling at the postern all night long;
beneath the ewes their bleating lambs lie safe;
but he, with undesisting fury, more
rages from far, made frantic for his prey
by hunger of long hours, his foaming jaws
athirst for blood: not less the envy burned
of the Rutulian, as he scanned in vain
the stronghold of his foe. Indignant scorn
thrilled all his iron frame. But how contrive
to storm the fortress or by force expel
the Trojans from the rampart, and disperse
along the plain? Straightway he spied the ships,
in hiding near the camp, defended well
by mounded river-bank and fleeting wave.
On these he fell; while his exultant crew
brought firebrands, and he with heart aflame
grasped with a vengeful hand the blazing pine.
To the wild work his followers sped; for who
could prove him craven under Turnus' eye?
The whole troop for the weapon of their rage
seized smoking coals, of many a hearth the spoil;
red glare of fuming torches burned abroad,
and Vulcan starward flung a sparkling cloud.

What god, O Muses, saved the Trojans then
from wrathful flame? Who shielded then the fleet,
I pray you tell, from bursting storm of fire?
From hoary eld the tale, but its renown
sings on forever. When Aeneas first
on Phrygian Ida hewed the sacred wood
for rib and spar, and soon would put to sea,
that mighty mother of the gods, they say,
the Berecynthian goddess, thus to Jove
addressed her plea: “Grant, O my son, a boon,
which thy dear mother asks, who aided thee
to quell Olympian war. A grove I have
of sacred pine, long-loved from year to year.
On lofty hill it grew, and thither came
my worshippers with gifts, in secret gloom
of pine-trees dark and shadowing maple-boughs.;
these on the Dardan warrior at his need
I, not unwilling, for his fleet bestowed.
But I have fears. O, Iet a parent's prayer
in this prevail, and bid my care begone!
Let not rude voyages nor the shock of storm
my ships subdue, but let their sacred birth
on my charmed hills their strength and safety be!”
Then spake her son, who guides the wheeling spheres:
“Wouldst thou, my mother, strive to oversway
the course of Fate? What means this prayer of thine?
Can it be granted ships of mortal mould
to wear immortal being? Wouldst thou see
Aeneas pass undoubting and secure
through doubtful strait and peril? On what god
was e'er such power bestowed? Yet will I grant
a different boon. Whatever ships shall find
a safe Ausonian haven, and convey
safe through the seas to yon Laurentian plain
the Dardan King, from such I will remove
their perishable shapes, and bid them be
sea-nymphs divine, like Nereus' daughters fair,
Doto and Galatea, whose white breasts
divide the foaming wave.” He said, and swore
by his Tartarean brother's mournful stream,
the pitch-black floods and dark engulfing shore
of Styx; then great Jove bowed his head, and all
Olympus quaked at his consenting brow.

Now was the promised day at hand (for Fate
had woven the web so far) when Turnus' rage
stirred the divine progenitress to save
her sacred ships from fire. Then sudden shone
a strange effulgence in the eastern air;
and in a storm-cloud wafted o'er the sky
were Corybantic choirs, whose dreadful song
smote both on Teucrian and Rutulian ear:
“O Teucrians, fear not for the sure defence
of all the ships, nor arm your mortal hands.
Yon impious Turnus shall burn up the seas
before my pine-trees blest. Arise! Be free,
ye goddesses of ocean, and obey
your mother's mighty word.” Then instant broke
the hawsers of the sterns; the beaked prows
went plunging like great dolphins from the shore
down to the deeps, and, wonderful to tell,
the forms of virgin goddesses uprose,
one for each ship, and seaward sped away.

The hearts of the Rutulian host stood still
in panic, and Messapus terrified
his trembling horses reined; the sacred stream
of Father Tiber, harshly murmuring,
held back his flood and checked his seaward way.
But Turnus' courage failed not; he alone
his followers roused, and with reproachful words
alone spoke forth: “These signs and prodigies
threaten the Trojan only. Jove himself
has stripped them of their wonted strength: no more
can they abide our deadly sword and fire.
The Trojan path to sea is shut. What hope
of flight is left them now? The half their cause
is fallen. The possession of this land
is ours already; thousands of sharp swords
Italia's nations bring. Small fear have I
of Phrygia's boasted omens. What to me
their oracles from heaven? The will of Fate
and Venus have achieved their uttermost
in casting on Ausonia's fruitful shore
yon sons of Troy. I too have destinies:
and mine, good match for theirs, with this true blade
will spill the blood of all the baneful brood,
in vengeance for my stolen wife. Such wrongs
move not on Atreus' sons alone, nor rouse
only Mycenae to a righteous war.
Say you, ‘Troy falls but once?’ One crime, say I,
should have contented them; and now their souls
should little less than loathe all womankind.
These are the sort of soldiers that be brave
behind entrenchment, where the moated walls
may stem the foe and make a little room
betwixt themselves and death. Did they not see
how Troy's vast bulwark built by Neptune's hand
crumbled in flame? Forward, my chosen brave!
Who follows me to cleave his deadly way
through yonder battlement, and leap like storm
upon its craven guard? I have no need
of arms from Vulcan's smithy; nor of ships
a thousand strong against our Teucrian foes,
though all Etruria's league enlarge their power.
Let them not fear dark nights, nor coward theft
of Pallas' shrine, nor murdered sentinels
on their acropolis. We shall not hide
in blinding belly of a horse. But I
in public eye and open day intend
to compass their weak wall with siege and fire.
I'll prove them we be no Pelasgic band,
no Danaan warriors, such as Hector's arm
ten years withstood. But look! this day hath spent
its better part. In what remains, rejoice
in noble deeds well done; let weary flesh
have rest and food. My warriors, husband well
your strength against to-morrow's hopeful war.”
Meanwhile to block their gates with wakeful guard
is made Messapus' work, and to gird round
their camp with watchfires. Then a chosen band,
twice seven Rutulian chieftains, man the walls
with soldiery; each leads a hundred men
crested with crimson, armed with glittering gold.
Some post to separate sentries, and prepare
alternate vigil; others, couched on grass,
laugh round the wine and lift the brazen bowls.
The camp-fires cheerly burn; the jovial guard
spend the long, sleepless night in sport and game.

The Trojans peering from the lofty walls
survey the foe, and arm for sure defence
of every point exposed. They prove the gates
with fearful care, bind bridge with tower, and bring
good store of javelins. Serestus bold
and Mnestheus to their labors promptly fly,
whom Sire Aeneas bade in time of stress
to have authority and free command
over his warriars. Along the walls
the legions, by the cast of lots, divide
the pain and peril, giving each his due
of alternating vigil and repose.

Nisus kept sentry at the gate: a youth
of eager heart for noble deeds, the son
of Hyrtacus, whom in Aeneas' train
Ida the huntress sent; swift could he speed
the spear or light-winged arrow to its aim.
Beside him was Euryalus, his friend:
of all th' Aeneadae no youth more fair
wore Trojan arms; upon his cheek unshorn
the tender bloom of boyhood lingered still.
Their loving hearts were one, and oft in war
they battled side by side, as in that hour
a common sentry at the gate they shared.
Said Nisus: “Is it gods above that breathe
this fever in my soul, Euryalus?
or is the tyrant passion of each breast
the god it serves? Me now my urgent mind
to battles or some mighty deed impels,
and will not give me rest. Look yonder, where
the Rutuli in dull security
the siege maintain. Yet are their lights but few.
They are asleep or drunk, and in their line
is many a silent space. O, hear my thought,
and what my heart is pondering. To recall
Aeneas is the dearest wish to-night
of all, both high and low. They need true men
to find him and bring tidings. If our chiefs
but grant me leave to do the thing I ask
(Claiming no reward save what honor gives),
methinks I could search out by yonder hill
a path to Pallanteum.” The amazed
Euryalus, flushed warm with eager love
for deeds of glory, instantly replied
to his high-hearted friend: “Dost thou refuse,
my Nisus, to go with me hand in hand
when mighty deeds are done? Could I behold
thee venturing alone on danger? Nay!
Not thus my sire Opheltes, schooled in war,
taught me his true child, 'mid the woes of Troy
and Argive terrors reared; not thus with thee
have I proved craven, since we twain were leal
to great Aeneas, sharing all his doom.
In this breast also is a heart which knows
contempt of life, and deems such deeds, such praise,
well worth a glorious death.” Nisus to him:
“I have not doubted thee, nor e'er could have
one thought disloyal. May almighty Jove,
or whatsoe'er good power my purpose sees,
bring me triumphant to thy arms once more!
But if, as oft in doubtful deeds befalls,
some stroke of chance, or will divine, should turn
to adverse, 't is my fondest prayer that thou
shouldst live the longer of us twain. Thy years
suit better with more life. Oh! let there be
one mourner true to carry to its grave
my corpse, recaptured in the desperate fray,
or ransomed for a price. Or if this boon
should be—'t is Fortune's common way—refused,
then pay the debt of grief and loyal woe
unto my far-off dust, and garlands leave
upon an empty tomb. No grief I give
to any sorrowing mother; one alone,
of many Trojan mothers, had the heart
to follow thee, her child, and would not stay
in great Acestes' land.” His friend replied:
“Thou weavest but a web of empty words
and reasons vain, nor dost thou shake at all
my heart's resolve. Come, let us haste away!”
He answered so, and summoned to the gate
a neighboring watch, who, bringing prompt relief,
the sentry-station took; then quitted he
his post assigned; at Nisus' side he strode,
and both impatient sped them to the King.

Now in all lands all creatures that have breath
lulled care in slumber, and each heart forgot
its load of toil and pain. But they who led
the Teucrian cause, with all their chosen brave,
took counsel in the kingdom's hour of need
what action to command or whom dispatch
with tidings to Aeneas. In mid-camp
on long spears leaning and with ready shield
to leftward slung, th' assembled warriors stood.
Thither in haste arrived the noble pair,
brave Nisus with Euryalus his friend,
and craved a hearing, for their suit, they said,
was urgent and well-worth a patient ear.
Iulus to the anxious striplings gave
a friendly welcome, bidding Nisus speak.
The son of Hyrtacus obeyed: “O, hear,
Princes of Teucria, with impartial mind,
nor judge by our unseasoned youth the worth
of what we bring. Yon Rutule watch is now
in drunken sleep, and all is silent there.
With our own eyes we picked out a good place
to steal a march, that cross-road by the gate
close-fronting on the bridge. Their lines of fire
are broken, and a murky, rolling smoke
fills all the region. If ye grant us leave
by this good luck to profit, we will find
Aeneas and the walls of Palatine,
and after mighty slaughter and huge spoil
ye soon shall see us back. Nor need ye fear
we wander from the way. Oft have we seen
that city's crest loom o'er the shadowy vales,
where we have hunted all day long and know
each winding of yon river.” Then uprose
aged Aletes, crowned with wisdom's years:
“Gods of our fathers, who forevermore
watch over Troy, ye surely had no mind
to blot out Teucria's name, when ye bestowed
such courage on young hearts, and bade them be
so steadfast and so leal.” Joyful he clasped
their hands in his, and on their shoulders leaned,
his aged cheek and visage wet with tears.
“What reward worthy of such actions fair,
dear heroes, could be given? Your brightest prize
will come from Heaven and your own hearts. The rest
Aeneas will right soon bestow; nor will
Ascanius, now in youth's unblemished prime,
ever forget your praise.” Forthwith replied
Aeneas' son, “By all our household gods,
by great Assaracus, and every shrine
of venerable Vesta, I confide
my hopes, my fortunes, and all future weal
to your heroic hearts. O, bring me back
my father! Set him in these eyes once more!
That day will tears be dry; and I will give
two silver wine-cups graven and o'erlaid
with clear-cut figures, which my father chose
out of despoiled Arisbe; also two
full talents of pure gold, and tripods twain,
and ancient wine-bowl, Tyrian Dido's token.
But if indeed our destiny shall be
to vanquish Italy in prosperous war,
to seize the sceptre and divide the spoil, —
saw you that steed of Turnus and the arms
in which he rode, all golden? That same steed,
that glittering shield and haughty crimson crest
I will reserve thee, e'er the lots are cast,
and, Nisus, they are thine. Hereto my sire
will add twelve captive maids of beauty rare,
and slaves in armor; last, thou hast the fields
which now Latinus holds. But as for thee,
to whom my youth but binds me closer still,
thee, kingly boy, my whole heart makes my own,
and through all changeful fortune we shall be
inseparable peers: nor will I seek
renown and glory, or in peace or war,
forgetting thee: but trust thee from this day
in deed and word.” To him in answer spoke
euryalus, “O, may no future show
this heart unworthy thy heroic call!
And may our fortune ever prosperous prove,
not adverse. But I now implore of thee
a single boon worth all beside. I have
a mother, from the venerated line
of Priam sprung, whom not the Trojan shore
nor King Acestes' city could detain,
alas! from following me. I leave her now
without farewell; nor is her love aware
of my supposed peril. For I swear
by darkness of this night and thy right hand,
that all my courage fails me if I see
a mother's tears. O, therefore, I implore,
be thou her sorrow's comfort and sustain
her solitary day. Such grace from thee
equip me for my war, and I shall face
with braver heart whatever fortune brings.”
With sudden sorrow thrilled, the veteran lords
of Teucria showed their tears. But most of all
such likeness of his own heart's filial love
on fair Iulus moved, and thus he spoke:
“Promise thyself what fits thy generous deeds.
Thy mother shall be mine, Creusa's name
alone not hers; nor is the womb unblest
that bore a child like thee. Whate'er success
may follow, I make oath immutable
by my own head, on which my father swore,
that all I promise thee of gift or praise
if home thou comest triumphing, shall be
the glory of thy mother and thy kin.”
Weeping he spoke, and from his shoulder drew
the golden sword, well-wrought and wonderful,
which once in Crete Lycaon's cunning made
and sheathed in ivory. On Nisus then
Mnestheus bestowed a shaggy mantle torn
from a slain lion; good Aletes gave
exchange of crested helms. In such array
they hastened forth; and all the princely throng,
young men and old, ran with them to the gates,
praying all gods to bless. Iulus then,
a fair youth, but of grave, heroic soul
beyond his years, gave them in solemn charge
full many a message for his sire, but these
the hazard of wild winds soon scattered far,
and flung them fruitless on the darkening storm.

Forth through the moat they climb, and steal away
through midnight shades, to where their foemen lie
encamped in arms; of whom, before these fall,
a host shall die. Along the turf were seen,
laid low in heavy slumber and much wine,
a prostrate troop; the horseless chariots
stood tilted on the shore, 'twixt rein and wheel
the drivers dozed, wine-cups and idle swords
strewn round them without heed. The first to speak
was Nisus. “Look, Euryalus,” he cried,
“Now boldly strike. The hour to do the deed
is here, the path this way. Keep wide-eyed watch
that no man smite behind us. I myself
will mow the mighty fieid, and lead thee on
in a wide swath of slaughter.” With this word
he shut his lips; and hurled him with his sword
on haughty Rhamnes, who lay propped at ease
on pillows huge, and from his heaving breast
poured slumber loud: of royal stem was he
and honored of King Turnus for his skill
in augury; yet could no augur's charm
that bloody stroke forefend. And Nisus slew
three slaves near by, that lay in reckless sleep
upon their spears; then him that bore the shield
of Remus, then the driver of his car
close to the horses caught; his sword cut through
their prostrate necks; then their great master's head
he lifted high, and left decapitate
the huge corpse spilling forth its crimson gore
o'er couch and ground. Like stroke on Lamus fell
and Lamyrus, with young Serranus, who
had gamed the midnight through and sleeping lay,
his fair young body to the wine-god given;
but happier now had that long-revelling night
been merry till the dawn! Thus round full folds
of sheep a famished lion fiercely prowls;
mad hunger moves him; he devours and rends
with bloody, roaring mouth, the feeble flock
that trembles and is dumb. Nor was the sword
of fair Euryalus less fatal found;
but fiercely raging on his path of death,
he pressed on through a base and nameless throng,
Rhoetus, Herbesus, Fadus, Abaris;
surprising all save Rhoetus, who awake
saw every stroke, and crouched in craven fear
behind a mighty wine-bowl; but not less
clean through his bare breast as he started forth
the youth thrust home his sword, then drew it back
death-dripping, while the bursting purple stream
of life outflowed, with mingling blood and wine.
Then, flushed with stealthy slaughter, he crept near
the followers of Messapus, where he saw
their camp-fire dying down, and tethered steeds
upon the meadow feeding. Nisus then
knew the hot lust of slaughter had swept on
too far, and cried, “Hold off! For, lo,
the monitory dawn is nigh. Revenge
has fed us to the full. We have achieved
clean passage through the foe.” Full many a prize
was left untaken: princely suits of mail
enwrought with silver pure, huge drinking-bowls,
and broideries fair. Yet grasped Euryalus
the blazonry at Rhamnes' corselet hung,
and belt adorned with gold: which were a gift
to Remulus of Tibur from the store
of opulent Caedicus, who sued from far
to be a friend; and these in death he gave
to his son's son, who slain in battle fell,
and proud Rutulians seized them with the spoil.
Euryalus about his shoulder strong
this booty slung—unprofitable gain! —
and fitted on a gorgeous, crested helm
which once Messapus wore. So from the camp,
escaping danger, the two champions ran.

But horsemen from the Latin city sent
to join the serried legions of the plain
had come at Turnus' call, three hundred strong
all bearing shields, and under the command
of Volscens. Nigh the camp and walls they drew;
and soon they spied upon the leftward path
th' heroic pair, where in dim shades of night
the helmet of Euryalus betrayed
the heedless boy, and with a glancing beam
flashed on the foe. Nor was it seen in vain.
Loud from the line the voice of Volscens called:
“Stand, gentlemen! What business brings you here?
Whose your allegiance? Whither speed so fast?”
No answer gave they save to fly in haste
to cover of the forest and deep gloom
of the defensive night. The horsemen then
blocked every crossway known, and, scattering wide,
kept sentry at the entrance. The great wood
was all of tangled brush and blinding shade
of flex-boughs. Impenetrable thorns
had thickly overgrown, and seldom showed
a pathway through the maze. Euryalus,
by the black branches and his ponderous spoil
impeded, groped along in fearful doubt,
deceived and quite astray. Nisus his friend
had quit him, and incautiously had forced
a sally through the close-encircling foe,
into that region which should after bear
the name of Alba—a rude shelter then
for King Latinus' herds. He stayed him there
and looked, but vainly, for the comrade gone.
“Euryalus, ill-fated boy!” he cried,
“Where have I lost thee in the pathless wild?
How find thee? How retrace the blinding maze
of yonder treacherous wood?” Yet ere he said,
on his own path he turns him back, and scans
his own light footprints through the tangled thorn,
so dark and still. But suddenly he hears
the tread of horses, with confusing din
and tumult of pursuit. Nor was it long
he tarried ere upon his anguished ear
smote a great cry: and, lo! Euryalus,
trapped by the dark night, the deceptive ground,
faced the whole onset, and fell back o'erwhelmed
by a loud mob of foes, while his sole sword
tried many a thrust in vain. O, what defence
may Nisus bring? With what audacious arms
his chosen comrade save? Shall he make bare
his dying breast to all their swords, and run
to honorable death that bloody way?
he swung his spear with lifted arm, then looked
to the still moon, in heaven, and thus implored:
“O goddess, aid me in my evil case.
O glory of the stars, Latona's child!
O guardian of groves, if in my name
my father Hyrtacus made offerings
on burning altars, if my own right hand,
successful in the chase, ere hung its gift
beneath thy dome or on thy sacred wall,
grant me yon troop to scatter. Guide my spear
along its path in air.” He spoke, and hurled
with all his gathered strength the shaft of steel.
the swift spear clove the shades of night, and struck
full in the back of Sulmo, where it split,
but tore through to his very heart. The breast
poured forth life's glowing stream, and he, o'erthrown
lay cold in death, while his huge, heaving sides
gave lingering throes. The men about him stared
this way and that. But Nisus, fiercer still,
poised level with his ear a second shaft,
and, while the foeman paused, the whizzing spear
straight through the brows of Tagus drove, and clung
deep in the cloven brain. In frenzy rose
Volscens, but nowhere could espy what hand
the shaft had hurled, nor whither his wild rage
could make reply. “But thou,” he cried, “shalt feed
with thy hot blood my honor and revenge
for both the slain.” Then with a sword unsheathed
upon Euryalus he fell. Loud shrieked
Nisus, of reason reft, who could not bear
such horror, nor in sheltering gloom of night
longer abide: “'T is I, 't is I!” he said.
look on the man who slew them! Draw on me
your swords, Rutulians! The whole stratagem
was mine, mine only, and the lad ye slay
dared not, and could not. O, by Heaven above
and by the all-beholding stars I swear,
he did but love his hapless friend too well.”
But while he spoke, the furious-thrusting sword
had pierced the tender body, and run through
the bosom white as snow. Euryalus
sank prone in death; upon his goodly limbs
the life-blood ran unstopped, and low inclined
the drooping head; as when some purpled flower,
cut by the ploughshare, dies, or poppies proud
with stem forlorn their ruined beauty bow
before the pelting storm. Then Nisus flew
straight at his foes; but in their throng would find
Volscens alone, for none but Volscens stayed:
they gathered thickly round and grappled him
in shock of steel with steel. But on he plunged,
swinging in ceaseless circles round his head
his lightning-sword, and thrust it through the face
of shrieking Volscens, with his own last breath
striking his foeman down; then cast himself
upon his fallen comrade's breast; and there,
stabbed through, found tranquil death and sure repose.

Heroic pair and blest! If aught I sing
have lasting music, no remotest age
shall blot your names from honor's storied scroll:
not while the altars of Aeneas' line
shall crown the Capitol's unshaken hill,
nor while the Roman Father's hand sustains
its empire o'er the world.

The Rutules seized the spoils of victory,
and slowly to their camp, with wail and cry,
bore Volscens' corse; and in the eamp they made
like wailing over Rhamnes lifeless found,
o'er Numa and Serranus, and a throng
of princes dead. The gazing people pressed
around the slain, the dying, where the earth
ran red with slaughter and full many a stream
of trickling gore; nor did they fail to know
Messapus' glittering helm, his baldric fair,
recaptured now with lavish sweat and pain.

Now, from Tithonus' saffron couch set free,
Aurora over many a land outpoured
the rising morn; the sun's advancing beam
unveiled the world; and Turnus to his host
gave signal to stand forth, while he arrayed
himself in glorious arms. Then every chief
awoke his mail-clad company, and stirred
their slumbering wrath with tidings from the foe.
Tumultuously shouting, they impaled
on lifted spears—O pitiable sight! —
the heads of Nisus and Euryalus.
Th' undaunted Trojans stood in battle-line
along the wall to leftward (for the right
the river-front defended) keeping guard
on the broad moat; upon the ramparts high
sad-eyed they stood, and shuddered as they saw
the hero-faces thrust aloft; too well
their loyal grief the blood-stained features knew.

On restless pinions to the trembling town
had voiceful Rumor hied, and to the ears
of that lone mother of Euryalus
relentless flown. Through all her feeble frame
the chilling sorrow sped. From both her hands
dropped web and shuttle; she flew shrieking forth,
ill-fated mother! and with tresses torn,
to the wide ramparts and the battle-line
ran frantic, heeding naught of men-at-arms,
nor peril nor the rain of falling spears;
and thus with loud and lamentable cry
filled all the air: “Is it in yonder guise,
Euryalus, thou comest? Art thou he,
last comfort of my life? O cruel one!
Couldst thou desert me? When they thrust thee forth
to death and danger, did they dare refuse
a wretched mother's last embrace? But now —
O woe is me!—upon this alien shore
thou liest for a feast to Latin dogs
and carrion birds. Nor did thy mother lead
the mourners to thy grave, nor shut those eyes,
nor wash the dreadful wounds, nor cover thee
with the fair shroud, which many a night and day
I swiftly wove, and at my web and loom
forgot my years and sorrows. Whither now
to seek and follow thee? What spot of earth
holds the torn body and the mangled limbs?
Is all the gift thou bringest home, dear child,
this? O, was this the prize for which I came
o'er land and sea? O, stab me very deep,
if ye have any pity; hurl on me
your every spear, Rutulians; make of me
your swords' first work. Or, Father of the gods!
Show mercy, thou! and with thy lightning touch
this head accurst, and let it fall by thee
down to the dark. For else what power is mine
my tortured life to end?” Her agony
smote on their listening souls; a wail of woe
along the concourse ran. Stern men-at-arms
felt valor for a moment sleep, and all
their rage of battle fail. But while she stirred
the passion of her grief, Ilioneus
and young Iulus, weeping filial tears,
bade Actor and Idaeus, lifting her
in both their reverent arms, to bear her home.

But now the brazen trumpet's fearsome song
blares loud, and startled shouts of soldiery
spread through the roaring sky. The Volscian band
press to the siege, and, locking shield with shield,
fill the great trenches, tear the palisades,
or seek approach by ladders up the walls,
where'er the line of the defenders thins, and light
through their black circle shines. The Trojans pour
promiscuous missiles down, and push out hard
with heavy poles—so well have they been schooled
to fight against long sieges. They fling down
a crushing weight of rocks, in hope to break
th' assailing line, where roofed in serried shields
the foe each charge repels. But not for long
the siegers stand; along their dense array
the crafty Teucrians down the rampart roll
a boulder like a hill-top, laying low
the Rutule troop and crashing through their shields.
Nor may the bold Rutulian longer hope
to keep in cover, but essays to storm
only with far-flung shafts the bastion strong.
Here grim Mezentius, terrible to see,
waved an Etrurian pine, and made his war
with smoking firebrands; there, in equal rage,
Messapus, the steed-tamer, Neptune's son,
ripped down the palisade, and at the breach
strung a steep path of ladders up the wall.

Aid, O Calliope, the martial song!
Tell me what carnage and how many deaths
the sword of Turnus wrought: what peer in arms
each hero to the world of ghosts sent down.
Unroll the war's great book before these eyes.

A tower was there, well-placed and looming large,
with many a lofty bridge, which desperately
th' Italians strove to storm, and strangely plied
besieging enginery to cast it down:
the Trojans hurled back stones, or, standing close,
flung through the loopholes a swift shower of spears.
But Turnus launched a firebrand, and pierced
the wooden wall with flame, which in the wind
leaped larger, and devoured from floor to floor,
burning each beam away. The trembling guards
sought flight in vain; and while they crowded close
into the side unkindled yet, the tower
bowed its whole weight and fell, with sudden crash
that thundered through the sky. Along the ground
half dead the warriors fell (the crushing mass
piled over them) by their own pointed spears
pierced to the heart, or wounded mortally
by cruel splinters of the wreck. Two men,
Helenor one, and Lyeus at his side,
alone get free. Helenor of the twain
was a mere youth; the slave Lycymnia
bore him in secret to the Lydian King,
and, arming him by stealth, had sent away
to serve the Trojan cause. One naked sword
for arms had he, and on his virgin shield
no blazon of renown; but when he saw
the hosts of Turnus front him, and the lines
this way and that of Latins closing round, —
as a fierce, forest-creature, brought to bay
in circling pack of huntsmen, shows its teeth
against the naked spears, and scorning death
leaps upward on the javelins,—even so,
not loth to die, the youthful soldier flew
straight at the centre of his foes, and where
the shining swords looked thickest, there he sprung.
But Lyeus, swifter-footed, forced his way
past the opposing spears and made escape
far as the ciity-wall, where he would fain
clutch at the coping and climb up to clasp
some friend above: but Turnus, spear in hand,
had hotly followed, and exulting loud
thus taunted him, “Hadst thou the hope, rash fool,
beyond this grasp to fly?” So, as he clung,
he tore him down; and with him broke and fell
a huge piece of the wall: not otherwise
a frail hare, or a swan of snow-white wing,
is clutched in eagle-talons, when the bird
of Jove soars skyward with his prey; or tender lamb
from bleating mother and the broken fold
is stolen by the wolf of Mars. Wild shouts
on every side resound. In closer siege
the foe press on, and heap the trenches full,
or hurl hot-flaming torches at the towers.
Ilioneus with mountain-mass of stone
struck down Lucetius, as he crept with fire
too near the city-gate. Emathion fell
by Liger's hand, and Corynteus' death
Asilas dealt: one threw the javelin well;
th' insidious arrow was Asilas' skill.
Ortygius was slain by Caeneus, then
victorious Geneus fell by Turnus' ire.
Then smote he Dioxippus, and laid low
Itys and Promolus and Sagaris
and Clonius, and from the lofty tower
shot Idas down. The shaft of Capys pierced
Privernus, whom Themilla's javelin
but now had lightly grazed, and he, too bold,
casting his shield far from him, had outspread
his left hand on the wound: then sudden flew
the feathered arrow, and the hand lay pinned
against his left side, while the fatal barb
was buried in his breathing life. The son
of Arcens now stood forth in glittering arms.
His broidered cloak was red Iberian stain,
and beautiful was he. Arcens his sire
had sent him to the war; but he was bred
in a Sicilian forest by a stream
to his nymph-mother dear, where rose the shrine
of merciful Palicus, blest and fair.
But, lo! Mezentius his spear laid by,
and whirled three times about his head the thong
of his loud sling: the leaden bullet clove
the youth's mid-forehead, and his towering form
fell prostrate its full length along the ground.

'T was then Ascanius first shot forth in war
the arrow swift from which all creatures wild
were wont to fly in fear: and he struck down
with artful aim Numanus, sturdy foe,
called Remulus, who lately was espoused
to Turnus' younger sister. He had stalked
before the van, and made vociferous noise
of truths and falsehoods foul and base, his heart
puffed up with new-found greatness. Up and down
he strode, and swelled his folly with loud words:
“No shame have ye this second time to stay
cooped close within a rampart's craven siege,
O Phrygians twice-vanquished? Is a wall
your sole defence from death? Are such the men
who ask our maids in marriage? Say what god,
what doting madness, rather, drove ye here
to Italy? This way ye will not find
the sons of Atreus nor the trickster tongue
of voluble Ulysses. Sturdy stock
are we; our softest new-born babes we dip
in chilling rivers, till they bear right well
the current's bitter cold. Our slender lads
hunt night and day and rove the woods at large,
or for their merriment break stubborn steeds,
or bend the horn-tipped bow. Our manly prime
in willing labor lives, and is inured
to poverty and scantness; we subdue
our lands with rake and mattock, or in war
bid strong-walled cities tremble. Our whole life
is spent in use of iron; and we goad
the flanks of bullocks with a javelin's end.
Nor doth old age, arriving late, impair
our brawny vigor, nor corrupt the soul
to frail decay. But over silvered brows
we bind the helmet. Our unfailing joy
is rapine, and to pile the plunder high.
But ye! your gowns-are saffron needlework
or Tyrian purple; ye love shameful ease,
or dancing revelry. Your tunics fiow
long-sleeved, and ye have soft caps ribbon-bound.
Aye, Phrygian girls are ye, not Phrygian men!
Hence to your hill of Dindymus! Go hear
the twy-mouthed piping ye have loved so long.
The timbrel, hark! the Berecynthian flute
calls you away, and Ida's goddess calls.
Leave arms to men, true men! and quit the sword!”