Aeneid

Virgil

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

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!”

Of such loud insolence and words of shame
Ascanius brooked no more, but laid a shaft
athwart his bowstring, and with arms stretched wide
took aim, first offering suppliant vow to Jove:
“Almighty Jupiter, thy favor show
to my bold deed! So to thy shrine I bear
gifts year by year, and to thine altars lead
a bull with gilded brows, snow-white, and tall
as his own dam, what time his youth begins
to lower his horns and fling the sand in air.”
The Father heard, and from a cloudless sky
thundered to leftward, while the deadly bow
resounded and the arrow's fearful song
hissed from the string; it struck unswervingly
the head of Remulus and clove its way
deep in the hollows of his brow. “Begone!
Proud mocker at the brave! Lo, this reply
twice-vanquished Phrygians to Rutulia send.”
Ascanius said no more. The Teucrians
with deep-voiced shout of joy applaud, and lift
their exultation starward. Then from heaven
the flowing-haired Apollo bent his gaze
upon Ausonia's host, and cloud-enthroned
looked downward o'er the city, speaking thus
to fair Iulus in his victory:
“Hail to thy maiden prowess, boy! This way
the starward path to dwelling-place divine.
O sired of gods and sire of gods to come,
all future storms of war by Fate ordained
shall into peace and lawful calm subside
beneath the offspring of Assaracus.
No Trojan destinies thy glory bound.”
So saying, from his far, ethereal seat
he hied him down, and, cleaving the quick winds
drew near Ascanius. He wore the guise
of aged Butes, who erewhile had borne
Anchises, armor and kept trusty guard
before his threshold, but attended now
Ascanius, by commandment of his sire.
Clad in this graybeard's every aspect, moved
apollo forth,—his very voice and hue,
his hoary locks and grimly sounding shield, —
and to the flushed Iulus spoke this word:
“Child of Aeneas, be content that now
Numanus unavenged thine arrows feels.
Such dawn of glory great Apollo's will
concedes, nor envies thee the fatal shaft
so like his own. But, tender youth, refrain
hereafter from this war!” So said divine
Apollo, who, while yet he spoke, put by
his mortal aspect, and before their eyes
melted to viewless air. The Teucrians knew
the vocal god with armament divine
of arrows; for his rattling quiver smote
their senses as he fled. Obedient
to Phoebus' voice they held back from the fray
Iulus' fury, and their eager souls
faced the fresh fight and danger's darkest frown.
From tower to tower along the bastioned wall
their war-cry flew: they bend with busy hand
the cruel bow, or swing the whirling thong
of javelins. The earth on every side
is strewn with spent shafts, the reverberant shield
and hollow helmet ring with blows; the fight
more fiercely swells; not less the bursting storm
from watery Kid-stars in the western sky
lashes the plain, or multitudinous hail
beats upon shallow seas, when angry Jove
flings forth tempestuous and-boundless rain,
and splits the bellied clouds in darkened air.

The brothers Pandarus and Bitias,
of whom Alcanor was the famous sire,
on Ida born, and whom Iaera bred
in sacred wood of Jove, an oread she,
twin warriors, like their native hills and trees
of stature proud, now burst those portals wide
to them in ward consigned, and sword in hand
challenge the foe to enter. Side by side,
steel-clad, their tall heads in bright crested helms,
to left and right, like towers, the champions stand
as when to skyward, by the gliding waves
of gentle Athesis or Padus wide,
a pair of oaks uprise, and lift in air
their shaggy brows and nodding crests sublime.
In burst the Rutules where the onward way
seemed open wide; Quercens no tarrying knows,
nor proud Aquiculus in well-wrought arms;
Tmarus sweeps on impetuous, and the host
of Haemon, child of Mars. Some routed fly;
some lay their lives-down at the gate. Wild rage
o'erflows each martial breast, and gathered fast
the Trojans rally to one point, and dare
close conflict, or long sallies o'er the plain.

To Turnus, who upon a distant field
was storming with huge havoc, came the news
that now his foe, before a gate thrown wide,
was red with slaughter. His own fight he stays,
and speeds him, by enormous rage thrust on,
to those proud brethren at the Dardan wall.
There first Antiphates, who made his war
far in the van (a Theban captive's child
to great Sarpedon out of wedlock born),
he felled to earth with whirling javelin:
th' Italic shaft of cornel lightly flew
along the yielding air, and through his throat
pierced deep into the breast; a gaping wound
gushed blood; the hot shaft to his bosom clung.
Then Erymas and Merops his strong hand
laid low: Aphidnus next, then came the turn
of Bitias, fiery-hearted, furious-eyed:
but not by javelin,—such cannot fall
by flying javelin,—the ponderous beam
of a phalaric spear, with mighty roar,
like thunderbolt upon him fell; such shock
neither the bull's-hides of his double shield
nor twofold corselet's golden scales could stay
but all his towering frame in ruin fell.
Earth groaned, and o'er him rang his ample shield.
so crashes down from Baiae's storied shore
a rock-built mole, whose mighty masonry,
piled up with care, men cast into the sea;
it trails its wreckage far, and fathoms down
lies broken in the shallows, while the waves
whirl every way, and showers of black sand
are scattered on the air: with thunder-sound
steep Prochyta is shaken, and that bed
of cruel stone, Inarime, which lies
heaped o'er Typhoeus by revenge of Jove.

Now to the Latins Mars, the lord of war,
gave might and valor, and to their wild hearts
his spur applied, but on the Teucrians breathed
dark fear and flight. From every quarter came
auxiliar hosts, where'er the conflict called,
and in each bosom pulsed the god of war.
When Pandarus now saw his brother's corse
low Iying, and which way the chance and tide
of battle ran, he violently moved
the swinging hinges of the gate, and strained
with both his shoulders broad. He shut outside
not few of his own people, left exposed
in fiercest fight but others with himself
he barred inside and saved them as they fled;
nor noted, madman, how the Rutule King
had burst in midmost of the line, and now
stood prisoned in their wall, as if he were
some monstrous tiger among helpless kine.
His eyeballs strangely glared; his armor rang
terrific, his tall crest shook o'er his brows
blood-red, and lightnings glittered from his shield
familiar loomed that countenance abhorred
and frame gigantic on the shrinking eyes
of the Aeneadae. Then Pandarus
sprang towering forth, all fever to revenge
his brother's slaughter. “Not this way,” he cried
“Amata's marriage-gift! No Ardea here
mews Turnus in his fathers' halls. Behold
thy foeman's castle! Thou art not allowed
to take thy leave.” But Turnus looked his way,
and smiled with heart unmoved. “Begin! if thou
hast manhood in thee, and meet steel with steel!
Go tell dead Priam thou discoverest here
Achilles!” For reply, the champion tall
hurled with his might and main along the air
his spear of knotted wood and bark untrimmed.
But all it wounded was the passing wind,
for Saturn's daughter turned its course awry,
and deep in the great gate the spear-point drove.
“Now from the stroke this right arm means for thee
thou shalt not fly. Not such the sender of
this weapon and this wound.” He said, and towered
aloft to his full height; the lifted sword
clove temples, brows, and beardless cheeks clean through
with loudly ringing blow; the ground beneath
shook with the giant's ponderous fall, and, lo,
with nerveless limbs, and brains spilt o'er his shield,
dead on the earth he lay! in equal halves
the sundered head from either shoulder swung.

In horror and amaze the Trojans all
dispersed and fled; had but the conqueror thought
to break the barriers of the gates and call
his followers through, that fatal day had seen
an ending of the Teucrians and their war.
But frenzied joy of slaughter urged him on,
infuriate, to smite the scattering foe.
First Phaleris he caught; then cut the knees
of Gyges; both their spears he snatched away
and hurled them at the rout; 't was Juno roused
his utmost might of rage. Now Halys fell,
and Phegeus, whom he pierced right through the shield:
next, at the walls and urging reckless war,
Alcander, Halius, and Noemon gave
their lives, and Prytanis went down. In vain
Lynceus made stand and called his comrades brave:
for Turnus from the right with waving sword
caught at him and lopped off with one swift blow
the head, which with its helmet rolled away.
Next Amycus, destroyer of wild beasts,
who knew full well to smear a crafty barb
with venomed oil; young Clytius he slew,
son of the wind-god; then on Cretheus fell,
a follower of the muses and their friend:
Cretheus, whose every joy it was to sing,
and fit his numbers to the chorded Iyre;
steeds, wars, armed men were his perpetual song.

At last the Teucrian chiefs had heard the tale
of so much slaughter; and in council met
are Mnestheus and Serestus bold, who see
their comrades routed and the conquering foe
within the gates. Cries Mnestheus, “Whither fly?
What open way is yonder or what wall?
Beyond these ramparts lost what stronger lie?
Shall one lone man here in your walls confined,
make havoc unavenged and feed the grave
with your best warriors? 0 cowards vile!
For your sad country and her ancient gods
and for renowned Aeneas, can ye feel
no pity and no shame?” Enflamed to fight
by words like these, they close the line, and stand
in strong array. So Turnus for a space
out of the battle step by step withdrew
to make the river-bank his rearguard strong;
whereat the Teucrians, shouting loud, swept on
the fiercer, and in solid mass pressed round.
as when a troop of hunters with keen spears
encircle a wild lion, who in fear,
but glaring grim and furious, backward falls,
valor and rage constrain him ne'er to cease
fronting the foe; yet not for all his ire
can he against such serried steel make way:
so Turnus backward with a lingering step
unwilling drew, and wrath his heart oterflowed.
for twice already had he cloven a path
into the foe's mid-press, and twice had driven
their flying lines in panic through the town.
But now the whole throng from the camp he sees
massed to the onset. Nor will Juno now
dare give him vigor to withstand, for Jove
had sent aerial Iris out of heaven
with stern commandment to his sister-queen
that Turnus from the Teucrian walls retire.
Therefore the warrior's shield avails no more,
nor his strong arm; but he is overthrown
by general assault. Around his brows
his smitten helmet rings; the ponderous mail
cracks under falling stones; the haughty plumes
are scattered from his head, nor can the boss
of his stout shield endure; the Trojans hurl
redoubled rain of spears; and with them speeds
Mnestheus like thunderbolt. The hero's flesh
dissolves in sweat; no room to breathe has he;
his limbs are spent and weary; his whole frame
shakes with his gasping breath: then bounding fort
with all his harness on, headlong he plunged
into the flowing stream; its yellow tide
embraced him as he fell, and gentle waves
restored him smiling to his friends in arms,
with all the gore and carnage washed away.

Meanwhile Olympus, seat of sovereign sway,
threw wide its portals, and in conclave fair
the Sire of gods and King of all mankind
summoned th' immortals to his starry court,
whence, high-enthroned, the spreading earth he views—
and Teucria's camp and Latium's fierce array.
Beneath the double-gated dome the gods
were sitting; Jove himself the silence broke:
“O people of Olympus, wherefore change
your purpose and decree, with partial minds
in mighty strife contending? I refused
such clash of war 'twixt Italy and Troy.
Whence this forbidden feud? What fears
seduced to battles and injurious arms
either this folk or that? Th' appointed hour
for war shall be hereafter—speed it not!—
When cruel Carthage to the towers of Rome
shall bring vast ruin, streaming fiercely down
the opened Alp. Then hate with hate shall vie,
and havoc have no bound. Till then, give o'er,
and smile upon the concord I decree!”

Thus briefly, Jove. But golden Venus made
less brief reply. “O Father, who dost hold
o'er Man and all things an immortal sway!
Of what high throne may gods the aid implore
save thine? Behold of yonder Rutuli
th' insulting scorn! Among them Turnus moves
in chariot proud, and boasts triumphant war
in mighty words. Nor do their walls defend
my Teucrians now. But in their very gates,
and on their mounded ramparts, in close fight
they breast their foes and fill the moats with blood.
Aeneas knows not, and is far away.
Will ne'er the siege have done? A second time
above Troy's rising walls the foe impends;
another host is gathered, and once more
from his Aetolian Arpi wrathful speeds
a Diomed. I doubt not that for me
wounds are preparing. Yea, thy daughter dear
awaits a mortal sword! If by thy will
unblest and unapproved the Trojans came
to Italy, for such rebellious crime
give them their due, nor lend them succor, thou,
with thy strong hand! But if they have obeyed
unnumbered oracles from gods above
and sacred shades below, who now has power
to thwart thy bidding, or to weave anew
the web of Fate? Why speak of ships consumed
along my hallowed Erycinian shore?
Or of the Lord of Storms, whose furious blasts
were summoned from Aeolia? Why tell
of Iris sped from heaven? Now she moves
the region of the shades (one kingdom yet
from her attempt secure) and thence lets loose
Alecto on the world above, who strides
in frenzied wrath along th' Italian hills.
No more my heart now cherishes its hope
of domination, though in happier days
such was thy promise. Let the victory fall
to victors of thy choice! If nowhere lies
the land thy cruel Queen would deign accord
unto the Teucrian people,—O my sire,
I pray thee by yon smouldering wreck of Troy
to let Ascanius from the clash of arms
escape unscathed. Let my own offspring live!
Yea, let Aeneas, tossed on seas unknown,
find some chance way; let my right hand avail
to shelter him and from this fatal war
in safety bring. For Amathus is mine,
mine are Cythera and the Paphian hills
and temples in Idalium. Let him drop
the sword, and there live out inglorious days.
By thy decree let Carthage overwhelm
Ausonia's power; nor let defence be found
to stay the Tyrian arms! What profits it
that he escaped the wasting plague of war
and fled Argolic fires? or that he knew
so many perils of wide wilderness
and waters rude? The Teucrians seek in vain
new-born Troy in Latium. Better far
crouched on their country's ashes to abide,
and keep that spot of earth where once was Troy!
Give back, O Father, I implore thee, give
Xanthus and Simois back! Let Teucer's sons
unfold once more the tale of Ilium's woe!”