Aeneid

Virgil

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

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.