| |
| AND thou, O matron of immortal fame, | |
| Here dying, to the shore hast left thy name; | |
| Cajeta still the place is call’d from thee, | |
| The nurse of great Æneas’ infancy. | |
| Here rest thy bones in rich Hesperia’s plains; | 5 |
| Thy name (’t is all a ghost can have) remains. | |
| Now, when the prince her fun’ral rites had paid, | |
| He plow’d the Tyrrhene seas with sails display’d. | |
| From land a gentle breeze arose by night, | |
| Serenely shone the stars, the moon was bright, | 10 |
| And the sea trembled with her silver light. | |
| Now near the shelves of Circe’s shores they run, | |
| (Circe the rich, the daughter of the Sun,) | |
| A dang’rous coast: the goddess wastes her days | |
| In joyous songs; the rocks resound her lays: | 15 |
| In spinning, or the loom, she spends the night, | |
| And cedar brands supply her father’s light. | |
| From hence were heard, rebellowing to the main, | |
| The roars of lions that refuse the chain, | |
| The grunts of bristled boars, and groans of bears, | 20 |
| And herds of howling wolves that stun the sailors’ ears. | |
| These from their caverns, at the close of night, | |
| Fill the sad isle with horror and affright. | |
| Darkling they mourn their fate, whom Circe’s pow’r, | |
| (That watch’d the moon and planetary hour,) | 25 |
| With words and wicked herbs from humankind | |
| Had alter’d, and in brutal shapes confin’d. | |
| Which monsters lest the Trojans’ pious host | |
| Should bear, or touch upon th’ inchanted coast, | |
| Propitious Neptune steer’d their course by night | 30 |
| With rising gales that sped their happy flight. | |
| Supplied with these, they skim the sounding shore, | |
| And hear the swelling surges vainly roar. | |
| Now, when the rosy morn began to rise, | |
| And wav’d her saffron streamer thro’ the skies; | 35 |
| When Thetis blush’d in purple not her own, | |
| And from her face the breathing winds were blown, | |
| A sudden silence sate upon the sea, | |
| And sweeping oars, with struggling, urge their way. | |
| The Trojan, from the main, beheld a wood, | 40 |
| Which thick with shades and a brown horror stood: | |
| Betwixt the trees the Tiber took his course, | |
| With whirlpools dimpled; and with downward force, | |
| That drove the sand along, he took his way, | |
| And roll’d his yellow billows to the sea. | 45 |
| About him, and above, and round the wood, | |
| The birds that haunt the borders of his flood, | |
| That bath’d within, or basked upon his side, | |
| To tuneful songs their narrow throats applied. | |
| The captain gives command; the joyful train | 50 |
| Glide thro’ the gloomy shade, and leave the main. | |
| Now, Erato, thy poet’s mind inspire, | |
| And fill his soul with thy celestial fire! | |
| Relate what Latium was; her ancient kings; | |
| Declare the past and present state of things, | 55 |
| When first the Trojan fleet Ausonia sought, | |
| And how the rivals lov’d, and how they fought. | |
| These are my theme, and how the war began, | |
| And how concluded by the godlike man: | |
| For I shall sing of battles, blood, and rage, | 60 |
| Which princes and their people did engage; | |
| And haughty souls, that, mov’d with mutual hate, | |
| In fighting fields pursued and found their fate; | |
| That rous’d the Tyrrhene realm with loud alarms, | |
| And peaceful Italy involv’d in arms. | 65 |
| A larger scene of action is display’d; | |
| And, rising hence, a greater work is weigh’d. | |
| Latinus, old and mild, had long possess’d | |
| The Latin scepter, and his people blest: | |
| His father Faunus; a Laurentian dame | 70 |
| His mother; fair Marica was her name. | |
| But Faunus came from Picus: Picus drew | |
| His birth from Saturn, if records be true. | |
| Thus King Latinus, in the third degree, | |
| Had Saturn author of his family. | 75 |
| But this old peaceful prince, as Heav’n decreed, | |
| Was blest with no male issue to succeed: | |
| His sons in blooming youth were snatch’d by fate; | |
| One only daughter heir’d the royal state. | |
| Fir’d with her love, and with ambition led, | 80 |
| The neighb’ring princes court her nuptial bed. | |
| Among the crowd, but far above the rest, | |
| Young Turnus to the beauteous maid address’d. | |
| Turnus, for high descent and graceful mien, | |
| Was first, and favor’d by the Latian queen; | 85 |
| With him she strove to join Lavinia’s hand, | |
| But dire portents the purpos’d match withstand. | |
| Deep in the palace, of long growth, there stood | |
| A laurel’s trunk, a venerable wood; | |
| Where rites divine were paid; whose holy hair | 90 |
| Was kept and cut with superstitious care. | |
| This plant Latinus, when his town he wall’d, | |
| Then found, and from the tree Laurentum call’d; | |
| And last, in honor of his new abode, | |
| He vow’d the laurel to the laurel’s god. | 95 |
| It happen’d once (a boding prodigy!) | |
| A swarm of bees, that cut the liquid sky, | |
| (Unknown from whence they took their airy flight,) | |
| Upon the topmost branch in clouds alight; | |
| There with their clasping feet together clung, | 100 |
| And a long cluster from the laurel hung. | |
| An ancient augur prophesied from hence: | |
| “Behold on Latian shores a foreign prince! | |
| From the same parts of heav’n his navy stands, | |
| To the same parts on earth; his army lands; | 105 |
| The town he conquers, and the tow’r commands.” | |
| Yet more, when fair Lavinia fed the fire | |
| Before the gods, and stood beside her sire, | |
| (Strange to relate!) the flames, involv’d in smoke | |
| Of incense, from the sacred altar broke, | 110 |
| Caught her dishevel’d hair and rich attire; | |
| Her crown and jewels crackled in the fire: | |
| From thence the fuming trail began to spread | |
| And lambent glories danc’d about her head. | |
| This new portent the seer with wonder views, | 115 |
| Then pausing, thus his prophecy renews: | |
| “The nymph, who scatters flaming fires around, | |
| Shall shine with honor, shall herself be crown’d; | |
| But, caus’d by her irrevocable fate, | |
| War shall the country waste, and change the state.’ | 120 |
| Latinus, frighted with this dire ostent, | |
| For counsel to his father Faunus went, | |
| And sought the shades renown’d for prophecy | |
| Which near Albunea’s sulph’rous fountain lie. | |
| To these the Latian and the Sabine land | 125 |
| Fly, when distress’d, and thence relief demand. | |
| The priest on skins of off’rings takes his ease, | |
| And nightly visions in his slumber sees; | |
| A swarm of thin ærial shapes appears, | |
| And, flutt’ring round his temples, deafs his ears: | 130 |
| These he consults, the future fates to know, | |
| From pow’rs above, and from the fiends below. | |
| Here, for the gods’ advice, Latinus flies, | |
| Off’ring a hundred sheep for sacrifice: | |
| Their woolly fleeces, as the rites requir’d, | 135 |
| He laid beneath him, and to rest retir’d. | |
| No sooner were his eyes in slumber bound, | |
| When, from above, a more than mortal sound | |
| Invades his ears; and thus the vision spoke: | |
| “Seek not, my seed, in Latian bands to yoke | 140 |
| Our fair Lavinia, nor the gods provoke. | |
| A foreign son upon thy shore descends, | |
| Whose martial fame from pole to pole extends. | |
| His race, in arms and arts of peace renown’d, | |
| Not Latium shall contain, nor Europe bound: | 145 |
| ’T is theirs whate’er the sun surveys around.’ | |
| These answers, in the silent night receiv’d, | |
| The king himself divulg’d, the land believ’d: | |
| The fame thro’ all the neighb’ring nations flew, | |
| When now the Trojan navy was in view. | 150 |
| Beneath a shady tree, the hero spread | |
| His table on the turf, with cakes of bread; | |
| And, with his chiefs, on forest fruits he fed. | |
| They sate; and, (not without the god’s command,) | |
| Their homely fare dispatch’d, the hungry band | 155 |
| Invade their trenchers next, and soon devour, | |
| To mend the scanty meal, their cakes of flour. | |
| Ascanius this observ’d, and smiling said: | |
| “See, we devour the plates on which we fed.” | |
| The speech had omen, that the Trojan race | 160 |
| Should find repose, and this the time and place. | |
| Æneas took the word, and thus replies, | |
| Confessing fate with wonder in his eyes: | |
| “All hail, O earth! all hail, my household gods! | |
| Behold the destin’d place of your abodes! | 165 |
| For thus Anchises prophesied of old, | |
| And this our fatal place of rest foretold: | |
| ‘When, on a foreign shore, instead of meat, | |
| By famine forc’d, your trenchers you shall eat, | |
| Then ease your weary Trojans will attend, | 170 |
| And the long labors of your voyage end. | |
| Remember on that happy coast to build, | |
| And with a trench inclose the fruitful field.’ | |
| This was that famine, this the fatal place | |
| Which ends the wand’ring of our exil’d race. | 175 |
| Then, on to-morrow’s dawn, your care employ, | |
| To search the land, and where the cities lie, | |
| And what the men; but give this day to joy. | |
| Now pour to Jove; and, after Jove is blest, | |
| Call great Anchises to the genial feast: | 180 |
| Crown high the goblets with a cheerful draught; | |
| Enjoy the present hour; adjourn the future thought.” | |
| Thus having said, the hero bound his brows | |
| With leafy branches, then perform’d his vows; | |
| Adoring first the genius of the place, | 185 |
| Then Earth, the mother of the heav’nly race, | |
| The nymphs, and native godheads yet unknown, | |
| And Night, and all the stars that gild her sable throne, | |
| And ancient Cybel, and Idæan Jove, | |
| And last his sire below, and mother queen above. | 190 |
| Then heav’n’s high monarch thunder’d thrice aloud, | |
| And thrice he shook aloft a golden cloud. | |
| Soon thro’ the joyful camp a rumor flew, | |
| The time was come their city to renew. | |
| Then ev’ry brow with cheerful green is crown’d, | 195 |
| The feasts are doubled, and the bowls go round. | |
| When next the rosy morn disclos’d the day, | |
| The scouts to sev’ral parts divide their way, | |
| To learn the natives’ names, their towns explore, | |
| The coasts and trendings of the crooked shore: | 200 |
| Here Tiber flows, and here Numicus stands; | |
| Here warlike Latins hold the happy lands. | |
| The pious chief, who sought by peaceful ways | |
| To found his empire, and his town to raise, | |
| A hundred youths from all his train selects, | 205 |
| And to the Latian court their course directs, | |
| (The spacious palace where their prince resides,) | |
| And all their heads with wreaths of olive hides. | |
| They go commission’d to require a peace, | |
| And carry presents to procure access. | 210 |
| Thus while they speed their pace, the prince designs | |
| His new-elected seat, and draws the lines. | |
| The Trojans round the place a rampire cast, | |
| And palisades about the trenches plac’d. | |
| Meantime the train, proceeding on their way, | 215 |
| From far the town and lofty tow’rs survey; | |
| At length approach the walls. Without the gate, | |
| They see the boys and Latian youth debate | |
| The martial prizes on the dusty plain: | |
| Some drive the cars, and some the coursers rein; | 220 |
| Some bend the stubborn bow for victory, | |
| And some with darts their active sinews try. | |
| A posting messenger, dispatch’d from hence, | |
| Of this fair troop advis’d their aged prince, | |
| That foreign men of mighty stature came; | 225 |
| Uncouth their habit, and unknown their name. | |
| The king ordains their entrance, and ascends | |
| His regal seat, surrounded by his friends. | |
| The palace built by Picus, vast and proud, | |
| Supported by a hundred pillars stood, | 230 |
| And round incompass’d with a rising wood. | |
| The pile o’erlook’d the town, and drew the sight; | |
| Surpris’d at once with reverence and delight. | |
| There kings receiv’d the marks of sov’reign pow’r; | |
| In state the monarchs march’d; the lictors bore | 235 |
| Their awful axes and the rods before. | |
| Here the tribunal stood, the house of pray’r, | |
| And here the sacred senators repair; | |
| All at large tables, in long order set, | |
| A ram their off’ring, and a ram their meat. | 240 |
| Above the portal, carv’d in cedar wood, | |
| Plac’d in their ranks, their godlike grandsires stood; | |
| Old Saturn, with his crooked scythe, on high; | |
| And Italus, that led the colony; | |
| And ancient Janus, with his double face, | 245 |
| And bunch of keys, the porter of the place. | |
| There good Sabinus, planter of the vines, | |
| On a short pruning hook his head reclines, | |
| And studiously surveys his gen’rous wines; | |
| Then warlike kings, who for their country fought, | 250 |
| And honorable wounds from battle brought. | |
| Around the posts hung helmets, darts, and spears, | |
| And captive chariots, axes, shields, and bars, | |
| And broken beaks of ships, the trophies of their wars. | |
| Above the rest, as chief of all the band, | 255 |
| Was Picus plac’d, a buckler in his hand; | |
| His other wav’d a long divining wand. | |
| Girt in his Gabin gown the hero sate, | |
| Yet could not with his art avoid his fate: | |
| For Circe long had lov’d the youth in vain, | 260 |
| Till love, refus’d, converted to disdain: | |
| Then, mixing pow’rful herbs, with magic art, | |
| She chang’d his form, who could not change his heart; | |
| Constrain’d him in a bird, and made him fly, | |
| With party-color’d plumes, a chatt’ring pie. | 265 |
| In this high temple, on a chair of state, | |
| The seat of audience, old Latinus sate; | |
| Then gave admission to the Trojan train; | |
| And thus with pleasing accents he began: | |
| “Tell me, ye Trojans, for that name you own, | 270 |
| Nor is your course upon our coasts unknown— | |
| Say what you seek, and whither were you bound: | |
| Were you by stress of weather cast aground? | |
| (Such dangers as on seas are often seen, | |
| And oft befall to miserable men,) | 275 |
| Or come, your shipping in our ports to lay, | |
| Spent and disabled in so long a way? | |
| Say what you want: the Latians you shall find | |
| Not forc’d to goodness, but by will inclin’d; | |
| For, since the time of Saturn’s holy reign, | 280 |
| His hospitable customs we retain. | |
| I call to mind (but time the tale has worn) | |
| Th’ Arunci told, that Dardanus, tho’ born | |
| On Latian plains, yet sought the Phrygian shore, | |
| And Samothracia, Samos call’d before. | 285 |
| From Tuscan Coritum he claim’d his birth; | |
| But after, when exempt from mortal earth, | |
| From thence ascended to his kindred skies, | |
| A god, and, as a god, augments their sacrifice.” | |
| He said. Ilioneus made this reply: | 290 |
| “O king, of Faunus’ royal family! | |
| Nor wintry winds to Latium forc’d our way, | |
| Nor did the stars our wand’ring course betray. | |
| Willing we sought your shores; and, hither bound, | |
| The port, so long desir’d, at length we found; | 295 |
| From our sweet homes and ancient realms expell’d; | |
| Great as the greatest that the sun beheld. | |
| The god began our line, who rules above; | |
| And, as our race, our king descends from Jove: | |
| And hither are we come, by his command, | 300 |
| To crave admission in your happy land. | |
| How dire a tempest, from Mycenæ pour’d, | |
| Our plains, our temples, and our town devour’d; | |
| What was the waste of war, what fierce alarms | |
| Shook Asia’s crown with European arms; | 305 |
| Ev’n such have heard, if any such there be, | |
| Whose earth is bounded by the frozen sea; | |
| And such as, born beneath the burning sky | |
| And sultry sun, betwixt the tropics lie. | |
| From that dire deluge, thro’ the wat’ry waste, | 310 |
| Such length of years, such various perils past, | |
| At last escap’d, to Latium we repair, | |
| To beg what you without your want may spare: | |
| The common water, and the common air; | |
| Sheds which ourselves will build, and mean abodes, | 315 |
| Fit to receive and serve our banish’d gods. | |
| Nor our admission shall your realm disgrace, | |
| Nor length of time our gratitude efface. | |
| Besides, what endless honor you shall gain, | |
| To save and shelter Troy’s unhappy train! | 320 |
| Now, by my sov’reign, and his fate, I swear, | |
| Renown’d for faith in peace, for force in war; | |
| Oft our alliance other lands desir’d, | |
| And, what we seek of you, of us requir’d. | |
| Despite not then, that in our hands we bear | 325 |
| These holy boughs, and sue with words of pray’r. | |
| Fate and the gods, by their supreme command, | |
| Have doom’d our ships to seek the Latian land. | |
| To these abodes our fleet Apollo sends; | |
| Here Dardanus was born, and hither tends; | 330 |
| Where Tuscan Tiber rolls with rapid force, | |
| And where Numicus opes his holy source. | |
| Besides, our prince presents, with his request, | |
| Some small remains of what his sire possess’d. | |
| This golden charger, snatch’d from burning Troy, | 335 |
| Anchises did in sacrifice employ; | |
| This royal robe and this tiara wore | |
| Old Priam, and this golden scepter bore | |
| In full assemblies, and in solemn games; | |
| These purple vests were weav’d by Dardan dames.” | 340 |
| Thus while he spoke, Latinus roll’d around | |
| His eyes, and fix’d a while upon the ground. | |
| Intent he seem’d, and anxious in his breast; | |
| Not by the scepter mov’d, or kingly vest, | |
| But pond’ring future things of wondrous weight; | 345 |
| Succession, empire, and his daughter’s fate. | |
| On these he mus’d within his thoughtful mind, | |
| And then revolv’d what Faunus had divin’d. | |
| This was the foreign prince, by fate decreed | |
| To share his scepter, and Lavinia’s bed; | 350 |
| This was the race that sure portents foreshew | |
| To sway the world, and land and sea subdue. | |
| At length he rais’d his cheerful head, and spoke: | |
| “The pow’rs,” said he, “the pow’rs we both invoke, | |
| To you, and yours, and mine, propitious be, | 355 |
| And firm our purpose with their augury! | |
| Have what you ask; your presents I receive; | |
| Land, where and when you please, with ample leave; | |
| Partake and use my kingdom as your own; | |
| All shall be yours, while I command the crown: | 360 |
| And, if my wish’d alliance please your king, | |
| Tell him he should not send the peace, but bring. | |
| Then let him not a friend’s embraces fear; | |
| The peace is made when I behold him here. | |
| Besides this answer, tell my royal guest, | 365 |
| I add to his commands my own request: | |
| One only daughter heirs my crown and state, | |
| Whom not our oracles, nor Heav’n, nor fate, | |
| Nor frequent prodigies, permit to join | |
| With any native of th’ Ausonian line. | 370 |
| A foreign son-in-law shall come from far | |
| (Such is our doom), a chief renown’d in war, | |
| Whose race shall bear aloft the Latian name, | |
| And thro’ the conquer’d world diffuse our fame. | |
| Himself to be the man the fates require, | 375 |
| I firmly judge, and, what I judge, desire.” | |
| He said, and then on each bestow’d a steed. | |
| Three hundred horses, in high stables fed, | |
| Stood ready, shining all, and smoothly dress’d: | |
| Of these he chose the fairest and the best, | 380 |
| To mount the Trojan troop. At his command | |
| The steeds caparison’d with purple stand, | |
| With golden trappings, glorious to behold, | |
| And champ betwixt their teeth the foaming gold. | |
| Then to his absent guest the king decreed | 385 |
| A pair of coursers born of heav’nly breed, | |
| Who from their nostrils breath’d ethereal fire; | |
| Whom Circe stole from her celestial sire, | |
| By substituting mares produc’d on earth, | |
| Whose wombs conceiv’d a more than mortal birth. | 390 |
| These draw the chariot which Latinus sends, | |
| And the rich present to the prince commends. | |
| Sublime on stately steeds the Trojans borne, | |
| To their expecting lord with peace return. | |
| But jealous Juno, from Pachynus’ height, | 395 |
| As she from Argos took her airy flight, | |
| Beheld with envious eyes this hateful sight. | |
| She saw the Trojan and his joyful train | |
| Descend upon the shore, desert the main, | |
| Design a town, and, with unhop’d success, | 400 |
| Th’ embassadors return with promis’d peace. | |
| Then, pierc’d with pain, she shook her haughty head, | |
| Sigh’d from her inward soul, and thus she said: | |
| “O hated offspring of my Phrygian foes! | |
| O fates of Troy, which Juno’s fates oppose! | 405 |
| Could they not fall unpitied on the plain, | |
| But slain revive, and, taken, scape again? | |
| When execrable Troy in ashes lay, | |
| Thro’ fires and swords and seas they forc’d their way. | |
| Then vanquish’d Juno must in vain contend, | 410 |
| Her rage disarm’d, her empire at an end. | |
| Breathless and tir’d, is all my fury spent? | |
| Or does my glutted spleen at length relent? | |
| As if ’t were little from their town to chase, | |
| I thro’ the seas pursued their exil’d race; | 415 |
| Ingag’d the heav’ns, oppos’d the stormy main; | |
| But billows roar’d, and tempests rag’d in vain. | |
| What have my Scyllas and my Syrtes done, | |
| When these they overpass, and those they shun? | |
| On Tiber’s shores they land, secure of fate, | 420 |
| Triumphant o’er the storms and Juno’s hate. | |
| Mars could in mutual blood the Centaurs bathe, | |
| And Jove himself gave way to Cynthia’s wrath, | |
| Who sent the tusky boar to Calydon; | |
| (What great offense had either people done?) | 425 |
| But I, the consort of the Thunderer, | |
| Have wag’d a long and unsuccessful war, | |
| With various arts and arms in vain have toil’d, | |
| And by a mortal man at length am foil’d. | |
| If native pow’r prevail not, shall I doubt | 430 |
| To seek for needful succor from without? | |
| If Jove and Heav’n my just desires deny, | |
| Hell shall the pow’r of Heav’n and Jove supply. | |
| Grant that the Fates have firm’d, by their decree, | |
| The Trojan race to reign in Italy; | 435 |
| At least I can defer the nuptial day, | |
| And with protracted wars the peace delay: | |
| With blood the dear alliance shall be bought, | |
| And both the people near destruction brought; | |
| So shall the son-in-law and father join, | 440 |
| With ruin, war, and waste of either line. | |
| O fatal maid, thy marriage is endow’d | |
| With Phrygian, Latian, and Rutulian blood! | |
| Bellona leads thee to thy lover’s hand; | |
| Another queen brings forth another brand, | 445 |
| To burn with foreign fires another land! | |
| A second Paris, diff’ring but in name, | |
| Shall fire his country with a second flame.” | |
| Thus having said, she sinks beneath the ground, | |
| With furious haste, and shoots the Stygian sound, | 450 |
| To rouse Alecto from th’ infernal seat | |
| Of her dire sisters, and their dark retreat. | |
| This Fury, fit for her intent, she chose; | |
| One who delights in wars and human woes. | |
| Ev’n Pluto hates his own misshapen race; | 455 |
| Her sister Furies fly her hideous face; | |
| So frightful are the forms the monster takes, | |
| So fierce the hissings of her speckled snakes. | |
| Her Juno finds, and thus inflames her spite: | |
| “O virgin daughter of eternal Night, | 460 |
| Give me this once thy labor, to sustain | |
| My right, and execute my just disdain. | |
| Let not the Trojans, with a feign’d pretense | |
| Of proffer’d peace, delude the Latian prince. | |
| Expel from Italy that odious name, | 465 |
| And let not Juno suffer in her fame. | |
| ’T is thine to ruin realms, o’erturn a state, | |
| Betwixt the dearest friends to raise debate, | |
| And kindle kindred blood to mutual hate. | |
| Thy hand o’er towns the fun’ral torch displays, | 470 |
| And forms a thousand ills ten thousand ways. | |
| Now shake, from out thy fruitful breast, the seeds | |
| Of envy, discord, and of cruel deeds: | |
| Confound the peace establish’d, and prepare | |
| Their souls to hatred, and their hands to war.” | 475 |
| Smear’d as she was with black Gorgonian blood, | |
| The Fury sprang above the Stygian flood; | |
| And on her wicker wings, sublime thro’ night, | |
| She to the Latian palace took her flight: | |
| There sought the queen’s apartment, stood before | 480 |
| The peaceful threshold, and besieg’d the door. | |
| Restless Amata lay, her swelling breast | |
| Fir’d with disdain for Turnus dispossess’d, | |
| And the new nuptials of the Trojan guest. | |
| From her black bloody locks the Fury shakes | 485 |
| Her darling plague, the fav’rite of her snakes; | |
| With her full force she threw the pois’nous dart, | |
| And fix’d it deep within Amata’s heart, | |
| That, thus envenom’d, she might kindle rage, | |
| And sacrifice to strife her house and husband’s age. | 490 |
| Unseen, unfelt, the fiery serpent skims | |
| Betwixt her linen and her naked limbs; | |
| His baleful breath inspiring, as he glides, | |
| Now like a chain around her neck he rides, | |
| Now like a fillet to her head repairs, | 495 |
| And with his circling volumes folds her hairs. | |
| At first the silent venom slid with ease, | |
| And seiz’d her cooler senses by degrees; | |
| Then, ere th’ infected mass was fir’d too far, | |
| In plaintive accents she began the war, | 500 |
| And thus bespoke her husband: “Shall,” she said, | |
| “A wand’ring prince enjoy Lavinia’s bed? | |
| If nature plead not in a parent’s heart, | |
| Pity my tears, and pity her desert. | |
| I know, my dearest lord, the time will come, | 505 |
| You would, in vain, reverse your cruel doom; | |
| The faithless pirate soon will set to sea, | |
| And bear the royal virgin far away! | |
| A guest like him, a Trojan guest before, | |
| In shew of friendship sought the Spartan shore, | 510 |
| And ravish’d Helen from her husband bore. | |
| Think on a king’s inviolable word; | |
| And think on Turnus, her once plighted lord: | |
| To this false foreigner you give your throne, | |
| And wrong a friend, a kinsman, and a son. | 515 |
| Resume your ancient care; and, if the god | |
| Your sire, and you, resolve on foreign blood, | |
| Know all are foreign, in a larger sense, | |
| Not born your subjects, or deriv’d from hence. | |
| Then, if the line of Turnus you retrace, | 520 |
| He springs from Inachus of Argive race.” | |
| But when she saw her reasons idly spent, | |
| And could not move him from his fix’d intent, | |
| She flew to rage; for now the snake possess’d | |
| Her vital parts, and poison’d all her breast; | 525 |
| She raves, she runs with a distracted pace, | |
| And fills with horrid howls the public place. | |
| And, as young striplings whip the top for sport, | |
| On the smooth pavement of an empty court; | |
| The wooden engine flies and whirls about, | 530 |
| Admir’d, with clamors, of the beardless rout; | |
| They lash aloud; each other they provoke, | |
| And lend their little souls at ev’ry stroke: | |
| Thus fares the queen; and thus her fury blows | |
| Amidst the crowd, and kindles as she goes. | 535 |
| Nor yet content, she strains her malice more, | |
| And adds new ills to those contriv’d before: | |
| She flies the town, and, mixing with a throng | |
| Of madding matrons, bears the bride along, | |
| Wand’ring thro’ woods and wilds, and devious ways, | 540 |
| And with these arts the Trojan match delays. | |
| She feign’d the rites of Bacchus; cried aloud, | |
| And to the buxom god the virgin vow’d. | |
| “Evoe! O Bacchus!” thus began the song; | |
| And “Evoe!” answer’d all the female throng. | 545 |
| “O virgin! worthy thee alone!” she cried; | |
| “O worthy thee alone!” the crew replied. | |
| “For thee she feeds her hair, she leads thy dance, | |
| And with thy winding ivy wreathes her lance.” | |
| Like fury seiz’d the rest; the progress known, | 550 |
| All seek the mountains, and forsake the town: | |
| All, clad in skins of beasts, the jav’lin bear, | |
| Give to the wanton winds their flowing hair, | |
| And shrieks and shoutings rend the suff’ring air. | |
| The queen herself, inspir’d with rage divine, | 555 |
| Shook high above her head a flaming pine; | |
| Then roll’d her haggard eyes around the throng, | |
| And sung, in Turnus’ name, the nuptial song: | |
| “Io, ye Latian dames! if any here | |
| Hold your unhappy queen, Amata, dear; | 560 |
| If there be here,” she said, “who dare maintain | |
| My right, nor think the name of mother vain; | |
| Unbind your fillets, loose your flowing hair, | |
| And orgies and nocturnal rites prepare.” | |
| Amata’s breast the Fury thus invades, | 565 |
| And fires with rage, amid the sylvan shades; | |
| Then, when she found her venom spread so far, | |
| The royal house embroil’d in civil war, | |
| Rais’d on her dusky wings, she cleaves the skies, | |
| And seeks the palace where young Turnus lies. | 570 |
| His town, as fame reports, was built of old | |
| By Danæ, pregnant with almighty gold, | |
| Who fled her father’s rage, and, with a train | |
| Of following Argives, thro’ the stormy main, | |
| Driv’n by the southern blasts, was fated here to reign. | 575 |
| ’T was Ardua once; now Ardea’s name it bears; | |
| Once a fair city, now consum’d with years. | |
| Here, in his lofty palace, Turnus lay, | |
| Betwixt the confines of the night and day, | |
| Secure in sleep. The Fury laid aside | 580 |
| Her looks and limbs, and with new methods tried | |
| The foulness of th’ infernal form to hide. | |
| Propp’d on a staff, she takes a trembling mien: | |
| Her face is furrow’d, and her front obscene; | |
| Deep-dinted wrinkles on her cheek she draws; | 585 |
| Sunk are her eyes, and toothless are her jaws; | |
| Her hoary hair with holy fillets bound, | |
| Her temples with an olive wreath are crown’d. | |
| Old Chalybe, who kept the sacred fane | |
| Of Juno, now she seem’d, and thus began, | 590 |
| Appearing in a dream, to rouse the careless man: | |
| “Shall Turnus then such endless toil sustain | |
| In fighting fields, and conquer towns in vain? | |
| Win, for a Trojan head to wear the prize, | |
| Usurp thy crown, enjoy thy victories? | 595 |
| The bride and scepter which thy blood has bought, | |
| The king transfers; and foreign heirs are sought. | |
| Go now, deluded man, and seek again | |
| New toils, new dangers, on the dusty plain. | |
| Repel the Tuscan foes; their city seize; | 600 |
| Protect the Latians in luxurious ease. | |
| This dream all-pow’rful Juno sends; I bear | |
| Her mighty mandates, and her words you hear. | |
| Haste; arm your Ardeans; issue to the plain; | |
| With fate to friend, assault the Trojan train: | 605 |
| Their thoughtless chiefs, their painted ships, that lie | |
| In Tiber’s mouth, with fire and sword destroy. | |
| The Latian king, unless he shall submit, | |
| Own his old promise, and his new forget— | |
| Let him, in arms, the pow’r of Turnus prove, | 610 |
| And learn to fear whom he disdains to love. | |
| For such is Heav’n’s command.” The youthful prince | |
| With scorn replied, and made this bold defense: | |
| “You tell me, mother, what I knew before: | |
| The Phrygian fleet is landed on the shore. | 615 |
| I neither fear nor will provoke the war; | |
| My fate is Juno’s most peculiar care. | |
| But time has made you dote, and vainly tell | |
| Of arms imagin’d in your lonely cell. | |
| Go; be the temple and the gods your care; | 620 |
| Permit to men the thought of peace and war.” | |
| These haughty words Alecto’s rage provoke, | |
| And frighted Turnus trembled as she spoke. | |
| Her eyes grow stiffen’d, and with sulphur burn; | |
| Her hideous looks and hellish form return; | 625 |
| Her curling snakes with hissings fill the place, | |
| And open all the furies of her face: | |
| Then, darting fire from her malignant eyes, | |
| She cast him backward as he strove to rise, | |
| And, ling’ring, sought to frame some new replies. | 630 |
| High on her head she rears two twisted snakes, | |
| Her chains she rattles, and her whip she shakes; | |
| And, churning bloody foam, thus loudly speaks: | |
| “Behold whom time has made to dote, and tell | |
| Of arms imagin’d in her lonely cell! | 635 |
| Behold the Fates’ infernal minister! | |
| War, death, destruction, in my hand I bear.” | |
| Thus having said, her smold’ring torch, impress’d | |
| With her full force, she plung’d into his breast. | |
| Aghast he wak’d; and, starting from his bed, | 640 |
| Cold sweat, in clammy drops, his limbs o’erspread. | |
| “Arms! arms!” he cries: “my sword and shield prepare!” | |
| He breathes defiance, blood, and mortal war. | |
| So, when with crackling flames a caldron fries, | |
| The bubbling waters from the bottom rise: | 645 |
| Above the brims they force their fiery way; | |
| Black vapors climb aloft, and cloud the day. | |
| The peace polluted thus, a chosen band | |
| He first commissions to the Latian land, | |
| In threat’ning embassy; then rais’d the rest, | 650 |
| To meet in arms th’ intruding Trojan guest, | |
| To force the foes from the Lavinian shore, | |
| And Italy’s indanger’d peace restore. | |
| Himself alone an equal match he boasts, | |
| To fight the Phrygian and Ausonian hosts. | 655 |
| The gods invok’d, the Rutuli prepare | |
| Their arms, and warn each other to the war. | |
| His beauty these, and those his blooming age, | |
| The rest his house and his own fame ingage. | |
| While Turnus urges thus his enterprise, | 660 |
| The Stygian Fury to the Trojans flies; | |
| New frauds invents, and takes a steepy stand, | |
| Which overlooks the vale with wide command; | |
| Where fair Ascanius and his youthful train, | |
| With horns and hounds, a hunting match ordain, | 665 |
| And pitch their toils around the shady plain. | |
| The Fury fires the pack; they snuff, they vent, | |
| And feed their hungry nostrils with the scent. | |
| ’Twas of a well-grown stag, whose antlers rise | |
| High o’er his front; his beams invade the skies. | 670 |
| From this light cause th’ infernal maid prepares | |
| The country churls to mischief, hate, and wars. | |
| The stately beast the two Tyrrhidæ bred, | |
| Snatch’d from his dams, and the tame youngling fed. | |
| Their father Tyrrheus did his fodder bring, | 675 |
| Tyrrheus, chief ranger to the Latian king: | |
| Their sister Silvia cherish’d with her care | |
| The little wanton, and did wreaths prepare | |
| To hang his budding horns, with ribbons tied | |
| His tender neck, and comb’d his silken hide, | 680 |
| And bath’d his body. Patient of command | |
| In time he grew, and, growing us’d to hand, | |
| He waited at his master’s board for food; | |
| Then sought his salvage kindred in the wood, | |
| Where grazing all the day, at night he came | 685 |
| To his known lodgings, and his country dame. | |
| This household beast, that us’d the woodland grounds, | |
| Was view’d at first by the young hero’s hounds, | |
| As down the stream he swam, to seek retreat | |
| In the cool waters, and to quench his heat. | 690 |
| Ascanius young, and eager of his game, | |
| Soon bent his bow, uncertain in his aim; | |
| But the dire fiend the fatal arrow guides, | |
| Which pierc’d his bowels thro’ his panting sides. | |
| The bleeding creature issues from the floods, | 695 |
| Possess’d with fear, and seeks his known abodes, | |
| His old familiar hearth and household gods. | |
| He falls; he fills the house with heavy groans, | |
| Implores their pity, and his pain bemoans. | |
| Young Silvia beats her breast, and cries aloud | 700 |
| For succor from the clownish neighborhood: | |
| The churls assemble; for the fiend, who lay | |
| In the close woody covert, urg’d their way. | |
| One with a brand yet burning from the flame, | |
| Arm’d with a knotty club another came: | 705 |
| Whate’er they catch or find, without their care, | |
| Their fury makes an instrument of war. | |
| Tyrrheus, the foster father of the beast, | |
| Then clench’d a hatchet in his horny fist, | |
| But held his hand from the descending stroke, | 710 |
| And left his wedge within the cloven oak, | |
| To whet their courage and their rage provoke. | |
| And now the goddess, exercis’d in ill, | |
| Who watch’d an hour to work her impious will, | |
| Ascends the roof, and to her crooked horn, | 715 |
| Such as was then by Latian shepherds borne, | |
| Adds all her breath: the rocks and woods around, | |
| And mountains, tremble at th’ infernal sound. | |
| The sacred lake of Trivia from afar, | |
| The Veline fountains, and sulphureous Nar, | 720 |
| Shake at the baleful blast, the signal of the war. | |
| Young mothers wildly stare, with fear possess’d, | |
| And strain their helpless infants to their breast. | |
| The clowns, a boist’rous, rude, ungovern’d crew, | |
| With furious haste to the loud summons flew. | 725 |
| The pow’rs of Troy, then issuing on the plain, | |
| With fresh recruits their youthful chief sustain: | |
| Not theirs a raw and unexperienc’d train, | |
| But a firm body of embattled men. | |
| At first, while fortune favor’d neither side, | 730 |
| The fight with clubs and burning brands was tried; | |
| But now, both parties reinforc’d, the fields | |
| Are bright with flaming swords and brazen shields. | |
| A shining harvest either host displays, | |
| And shoots against the sun with equal rays. | 735 |
| Thus, when a black-brow’d gust begins to rise, | |
| White foam at first on the curl’d ocean fries; | |
| Then roars the main, the billows mount the skies; | |
| Till, by the fury of the storm full blown, | |
| The muddy bottom o’er the clouds is thrown. | 740 |
| First Almon falls, old Tyrrheus’ eldest care, | |
| Pierc’d with an arrow from the distant war: | |
| Fix’d in his throat the flying weapon stood, | |
| And stopp’d his breath, and drank his vital blood | |
| Huge heaps of slain around the body rise: | 745 |
| Among the rest, the rich Galesus lies; | |
| A good old man, while peace he preach’d in vain, | |
| Amidst the madness of th’ unruly train: | |
| Five herds, five bleating flocks, his pastures fill’d; | |
| His lands a hundred yoke of oxen till’d. | 750 |
| Thus, while in equal scales their fortune stood | |
| The Fury bath’d them in each other’s blood; | |
| Then, having fix’d the fight, exulting flies, | |
| And bears fulfill’d her promise to the skies. | |
| To Juno thus she speaks: “Behold! ’t is done, | 755 |
| The blood already drawn, the war begun; | |
| The discord is complete; nor can they cease | |
| The dire debate, nor you command the peace. | |
| Now, since the Latian and the Trojan brood | |
| Have tasted vengeance and the sweets of blood; | 760 |
| Speak, and my pow’r shall add this office more: | |
| The neighb’ring nations of th’ Ausonian shore | |
| Shall hear the dreadful rumor, from afar, | |
| Of arm’d invasion, and embrace the war.” | |
| Then Juno thus: “The grateful work is done, | 765 |
| The seeds of discord sow’d, the war begun; | |
| Frauds, fears, and fury have possess’d the state, | |
| And fix’d the causes of a lasting hate. | |
| A bloody Hymen shall th’ alliance join | |
| Betwixt the Trojan and Ausonian line: | 770 |
| But thou with speed to night and hell repair; | |
| For not the gods, nor angry Jove, will bear | |
| Thy lawless wand’ring walks in upper air. | |
| Leave what remains to me.” Saturnia said: | |
| The sullen fiend her sounding wings display’d, | 775 |
| Unwilling left the light, and sought the nether shade. | |
| In midst of Italy, well known to fame, | |
| There lies a lake (Amsanctus is the name) | |
| Below the lofty mounts: on either side | |
| Thick forests the forbidden entrance hide. | 780 |
| Full in the center of the sacred wood | |
| An arm arises of the Stygian flood, | |
| Which, breaking from beneath with bellowing sound, | |
| Whirls the black waves and rattling stones around. | |
| Here Pluto pants for breath from out his cell, | 785 |
| And opens wide the grinning jaws of hell. | |
| To this infernal lake the Fury flies; | |
| Here hides her hated head, and frees the lab’ring skies. | |
| Saturnian Juno now, with double care, | |
| Attends the fatal process of the war. | 790 |
| The clowns, return’d, from battle bear the slain, | |
| Implore the gods, and to their king complain. | |
| The corps of Almon and the rest are shown; | |
| Shrieks, clamors, murmurs, fill the frighted town. | |
| Ambitious Turnus in the press appears, | 795 |
| And, aggravating crimes, augments their fears; | |
| Proclaims his private injuries aloud, | |
| A solemn promise made, and disavow’d; | |
| A foreign son is sought, and a mix’d mungril brood. | |
| Then they, whose mothers, frantic with their fear, | 800 |
| In woods and wilds the flags of Bacchus bear, | |
| And lead his dances with dishevel’d hair, | |
| Increase the clamor, and the war demand, | |
| (Such was Amata’s interest in the land,) | |
| Against the public sanctions of the peace, | 805 |
| Against all omens of their ill success. | |
| With fates averse, the rout in arms resort, | |
| To force their monarch, and insult the court. | |
| But, like a rock unmov’d, a rock that braves | |
| The raging tempest and the rising waves— | 810 |
| Propp’d on himself he stands; his solid sides | |
| Wash off the seaweeds, and the sounding tides— | |
| So stood the pious prince, unmov’d, and long | |
| Sustain’d the madness of the noisy throng. | |
| But, when he found that Juno’s pow’r prevail’d, | 815 |
| And all the methods of cool counsel fail’d, | |
| He calls the gods to witness their offense, | |
| Disclaims the war, asserts his innocence. | |
| “Hurried by fate,” he cries, “and borne before | |
| A furious wind, we leave the faithful shore. | 820 |
| O more than madmen! you yourselves shall bear | |
| The guilt of blood and sacrilegious war: | |
| Thou, Turnus, shalt atone it by thy fate, | |
| And pray to Heav’n for peace, but pray too late. | |
| For me, my stormy voyage at an end, | 825 |
| I to the port of death securely tend. | |
| The fun’ral pomp which to your kings you pay, | |
| Is all I want, and all you take away.” | |
| He said no more, but, in his walls confin’d, | |
| Shut out the woes which he too well divin’d; | 830 |
| Nor with the rising storm would vainly strive, | |
| But left the helm, and let the vessel drive. | |
| A solemn custom was observ’d of old, | |
| Which Latium held, and now the Romans hold, | |
| Their standard when in fighting fields they rear | 835 |
| Against the fierce Hyrcanians, or declare | |
| The Scythian, Indian, or Arabian war; | |
| Or from the boasting Parthians would regain | |
| Their eagles, lost in Carrhæ’s bloody plain. | |
| Two gates of steel (the name of Mars they bear, | 840 |
| And still are worship’d with religious fear) | |
| Before his temple stand: the dire abode, | |
| And the fear’d issues of the furious god, | |
| Are fenc’d with brazen bolts; without the gates, | |
| The wary guardian Janus doubly waits. | 845 |
| Then, when the sacred senate votes the wars, | |
| The Roman consul their decree declares, | |
| And in his robes the sounding gates unbars. | |
| The youth in military shouts arise, | |
| And the loud trumpets break the yielding skies. | 850 |
| These rites, of old by sov’reign princes us’d, | |
| Were the king’s office; but the king refus’d, | |
| Deaf to their cries, nor would the gates unbar | |
| Of sacred peace, or loose th’ imprison’d war; | |
| But hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms, | 855 |
| Abhorr’d the wicked ministry of arms. | |
| Then heav’n’s imperious queen shot down from high: | |
| At her approach the brazen hinges fly; | |
| The gates are forc’d, and ev’ry falling bar; | |
| And, like a tempest, issues out the war. | 860 |
| The peaceful cities of th’ Ausonian shore, | |
| Lull’d in their ease, and undisturb’d before, | |
| Are all on fire; and some, with studious care, | |
| Their restiff steeds in sandy plains prepare; | |
| Some their soft limbs in painful marches try, | 865 |
| And war is all their wish, and arms the gen’ral cry. | |
| Part scour the rusty shields with seam; and part | |
| New grind the blunted ax, and point the dart: | |
| With joy they view the waving ensigns fly, | |
| And hear the trumpet’s clangor pierce the sky. | 870 |
| Five cities forge their arms: th’ Atinian pow’rs, | |
| Antemnæ, Tibur with her lofty tow’rs, | |
| Ardea the proud, the Crustumerian town: | |
| All these of old were places of renown. | |
| Some hammer helmets for the fighting field; | 875 |
| Some twine young sallows to support the shield; | |
| The croslet some, and some the cuishes mold, | |
| With silver plated, and with ductile gold. | |
| The rustic honors of the scythe and share | |
| Give place to swords and plumes, the pride of war. | 880 |
| Old fauchions are new temper’d in the fires; | |
| The sounding trumpet ev’ry soul inspires. | |
| The word is giv’n; with eager speed they lace | |
| The shining headpiece, and the shield embrace. | |
| The neighing steeds are to the chariot tied; | 885 |
| The trusty weapon sits on ev’ry side. | |
| And now the mighty labor is begun— | |
| Ye Muses, open all your Helicon. | |
| Sing you the chiefs that sway’d th’ Ausonian land, | |
| Their arms, and armies under their command; | 890 |
| What warriors in our ancient clime were bred; | |
| What soldiers follow’d, and what heroes led. | |
| For well you know, and can record alone, | |
| What fame to future times conveys but darkly down. | |
| Mezentius first appear’d upon the plain: | 895 |
| Scorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain, | |
| Defying earth and heav’n. Etruria lost, | |
| He brings to Turnus’ aid his baffled host. | |
| The charming Lausus, full of youthful fire, | |
| Rode in the rank, and next his sullen sire; | 900 |
| To Turnus only second in the grace | |
| Of manly mien, and features of the face. | |
| A skilful horseman, and a huntsman bred, | |
| With fates averse a thousand men he led: | |
| His sire unworthy of so brave a son; | 905 |
| Himself well worthy of a happier throne. | |
| Next Aventinus drives his chariot round | |
| The Latian plains, with palms and laurels crown’d. | |
| Proud of his steeds, he smokes along the field; | |
| His father’s hydra fills his ample shield: | 910 |
| A hundred serpents hiss about the brims; | |
| The son of Hercules he justly seems | |
| By his broad shoulders and gigantic limbs; | |
| Of heav’nly part, and part of earthly blood, | |
| A mortal woman mixing with a god. | 915 |
| For strong Alcides, after he had slain | |
| The triple Geryon, drove from conquer’d Spain | |
| His captive herds; and, thence in triumph led, | |
| On Tuscan Tiber’s flow’ry banks they fed. | |
| Then on Mount Aventine the son of Jove | 920 |
| The priestess Rhea found, and forc’d to love. | |
| For arms, his men long piles and jav’lins bore; | |
| And poles with pointed steel their foes in battle gore. | |
| Like Hercules himself his son appears, | |
| In salvage pomp; a lion’s hide he wears; | 925 |
| About his shoulders hangs the shaggy skin; | |
| The teeth and gaping jaws severely grin. | |
| Thus, like the god his father, homely dress’d, | |
| He strides into the hall, a horrid guest. | |
| Then two twin brothers from fair Tibur came, | 930 |
| (Which from their brother Tiburs took the name,) | |
| Fierce Coras and Catillus, void of fear: | |
| Arm’d Argive horse they led, and in the front appear. | |
| Like cloud-born Centaurs, from the mountain’s height | |
| With rapid course descending to the fight; | 935 |
| They rush along; the rattling woods give way; | |
| The branches bend before their sweepy sway. | |
| Nor was Præneste’s founder wanting there, | |
| Whom fame reports the son of Mulciber: | |
| Found in the fire, and foster’d in the plains, | 940 |
| A shepherd and a king at once he reigns, | |
| And leads to Turnus’ aid his country swains. | |
| His own Præneste sends a chosen band, | |
| With those who plow Saturnia’s Gabine land; | |
| Besides the succor which cold Anien yields, | 945 |
| The rocks of Hernicus, and dewy fields, | |
| Anagnia fat, and Father Amasene— | |
| A num’rous rout, but all of naked men: | |
| Nor arms they wear, nor swords and bucklers wield, | |
| Nor drive the chariot thro’ the dusty field, | 950 |
| But whirl from leathern slings huge balls of lead, | |
| And spoils of yellow wolves adorn their head; | |
| The left foot naked, when they march to fight, | |
| But in a bull’s raw hide they sheathe the right. | |
| Messapus next, (great Neptune was his sire,) | 955 |
| Secure of steel, and fated from the fire, | |
| In pomp appears, and with his ardor warms | |
| A heartless train, unexercis’d in arms: | |
| The just Faliscans he to battle brings, | |
| And those who live where Lake Ciminia springs; | 960 |
| And where Feronia’s grove and temple stands, | |
| Who till Fescennian or Flavinian lands. | |
| All these in order march, and marching sing | |
| The warlike actions of their sea-born king; | |
| Like a long team of snowy swans on high, | 965 |
| Which clap their wings, and cleave the liquid sky, | |
| When, homeward from their wat’ry pastures borne, | |
| They sing, and Asia’s lakes their notes return. | |
| Not one who heard their music from afar, | |
| Would think these troops an army train’d to war, | 970 |
| But flocks of fowl, that, when the tempests roar, | |
| With their hoarse gabbling seek the silent shore. | |
| Then Clausus came, who led a num’rous band | |
| Of troops embodied from the Sabine land, | |
| And, in himself alone, an army brought. | 975 |
| ’T was he, the noble Claudian race begot, | |
| The Claudian race, ordain’d, in times to come, | |
| To share the greatness of imperial Rome. | |
| He led the Cures forth, of old renown, | |
| Mutuscans from their olive-bearing town, | 980 |
| And all th’ Eretian pow’rs; besides a band | |
| That follow’d from Velinum’s dewy land, | |
| And Amiternian troops, of mighty fame, | |
| And mountaineers, that from Severus came, | |
| And from the craggy cliffs of Tetrica, | 985 |
| And those where yellow Tiber takes his way, | |
| And where Himella’s wanton waters play. | |
| Casperia sends her arms, with those that lie | |
| By Fabaris, and fruitful Foruli: | |
| The warlike aids of Horta next appear, | 990 |
| And the cold Nursians come to close the rear, | |
| Mix’d with the natives born of Latine blood, | |
| Whom Allia washes with her fatal flood. | |
| Not thicker billows beat the Libyan main, | |
| When pale Orion sets in wintry rain; | 995 |
| Nor thicker harvests on rich Hermus rise, | |
| Or Lycian fields, when Phœbus burns the skies, | |
| Than stand these troops: their bucklers ring around; | |
| Their trampling turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground. | |
| High in his chariot then Halesus came, | 1000 |
| A foe by birth to Troy’s unhappy name: | |
| From Agamemnon born—to Turnus’ aid | |
| A thousand men the youthful hero led, | |
| Who till the Massic soil, for wine renown’d, | |
| And fierce Auruncans from their hilly ground, | 1005 |
| And those who live by Sidicinian shores, | |
| And where with shoaly fords Vulturnus roars, | |
| Cales’ and Osca’s old inhabitants, | |
| And rough Saticulans, inur’d to wants: | |
| Light demi-lances from afar they throw, | 1010 |
| Fasten’d with leathern thongs, to gall the foe. | |
| Short crooked swords in closer fight they wear; | |
| And on their warding arm light bucklers bear. | |
| Nor OEbalus, shalt thou be left unsung, | |
| From nymph Semethis and old Telon sprung, | 1015 |
| Who then in Teleboan Capri reign’d; | |
| But that short isle th’ ambitious youth disdain’d, | |
| And o’er Campania stretch’d his ample sway, | |
| Where swelling Sarnus seeks the Tyrrhene sea; | |
| O’er Batulum, and where Abella sees, | 1020 |
| From her high tow’rs, the harvest of her trees. | |
| And these (as was the Teuton use of old) | |
| Wield brazen swords, and brazen bucklers hold; | |
| Sling weighty stones, when from afar they fight; | |
| Their casques are cork, a covering thick and light. | 1025 |
| Next these in rank, the warlike Ufens went, | |
| And led the mountain troops that Nursia sent. | |
| The rude Equicolæ his rule obey’d; | |
| Hunting their sport, and plund’ring was their trade. | |
| In arms they plow’d, to battle still prepar’d: | 1030 |
| Their soil was barren, and their hearts were hard. | |
| Umbro the priest the proud Marrubians led, | |
| By King Archippus sent to Turnus’ aid, | |
| And peaceful olives crown’d his hoary head. | |
| His wand and holy words, the viper’s rage, | 1035 |
| And venom’d wounds of serpents could assuage. | |
| He, when he pleas’d with powerful juice to steep | |
| Their temples, shut their eyes in pleasing sleep. | |
| But vain were Marsian herbs, and magic art, | |
| To cure the wound giv’n by the Dardan dart: | 1040 |
| Yet his untimely fate th’ Angitian woods | |
| In sighs remurmur’d to the Fucine floods. | |
| The son of fam’d Hippolytus was there, | |
| Fam’d as his sire, and, as his mother, fair; | |
| Whom in Egerian groves Aricia bore, | 1045 |
| And nurs’d his youth along the marshy shore, | |
| Where great Diana’s peaceful altars flame, | |
| In fruitful fields; and Virbius was his name. | |
| Hippolytus, as old records have said, | |
| Was by his stepdam sought to share her bed; | 1050 |
| But, when no female arts his mind could move, | |
| She turn’d to furious hate her impious love. | |
| Torn by wild horses on the sandy shore, | |
| Another’s crimes th’ unhappy hunter bore, | |
| Glutting his father’s eyes with guiltless gore. | 1055 |
| But chaste Diana, who his death deplor’d, | |
| With Æsculapian herbs his life restor’d. | |
| Then Jove, who saw from high, with just disdain, | |
| The dead inspir’d with vital breath again, | |
| Struck to the center, with his flaming dart, | 1060 |
| Th’ unhappy founder of the godlike art. | |
| But Trivia kept in secret shades alone | |
| Her care, Hippolytus, to fate unknown; | |
| And call’d him Virbius in th’ Egerian grove, | |
| Where then he liv’d obscure, but safe from Jove. | 1065 |
| For this, from Trivia’s temple and her wood | |
| Are coursers driv’n, who shed their master’s blood, | |
| Affrighted by the monsters of the flood. | |
| His son, the second Virbius, yet retain’d | |
| His father’s art, and warrior steeds he rein’d. | 1070 |
| Amid the troops, and like the leading god, | |
| High o’er the rest in arms the graceful Turnus rode: | |
| A triple pile of plumes his crest adorn’d, | |
| On which with belching flames Chimæra burn’d: | |
| The more the kindled combat rises high’r, | 1075 |
| The more with fury burns the blazing fire. | |
| Fair Io grac’d his shield; but Io now | |
| With horns exalted stands, and seems to low— | |
| A noble charge! Her keeper by her side, | |
| To watch her walks, his hundred eyes applied; | 1080 |
| And on the brims her sire, the wat’ry god, | |
| Roll’d from a silver urn his crystal flood. | |
| A cloud of foot succeeds, and fills the fields | |
| With swords, and pointed spears, and clatt’ring shields; | |
| Of Argives, and of old Sicanian bands, | 1085 |
| And those who plow the rich Rutulian lands; | |
| Auruncan youth, and those Sacrana yields, | |
| And the proud Labicans, with painted shields, | |
| And those who near Numician streams reside. | |
| And those whom Tiber’s holy forests hide, | 1090 |
| Or Circe’s hills from the main land divide; | |
| Where Ufens glides along the lowly lands, | |
| Or the black water of Pomptina stands. | |
| Last, from the Volscians fair Camilla came, | |
| And led her warlike troops, a warrior dame; | 1095 |
| Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskill’d, | |
| She chose the nobler Pallas of the field. | |
| Mix’d with the first, the fierce virago fought, | |
| Sustain’d the toils of arms, the danger sought, | |
| Outstripp’d the winds in speed upon the plain, | 1100 |
| Flew o’er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain: | |
| She swept the seas, and, as she skimm’d along, | |
| Her flying feet unbath’d on billows hung. | |
| Men, boys, and women, stupid with surprise, | |
| Where’er she passes, fix their wond’ring eyes: | 1105 |
| Longing they look, and, gaping at the sight, | |
| Devour her o’er and o’er with vast delight; | |
| Her purple habit sits with such a grace | |
| On her smooth shoulders, and so suits her face; | |
| Her head with ringlets of her hair is crown’d, | 1110 |
| And in a golden caul the curls are bound. | |
| She shakes her myrtle jav’lin; and, behind, | |
| Her Lycian quiver dances in the wind. | |
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