| |
| WHILE these affairs in distant places pass’d, | |
| The various Iris Juno sends with haste, | |
| To find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought, | |
| The secret shade of his great grandsire sought. | |
| Retir’d alone she found the daring man, | 5 |
| And op’d her rosy lips, and thus began: | |
| “What none of all the gods could grant thy vows, | |
| That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows. | |
| Æneas, gone to seek th’ Arcadian prince, | |
| Has left the Trojan camp without defense; | 10 |
| And, short of succors there, employs his pains | |
| In parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains. | |
| Now snatch an hour that favors thy designs; | |
| Unite thy forces, and attack their lines.” | |
| This said, on equal wings she pois’d her weight, | 15 |
| And form’d a radiant rainbow in her flight. | |
| The Daunian hero lifts his hands and eyes, | |
| And thus invokes the goddess as she flies: | |
| “Iris, the grace of heav’n, what pow’r divine | |
| Has sent thee down, thro’ dusky clouds to shine? | 20 |
| See, they divide; immortal day appears, | |
| And glitt’ring planets dancing in their spheres! | |
| With joy, these happy omens I obey, | |
| And follow to the war the god that leads the way.” | |
| Thus having said, as by the brook he stood, | 25 |
| He scoop’d the water from the crystal flood; | |
| Then with his hands the drops to heav’n he throws, | |
| And loads the pow’rs above with offer’d vows. | |
| Now march the bold confed’rates thro’ the plain, | |
| Well hors’d, well clad; a rich and shining train. | 30 |
| Messapus leads the van; and, in the rear, | |
| The sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear. | |
| In the main battle, with his flaming crest, | |
| The mighty Turnus tow’rs above the rest. | |
| Silent they move, majestically slow, | 35 |
| Like ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow. | |
| The Trojans view the dusty cloud from far, | |
| And the dark menace of the distant war. | |
| Caicus from the rampire saw it rise, | |
| Black’ning the fields, and thick’ning thro’ the skies. | 40 |
| Then to his fellows thus aloud he calls: | |
| “What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls? | |
| Arm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears | |
| And pointed darts! the Latian host appears.” | |
| Thus warn’d, they shut their gates; with shouts ascend | 45 |
| The bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend: | |
| For their wise gen’ral, with foreseeing care, | |
| Had charg’d them not to tempt the doubtful war, | |
| Nor, tho’ provok’d, in open fields advance, | |
| But close within their lines attend their chance. | 50 |
| Unwilling, yet they keep the strict command, | |
| And sourly wait in arms the hostile band. | |
| The fiery Turnus flew before the rest: | |
| A piebald steed of Thracian strain he press’d; | |
| His helm of massy gold, and crimson was his crest. | 55 |
| With twenty horse to second his designs, | |
| An unexpected foe, he fac’d the lines. | |
| “Is there,” he said, “in arms, who bravely dare | |
| His leader’s honor and his danger share?” | |
| Then spurring on, his brandish’d dart he threw, | 60 |
| In sign of war: applauding shouts ensue. | |
| Amaz’d to find a dastard race, that run | |
| Behind the rampires and the battle shun, | |
| He rides around the camp, with rolling eyes, | |
| And stops at ev’ry post, and ev’ry passage tries. | 65 |
| So roams the nightly wolf about the fold: | |
| Wet with descending show’rs, and stiff with cold, | |
| He howls for hunger, and he grins for pain, | |
| (His gnashing teeth are exercis’d in vain,) | |
| And, impotent of anger, finds no way | 70 |
| In his distended paws to grasp the prey. | |
| The mothers listen; but the bleating lambs | |
| Securely swig the dug, beneath the dams. | |
| Thus ranges eager Turnus o’er the plain. | |
| Sharp with desire, and furious with disdain; | 75 |
| Surveys each passage with a piercing sight, | |
| To force his foes in equal field to fight. | |
| Thus while he gazes round, at length he spies, | |
| Where, fenc’d with strong redoubts, their navy lies, | |
| Close underneath the walls; the washing tide | 80 |
| Secures from all approach this weaker side. | |
| He takes the wish’d occasion, fills his hand | |
| With ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand. | |
| Urg’d by his presence, ev’ry soul is warm’d, | |
| And ev’ry hand with kindled firs is arm’d. | 85 |
| From the fir’d pines the scatt’ring sparkles fly; | |
| Fat vapors, mix’d with flames, involve the sky. | |
| What pow’r, O Muses, could avert the flame | |
| Which threaten’d, in the fleet, the Trojan name? | |
| Tell: for the fact, thro’ length of time obscure, | 90 |
| Is hard to faith; yet shall the fame endure. | |
| ’T is said that, when the chief prepar’d his flight, | |
| And fell’d his timber from Mount Ida’s height, | |
| The grandam goddess then approach’d her son, | |
| And with a mother’s majesty begun: | 95 |
| “Grant me,” she said, “the sole request I bring, | |
| Since conquer’d heav’n has own’d you for its king. | |
| On Ida’s brows, for ages past, there stood, | |
| With firs and maples fill’d, a shady wood; | |
| And on the summit rose a sacred grove, | 100 |
| Where I was worship’d with religious love. | |
| Those woods, that holy grove, my long delight, | |
| I gave the Trojan prince, to speed his flight. | |
| Now, fill’d with fear, on their behalf I come; | |
| Let neither winds o’erset, nor waves intomb | 105 |
| The floating forests of the sacred pine; | |
| But let it be their safety to be mine.” | |
| Then thus replied her awful son, who rolls | |
| The radiant stars, and heav’n and earth controls: | |
| “How dare you, mother, endless date demand | 110 |
| For vessels molded by a mortal hand? | |
| What then is fate? Shall bold Æneas ride, | |
| Of safety certain, on th’ uncertain tide? | |
| Yet, what I can, I grant; when, wafted o’er, | |
| The chief is landed on the Latian shore, | 115 |
| Whatever ships escape the raging storms, | |
| At my command shall change their fading forms | |
| To nymphs divine, and plow the wat’ry way, | |
| Like Dotis and the daughters of the sea.” | |
| To seal his sacred vow, by Styx he swore, | 120 |
| The lake of liquid pitch, the dreary shore, | |
| And Phlegethon’s innavigable flood, | |
| And the black regions of his brother god. | |
| He said; and shook the skies with his imperial nod. | |
| And now at length the number’d hours were come, | 125 |
| Prefix’d by fate’s irrevocable doom, | |
| When the great Mother of the Gods was free | |
| To save her ships, and finish Jove’s decree. | |
| First, from the quarter of the morn, there sprung | |
| A light that sign’d the heav’ns, and shot along; | 130 |
| Then from a cloud, fring’d round with golden fires, | |
| Were timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs; | |
| And, last, a voice, with more than mortal sounds, | |
| Both hosts, in arms oppos’d, with equal horror wounds: | |
| “O Trojan race, your needless aid forbear, | 135 |
| And know, my ships are my peculiar care. | |
| With greater ease the bold Rutulian may, | |
| With hissing brands, attempt to burn the sea, | |
| Than singe my sacred pines. But you, my charge, | |
| Loos’d from your crooked anchors, launch at large, | 140 |
| Exalted each a nymph: forsake the sand, | |
| And swim the seas, at Cybele’s command.” | |
| No sooner had the goddess ceas’d to speak, | |
| When, lo! th’ obedient ships their haulsers break; | |
| And, strange to tell, like dolphins, in the main | 145 |
| They plunge their prows, and dive, and spring again: | |
| As many beauteous maids the billows sweep, | |
| As rode before tall vessels on the deep. | |
| The foes, surpris’d with wonder, stood aghast; | |
| Messapus curb’d his fiery courser’s haste; | 150 |
| Old Tiber roar’d, and, raising up his head, | |
| Call’d back his waters to their oozy bed. | |
| Turnus alone, undaunted, bore the shock, | |
| And with these words his trembling troops bespoke: | |
| “These monsters for the Trojans’ fate are meant, | 155 |
| And are by Jove for black presages sent. | |
| He takes the cowards’ last relief away; | |
| For fly they cannot, and, constrain’d to stay, | |
| Must yield unfought, a base inglorious prey. | |
| The liquid half of all the globe is lost; | 160 |
| Heav’n shuts the seas, and we secure the coast. | |
| Theirs is no more than that small spot of ground | |
| Which myriads of our martial men surround. | |
| Their fates I fear not, or vain oracles. | |
| ’T was giv’n to Venus they should cross the seas, | 165 |
| And land secure upon the Latian plains: | |
| Their promis’d hour is pass’d, and mine remains. | |
| ’T is in the fate of Turnus to destroy, | |
| With sword and fire, the faithless race of Troy. | |
| Shall such affronts as these alone inflame | 170 |
| The Grecian brothers, and the Grecian name? | |
| My cause and theirs is one; a fatal strife, | |
| And final ruin, for a ravish’d wife. | |
| Was ’t not enough, that, punish’d for the crime, | |
| They fell; but will they fall a second time? | 175 |
| One would have thought they paid enough before, | |
| To curse the costly sex, and durst offend no more. | |
| Can they securely trust their feeble wall, | |
| A slight partition, a thin interval, | |
| Betwixt their fate and them; when Troy, tho’ built | 180 |
| By hands divine, yet perish’d by their guilt? | |
| Lend me, for once, my friends, your valiant hands, | |
| To force from out their lines these dastard bands. | |
| Less than a thousand ships will end this war, | |
| Nor Vulcan needs his fated arms prepare. | 185 |
| Let all the Tuscans, all th’ Arcadians, join! | |
| Nor these, nor those, shall frustrate my design. | |
| Let them not fear the treasons of the night, | |
| The robb’d Palladium, the pretended flight: | |
| Our onset shall be made in open light. | 190 |
| No wooden engine shall their town betray; | |
| Fires they shall have around, but fires by day. | |
| No Grecian babes before their camp appear, | |
| Whom Hector’s arms detain’d to the tenth tardy year. | |
| Now, since the sun is rolling to the west, | 195 |
| Give we the silent night to needful rest: | |
| Refresh your bodies, and your arms prepare; | |
| The morn shall end the small remains of war.” | |
| The post of honor to Messapus falls, | |
| To keep the nightly guard, to watch the walls, | 200 |
| To pitch the fires at distances around, | |
| And close the Trojans in their scanty ground. | |
| Twice seven Rutulian captains ready stand, | |
| And twice seven hundred horse these chiefs command; | |
| All clad in shining arms the works invest, | 205 |
| Each with a radiant helm and waving crest. | |
| Stretch’d at their length, they press the grassy ground; | |
| They laugh, they sing, (the jolly bowls go round,) | |
| With lights and cheerful fires renew the day, | |
| And pass the wakeful night in feasts and play. | 210 |
| The Trojans, from above, their foes beheld, | |
| And with arm’d legions all the rampires fill’d. | |
| Seiz’d with affright, their gates they first explore; | |
| Join works to works with bridges, tow’r to tow’r: | |
| Thus all things needful for defense abound. | 215 |
| Mnestheus and brave Seresthus walk the round, | |
| Commission’d by their absent prince to share | |
| The common danger, and divide the care. | |
| The soldiers draw their lots, and, as they fall, | |
| By turns relieve each other on the wall. | 220 |
| Nigh where the foes their utmost guards advance, | |
| To watch the gate was warlike Nisus’ chance. | |
| His father Hyrtacus of noble blood; | |
| His mother was a huntress of the wood, | |
| And sent him to the wars. Well could he bear | 225 |
| His lance in fight, and dart the flying spear, | |
| But better skill’d unerring shafts to send. | |
| Beside him stood Euryalus, his friend: | |
| Euryalus, than whom the Trojan host | |
| No fairer face, or sweeter air, could boast— | 230 |
| Scarce had the down to shade his cheeks begun. | |
| One was their care, and their delight was one: | |
| One common hazard in the war they shar’d, | |
| And now were both by choice upon the guard. | |
| Then Nisus thus: “Or do the gods inspire | 235 |
| This warmth, or make we gods of our desire? | |
| A gen’rous ardor boils within my breast, | |
| Eager of action, enemy to rest: | |
| This urges me to fight, and fires my mind | |
| To leave a memorable name behind. | 240 |
| Thou see’st the foe secure; how faintly shine | |
| Their scatter’d fires! the most, in sleep supine | |
| Along the ground, an easy conquest lie: | |
| The wakeful few the fuming flagon ply; | |
| All hush’d around. Now hear what I revolve— | 245 |
| A thought unripe—and scarcely yet resolve. | |
| Our absent prince both camp and council mourn; | |
| By message both would hasten his return: | |
| If they confer what I demand on thee, | |
| (For fame is recompense enough for me,) | 250 |
| Methinks, beneath yon hill, I have espied | |
| A way that safely will my passage guide.” | |
| Euryalus stood list’ning while he spoke, | |
| With love of praise and noble envy struck; | |
| Then to his ardent friend expos’d his mind: | 255 |
| “All this, alone, and leaving me behind! | |
| Am I unworthy, Nisus, to be join’d? | |
| Think’st thou I can my share of glory yield, | |
| Or send thee unassisted to the field? | |
| Not so my father taught my childhood arms; | 260 |
| Born in a siege, and bred among alarms! | |
| Nor is my youth unworthy of my friend, | |
| Nor of the heav’n-born hero I attend. | |
| The thing call’d life, with ease I can disclaim, | |
| And think it over-sold to purchase fame.” | 265 |
| Then Nisus thus: “Alas! thy tender years | |
| Would minister new matter to my fears. | |
| So may the gods, who view this friendly strife, | |
| Restore me to thy lov’d embrace with life, | |
| Condemn’d to pay my vows, (as sure I trust,) | 270 |
| This thy request is cruel and unjust. | |
| But if some chance—as many chances are, | |
| And doubtful hazards, in the deeds of war— | |
| If one should reach my head, there let it fall, | |
| And spare thy life; I would not perish all. | 275 |
| Thy bloomy youth deserves a longer date: | |
| Live thou to mourn thy love’s unhappy fate; | |
| To bear my mangled body from the foe, | |
| Or buy it back, and fun’ral rites bestow. | |
| Or, if hard fortune shall those dues deny, | 280 |
| Thou canst at least an empty tomb supply. | |
| O let not me the widow’s tears renew! | |
| Nor let a mother’s curse my name pursue: | |
| Thy pious parent, who, for love of thee, | |
| Forsook the coasts of friendly Sicily, | 285 |
| Her age committing to the seas and wind, | |
| When ev’ry weary matron stay’d behind.” | |
| To this, Euryalus: “You plead in vain, | |
| And but protract the cause you cannot gain. | |
| No more delays, but haste!” With that, he wakes | 290 |
| The nodding watch; each to his office takes. | |
| The guard reliev’d, the gen’rous couple went | |
| To find the council at the royal tent. | |
| All creatures else forgot their daily care, | |
| And sleep, the common gift of nature, share; | 295 |
| Except the Trojan peers, who wakeful sate | |
| In nightly council for th’ indanger’d state. | |
| They vote a message to their absent chief, | |
| Shew their distress, and beg a swift relief. | |
| Amid the camp a silent seat they chose, | 300 |
| Remote from clamor, and secure from foes. | |
| On their left arms their ample shields they bear, | |
| The right reclin’d upon the bending spear. | |
| Now Nisus and his friend approach the guard, | |
| And beg admission, eager to be heard: | 305 |
| Th’ affair important, not to be deferr’d. | |
| Ascanius bids ’em be conducted in, | |
| Ord’ring the more experienc’d to begin. | |
| Then Nisus thus: “Ye fathers, lend your ears; | |
| Nor judge our bold attempt beyond our years. | 310 |
| The foe, securely drench’d in sleep and wine, | |
| Neglect their watch; the fires but thinly shine; | |
| And where the smoke in cloudy vapors flies, | |
| Cov’ring the plain, and curling to the skies, | |
| Betwixt two paths, which at the gate divide, | 315 |
| Close by the sea, a passage we have spied, | |
| Which will our way to great Æneas guide. | |
| Expect each hour to see him safe again, | |
| Loaded with spoils of foes in battle slain. | |
| Snatch we the lucky minute while we may; | 320 |
| Nor can we be mistaken in the way; | |
| For, hunting in the vale, we both have seen | |
| The rising turrets, and the stream between, | |
| And know the winding course, with ev’ry ford.” | |
| He ceas’d; and old Alethes took the word: | 325 |
| “Our country gods, in whom our trust we place, | |
| Will yet from ruin save the Trojan race, | |
| While we behold such dauntless worth appear | |
| In dawning youth, and souls so void of fear.” | |
| Then into tears of joy the father broke; | 330 |
| Each in his longing arms by turns he took; | |
| Panted and paus’d; and thus again he spoke: | |
| “Ye brave young men, what equal gifts can we, | |
| In recompense of such desert, decree? | |
| The greatest, sure, and best you can receive, | 335 |
| The gods and your own conscious worth will give. | |
| The rest our grateful gen’ral will bestow, | |
| And young Ascanius till his manhood owe.” | |
| “And I, whose welfare in my father lies,” | |
| Ascanius adds, “by the great deities, | 340 |
| By my dear country, by my household gods, | |
| By hoary Vesta’s rites and dark abodes, | |
| Adjure you both, (on you my fortune stands; | |
| That and my faith I plight into your hands,) | |
| Make me but happy in his safe return, | 345 |
| Whose wanted presence I can only mourn; | |
| Your common gift shall two large goblets be | |
| Of silver, wrought with curious imagery, | |
| And high emboss’d, which, when old Priam reign’d, | |
| My conqu’ring sire at sack’d Arisba gain’d; | 350 |
| And more, two tripods cast in antic mold, | |
| With two great talents of the finest gold; | |
| Beside a costly bowl, ingrav’d with art, | |
| Which Dido gave, when first she gave her heart. | |
| But, if in conquer’d Italy we reign, | 355 |
| When spoils by lot the victor shall obtain— | |
| Thou saw’st the courser by proud Turnus press’d: | |
| That, Nisus, and his arms, and nodding crest, | |
| And shield, from chance exempt, shall be thy share: | |
| Twelve lab’ring slaves, twelve handmaids young and fair, | 360 |
| All clad in rich attire, and train’d with care; | |
| And, last, a Latian field with fruitful plains, | |
| And a large portion of the king’s domains. | |
| But thou, whose years are more to mine allied— | |
| No fate my vow’d affection shall divide | 365 |
| From thee, heroic youth! Be wholly mine; | |
| Take full possession; all my soul is thine. | |
| One faith, one fame, one fate, shall both attend; | |
| My life’s companion, and my bosom friend: | |
| My peace shall be committed to thy care, | 370 |
| And to thy conduct my concerns in war.” | |
| Then thus the young Euryalus replied: | |
| “Whatever fortune, good or bad, betide, | |
| The same shall be my age, as now my youth; | |
| No time shall find me wanting to my truth. | 375 |
| This only from your goodness let me gain | |
| (And, this ungranted, all rewards are vain): | |
| Of Priam’s royal race my mother came— | |
| And sure the best that ever bore the name— | |
| Whom neither Troy nor Sicily could hold | 380 |
| From me departing, but, o’erspent and old, | |
| My fate she follow’d. Ignorant of this | |
| (Whatever) danger, neither parting kiss, | |
| Nor pious blessing taken, her I leave, | |
| And in this only act of all my life deceive. | 385 |
| By this right hand and conscious Night I swear, | |
| My soul so sad a farewell could not bear. | |
| Be you her comfort; fill my vacant place | |
| (Permit me to presume so great a grace); | |
| Support her age, forsaken and distress’d. | 390 |
| That hope alone will fortify my breast | |
| Against the worst of fortunes, and of fears.” | |
| He said. The mov’d assistants melt in tears. | |
| Then thus Ascanius, wonderstruck to see | |
| That image of his filial piety: | 395 |
| “So great beginnings, in so green an age, | |
| Exact the faith which I again ingage. | |
| Thy mother all the dues shall justly claim, | |
| Creusa had, and only want the name. | |
| Whate’er event thy bold attempt shall have, | 400 |
| ’T is merit to have borne a son so brave. | |
| Now by my head, a sacred oath, I swear, | |
| (My father us’d it,) what, returning here | |
| Crown’d with success, I for thyself prepare, | |
| That, if thou fail, shall thy lov’d mother share.” | 405 |
| He said, and weeping, while he spoke the word, | |
| From his broad belt he drew a shining sword, | |
| Magnificent with gold. Lycaon made, | |
| And in an iv’ry scabbard sheath’d the blade. | |
| This was his gift. Great Mnestheus gave his friend | 410 |
| A lion’s hide, his body to defend; | |
| And good Alethes furnish’d him, beside, | |
| With his own trusty helm, of temper tried. | |
| Thus arm’d they went. The noble Trojans wait | |
| Their issuing forth, and follow to the gate | 415 |
| With prayers and vows. Above the rest appears | |
| Ascanius, manly far beyond his years, | |
| And messages committed to their care, | |
| Which all in winds were lost, and flitting air. | |
| The trenches first they pass’d; then took their way | 420 |
| Where their proud foes in pitch’d pavilions lay; | |
| To many fatal, ere themselves were slain. | |
| They found the careless host dispers’d upon the plain, | |
| Who, gorg’d, and drunk with wine, supinely snore. | |
| Unharnass’d chariots stand along the shore: | 425 |
| Amidst the wheels and reins, the goblet by, | |
| A medley of debauch and war, they lie. | |
| Observing Nisus shew’d his friend the sight: | |
| “Behold a conquest gain’d without a fight. | |
| Occasion offers, and I stand prepar’d; | 430 |
| There lies our way; be thou upon the guard, | |
| And look around, while I securely go, | |
| And hew a passage thro’ the sleeping foe.” | |
| Softly he spoke; then striding took his way, | |
| With his drawn sword, where haughty Rhamnes lay; | 435 |
| His head rais’d high on tapestry beneath, | |
| And heaving from his breast, he drew his breath; | |
| A king and prophet, by King Turnus lov’d: | |
| But fate by prescience cannot be remov’d. | |
| Him and his sleeping slaves he slew; then spies | 440 |
| Where Remus, with his rich retinue, lies. | |
| His armor-bearer first, and next he kills | |
| His charioteer, intrench’d betwixt the wheels | |
| And his lov’d horses; last invades their lord; | |
| Full on his neck he drives the fatal sword: | 445 |
| The gasping head flies off; a purple flood | |
| Flows from the trunk, that welters in the blood, | |
| Which, by the spurning heels dispers’d around, | |
| The bed besprinkles and bedews the ground. | |
| Lamus the bold, and Lamyrus the strong, | 450 |
| He slew, and then Serranus fair and young. | |
| From dice and wine the youth retir’d to rest, | |
| And puff’d the fumy god from out his breast: | |
| Ev’n then he dreamt of drink and lucky play— | |
| More lucky, had it lasted till the day. | 455 |
| The famish’d lion thus, with hunger bold, | |
| O’erleaps the fences of the nightly fold, | |
| And tears the peaceful flocks: with silent awe | |
| Trembling they lie, and pant beneath his paw. | |
| Nor with less rage Euryalus employs | 460 |
| The wrathful sword, or fewer foes destroys; | |
| But on th’ ignoble crowd his fury flew; | |
| He Fadus, Hebesus, and Rhoetus slew. | |
| Oppress’d with heavy sleep the former fell, | |
| But Rhoetus wakeful, and observing all: | 465 |
| Behind a spacious jar he slink’d for fear; | |
| The fatal iron found and reach’d him there; | |
| For, as he rose, it pierc’d his naked side, | |
| And, reeking, thence return’d in crimson dyed. | |
| The wound pours out a stream of wine and blood; | 470 |
| The purple soul comes floating in the flood. | |
| Now, where Messapus quarter’d, they arrive. | |
| The fires were fainting there, and just alive; | |
| The warrior-horses, tied in order, fed. | |
| Nisus observ’d the discipline, and said: | 475 |
| “Our eager thirst of blood may both betray; | |
| And see the scatter’d streaks of dawning day, | |
| Foe to nocturnal thefts. No more, my friend; | |
| Here let our glutted execution end. | |
| A lane thro’ slaughter’d bodies we have made.” | 480 |
| The bold Euryalus, tho’ loth, obey’d. | |
| Of arms, and arras, and of plate, they find | |
| A precious load; but these they leave behind. | |
| Yet, fond of gaudy spoils, the boy would stay | |
| To make the rich caparison his prey, | 485 |
| Which on the steed of conquer’d Rhamnes lay. | |
| Nor did his eyes less longingly behold | |
| The girdle-belt, with nails of burnish’d gold. | |
| This present Cædicus the rich bestow’d | |
| On Remulus, when friendship first they vow’d, | 490 |
| And, absent, join’d in hospitable ties: | |
| He, dying, to his heir bequeath’d the prize; | |
| Till, by the conqu’ring Ardean troops oppress’d, | |
| He fell; and they the glorious gift possess’d. | |
| These glitt’ring spoils (now made the victor’s gain) | 495 |
| He to his body suits, but suits in vain: | |
| Messapus’ helm he finds among the rest, | |
| And laces on, and wears the waving crest. | |
| Proud of their conquest, prouder of their prey, | |
| They leave the camp, and take the ready way. | 500 |
| But far they had not pass’d, before they spied | |
| Three hundred horse, with Volscens for their guide. | |
| The queen a legion to King Turnus sent; | |
| But the swift horse the slower foot prevent, | |
| And now, advancing, sought the leader’s tent. | 505 |
| They saw the pair; for, thro’ the doubtful shade, | |
| His shining helm Euryalus betray’d, | |
| On which the moon with full reflection play’d. | |
| “’T is not for naught,” cried Volscens from the crowd, | |
| “These men go there;” then rais’d his voice aloud: | 510 |
| “Stand! stand! why thus in arms? And whither bent? | |
| From whence, to whom, and on what errand sent?” | |
| Silent they scud away, and haste their flight | |
| To neighb’ring woods, and trust themselves to night. | |
| The speedy horse all passages belay, | 515 |
| And spur their smoking steeds to cross their way, | |
| And watch each entrance of the winding wood. | |
| Black was the forest: thick with beech it stood, | |
| Horrid with fern, and intricate with thorn; | |
| Few paths of human feet, or tracks of beasts, were worn. | 520 |
| The darkness of the shades, his heavy prey, | |
| And fear, misled the younger from his way. | |
| But Nisus hit the turns with happier haste, | |
| And, thoughtless of his friend, the forest pass’d, | |
| And Alban plains, from Alba’s name so call’d, | 525 |
| Where King Latinus then his oxen stall’d; | |
| Till, turning at the length, he stood his ground, | |
| And miss’d his friend, and cast his eyes around: | |
| “Ah wretch!” he cried, “where have I left behind | |
| Th’ unhappy youth? where shall I hope to find? | 530 |
| Or what way take?” Again he ventures back, | |
| And treads the mazes of his former track. | |
| He winds the wood, and, list’ning, hears the noise | |
| Of tramping coursers, and the riders’ voice. | |
| The sound approach’d; and suddenly he view’d | 535 |
| The foes inclosing, and his friend pursued, | |
| Forelaid and taken, while he strove in vain | |
| The shelter of the friendly shades to gain. | |
| What should he next attempt? what arms employ, | |
| What fruitless force, to free the captive boy? | 540 |
| Or desperate should he rush and lose his life, | |
| With odds oppress’d, in such unequal strife? | |
| Resolv’d at length, his pointed spear he shook; | |
| And, casting on the moon a mournful look: | |
| “Guardian of groves, and goddess of the night, | 545 |
| Fair queen,” he said, “direct my dart aright. | |
| If e’er my pious father, for my sake, | |
| Did grateful off’rings on thy altars make, | |
| Or I increas’d them with my sylvan toils, | |
| And hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils, | 550 |
| Give me to scatter these.” Then from his ear | |
| He pois’d, and aim’d, and launch’d the trembling spear. | |
| The deadly weapon, hissing from the grove, | |
| Impetuous on the back of Sulmo drove; | |
| Pierc’d his thin armor, drank his vital blood, | 555 |
| And in his body left the broken wood. | |
| He staggers round; his eyeballs roll in death, | |
| And with short sobs he gasps away his breath. | |
| All stand amaz’d—a second jav’lin flies | |
| With equal strength, and quivers thro’ the skies. | 560 |
| This thro’ thy temples, Tagus, forc’d the way, | |
| And in the brainpan warmly buried lay. | |
| Fierce Volscens foams with rage, and, gazing round, | |
| Descried not him who gave the fatal wound, | |
| Nor knew to fix revenge: “But thou,” he cries, | 565 |
| “Shalt pay for both,” and at the pris’ner flies | |
| With his drawn sword. Then, struck with deep despair, | |
| That cruel sight the lover could not bear; | |
| But from his covert rush’d in open view, | |
| And sent his voice before him as he flew: | 570 |
| “Me! me!” he cried—“turn all your swords alone | |
| On me—the fact confess’d, the fault my own. | |
| He neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth: | |
| Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth! | |
| His only crime (if friendship can offend) | 575 |
| Is too much love to his unhappy friend.” | |
| Too late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides, | |
| Driv’n with full force, had pierc’d his tender sides. | |
| Down fell the beauteous youth: the yawning wound | |
| Gush’d out a purple stream, and stain’d the ground. | 580 |
| His snowy neck reclines upon his breast, | |
| Like a fair flow’r by the keen share oppress’d; | |
| Like a white poppy sinking on the plain, | |
| Whose heavy head is overcharg’d with rain. | |
| Despair, and rage, and vengeance justly vow’d, | 585 |
| Drove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd. | |
| Volscens he seeks; on him alone he bends: | |
| Borne back and bor’d by his surrounding friends, | |
| Onward he press’d, and kept him still in sight; | |
| Then whirl’d aloft his sword with all his might: | 590 |
| Th’ unerring steel descended while he spoke, | |
| Pierc’d his wide mouth, and thro’ his weazon broke. | |
| Dying, he slew; and, stagg’ring on the plain, | |
| With swimming eyes he sought his lover slain; | |
| Then quiet on his bleeding bosom fell, | 595 |
| Content, in death, to be reveng’d so well. | |
| O happy friends! for, if my verse can give | |
| Immortal life, your fame shall ever live, | |
| Fix’d as the Capitol’s foundation lies, | |
| And spread, where’er the Roman eagle flies! | 600 |
| The conqu’ring party first divide the prey, | |
| Then their slain leader to the camp convey. | |
| With wonder, as they went, the troops were fill’d, | |
| To see such numbers whom so few had kill’d. | |
| Serranus, Rhamnes, and the rest, they found: | 605 |
| Vast crowds the dying and the dead surround; | |
| And the yet reeking blood o’erflows the ground. | |
| All knew the helmet which Messapus lost, | |
| But mourn’d a purchase that so dear had cost. | |
| Now rose the ruddy morn from Tithon’s bed, | 610 |
| And with the dawn of day the skies o’erspread; | |
| Nor long the sun his daily course withheld, | |
| But added colors to the world reveal’d: | |
| When early Turnus, wak’ning with the light, | |
| All clad in armor, calls his troops to fight. | 615 |
| His martial men with fierce harangue he fir’d, | |
| And his own ardor in their souls inspir’d. | |
| This done—to give new terror to his foes, | |
| The heads of Nisus and his friend he shows, | |
| Rais’d high on pointed spears—a ghastly sight: | 620 |
| Loud peals of shouts ensue, and barbarous delight. | |
| Meantime the Trojans run, where danger calls; | |
| They line their trenches, and they man their walls. | |
| In front extended to the left they stood; | |
| Safe was the right, surrounded by the flood. | 625 |
| But, casting from their tow’rs a frightful view, | |
| They saw the faces, which too well they knew, | |
| Tho’ then disguis’d in death, and smear’d all o’er | |
| With filth obscene, and dropping putrid gore. | |
| Soon hasty fame thro’ the sad city bears | 630 |
| The mournful message to the mother’s ears. | |
| An icy cold benumbs her limbs; she shakes; | |
| Her cheeks the blood, her hand the web forsakes. | |
| She runs the rampires round amidst the war, | |
| Nor fears the flying darts; she rends her hair, | 635 |
| And fills with loud laments the liquid air. | |
| “Thus, then, my lov’d Euryalus appears! | |
| Thus looks the prop of my declining years! | |
| Was’t on this face my famish’d eyes I fed? | |
| Ah! how unlike the living is the dead! | 640 |
| And could’st thou leave me, cruel, thus alone? | |
| Not one kind kiss from a departing son! | |
| No look, no last adieu before he went, | |
| In an ill-boding hour to slaughter sent! | |
| Cold on the ground, and pressing foreign clay, | 645 |
| To Latian dogs and fowls he lies a prey! | |
| Nor was I near to close his dying eyes, | |
| To wash his wounds, to weep his obsequies, | |
| To call about his corpse his crying friends, | |
| Or spread the mantle (made for other ends) | 650 |
| On his dear body, which I wove with care, | |
| Nor did my daily pains or nightly labor spare. | |
| Where shall I find his corpse? what earth sustains | |
| His trunk dismember’d, and his cold remains? | |
| For this, alas! I left my needful ease, | 655 |
| Expos’d my life to winds and winter seas! | |
| If any pity touch Rutulian hearts, | |
| Here empty all your quivers, all your darts; | |
| Or, if they fail, thou, Jove, conclude my woe, | |
| And send me thunderstruck to shades below!” | 660 |
| Her shrieks and clamors pierce the Trojans’ ears, | |
| Unman their courage, and augment their fears; | |
| Nor young Ascanius could the sight sustain, | |
| Nor old Ilioneus his tears restrain, | |
| But Actor and Idæus jointly sent, | 665 |
| To bear the madding mother to her tent. | |
| And now the trumpets terribly, from far, | |
| With rattling clangor, rouse the sleepy war. | |
| The soldiers’ shouts succeed the brazen sounds; | |
| And heav’n, from pole to pole, the noise rebounds. | 670 |
| The Volscians bear their shields upon their head, | |
| And, rushing forward, form a moving shed. | |
| These fill the ditch; those pull the bulwarks down: | |
| Some raise the ladders; others scale the town. | |
| But, where void spaces on the walls appear, | 675 |
| Or thin defense, they pour their forces there. | |
| With poles and missive weapons, from afar, | |
| The Trojans keep aloof the rising war. | |
| Taught, by their ten years’ siege, defensive fight, | |
| They roll down ribs of rocks, an unresisted weight, | 680 |
| To break the penthouse with the pond’rous blow, | |
| Which yet the patient Volscians undergo: | |
| But could not bear th’ unequal combat long; | |
| For, where the Trojans find the thickest throng, | |
| The ruin falls: their shatter’d shields give way, | 685 |
| And their crush’d heads become an easy prey. | |
| They shrink for fear, abated of their rage, | |
| Nor longer dare in a blind fight engage; | |
| Contented now to gall them from below | |
| With darts and slings, and with the distant bow. | 690 |
| Elsewhere Mezentius, terrible to view, | |
| A blazing pine within the trenches threw. | |
| But brave Messapus, Neptune’s warlike son, | |
| Broke down the palisades, the trenches won, | |
| And loud for ladders calls, to scale the town. | 695 |
| Calliope, begin! Ye sacred Nine, | |
| Inspire your poet in his high design, | |
| To sing what slaughter manly Turnus made, | |
| What souls he sent below the Stygian shade, | |
| What fame the soldiers with their captain share, | 700 |
| And the vast circuit of the fatal war; | |
| For you in singing martial facts excel; | |
| You best remember, and alone can tell. | |
| There stood a tow’r, amazing to the sight, | |
| Built up of beams, and of stupendous height: | 705 |
| Art, and the nature of the place, conspir’d | |
| To furnish all the strength that war requir’d. | |
| To level this, the bold Italians join; | |
| The wary Trojans obviate their design; | |
| With weighty stones o’erwhelm their troops below, | 710 |
| Shoot thro’ the loopholes, and sharp jav’lins throw. | |
| Turnus, the chief, toss’d from his thund’ring hand | |
| Against the wooden walls, a flaming brand: | |
| It stuck, the fiery plague; the winds were high; | |
| The planks were season’d, and the timber dry. | 715 |
| Contagion caught the posts; it spread along, | |
| Scorch’d, and to distance drove the scatter’d throng. | |
| The Trojans fled; the fire pursued amain, | |
| Still gath’ring fast upon the trembling train; | |
| Till, crowding to the corners of the wall, | 720 |
| Down the defense and the defenders fall. | |
| The mighty flaw makes heav’n itself resound: | |
| The dead and dying Trojans strew the ground. | |
| The tow’r, that follow’d on the fallen crew, | |
| Whelm’d o’er their heads, and buried whom it slew: | 725 |
| Some stuck upon the darts themselves had sent; | |
| All the same equal ruin underwent. | |
| Young Lycus and Helenor only scape; | |
| Sav’d—how, they know not—from the steepy leap. | |
| Helenor, elder of the two: by birth, | 730 |
| On one side royal, one a son of earth, | |
| Whom to the Lydian king Licymnia bare, | |
| And sent her boasted bastard to the war | |
| (A privilege which none but freemen share). | |
| Slight were his arms, a sword and silver shield: | 735 |
| No marks of honor charg’d its empty field. | |
| Light as he fell, so light the youth arose, | |
| And rising, found himself amidst his foes; | |
| Nor flight was left, nor hopes to force his way. | |
| Embolden’d by despair, he stood at bay; | 740 |
| And—like a stag, whom all the troop surrounds | |
| Of eager huntsmen and invading hounds— | |
| Resolv’d on death, he dissipates his fears, | |
| And bounds aloft against the pointed spears: | |
| So dares the youth, secure of death; and throws | 745 |
| His dying body on his thickest foes. | |
| But Lycus, swifter of his feet by far, | |
| Runs, doubles, winds and turns, amidst the war; | |
| Springs to the walls, and leaves his foes behind, | |
| And snatches at the beam he first can find; | 750 |
| Looks up, and leaps aloft at all the stretch, | |
| In hopes the helping hand of some kind friend to reach | |
| But Turnus follow’d hard his hunted prey | |
| (His spear had almost reach’d him in the way, | |
| Short of his reins, and scarce a span behind): | 755 |
| “Fool!” said the chief, “tho’ fleeter than the wind, | |
| Couldst thou presume to scape, when I pursue?” | |
| He said, and downward by the feet he drew | |
| The trembling dastard; at the tug he falls; | |
| Vast ruins come along, rent from the smoking walls. | 760 |
| Thus on some silver swan, or tim’rous hare, | |
| Jove’s bird comes sousing down from upper air; | |
| Her crooked talons truss the fearful prey: | |
| Then out of sight she soars, and wings her way. | |
| So seizes the grim wolf the tender lamb, | 765 |
| In vain lamented by the bleating dam. | |
| Then rushing onward with a barb’rous cry, | |
| The troops of Turnus to the combat fly. | |
| The ditch with fagots fill’d, the daring foe | |
| Toss’d firebrands to the steepy turrets throw. | 770 |
| Ilioneus, as bold Lucetius came | |
| To force the gate, and feed the kindling flame, | |
| Roll’d down the fragment of a rock so right, | |
| It crush’d him double underneath the weight. | |
| Two more young Liger and Asylas slew: | 775 |
| To bend the bow young Liger better knew; | |
| Asylas best the pointed jav’lin threw. | |
| Brave Cæneus laid Ortygius on the plain; | |
| The victor Cæneus was by Turnus slain. | |
| By the same hand, Clonius and Itys fall, | 780 |
| Sagar, and Ida, standing on the wall. | |
| From Capys’ arms his fate Privernus found: | |
| Hurt by Themilla first—but slight the wound— | |
| His shield thrown by, to mitigate the smart, | |
| He clapp’d his hand upon the wounded part: | 785 |
| The second shaft came swift and unespied, | |
| And pierc’d his hand, and nail’d it to his side, | |
| Transfix’d his breathing lungs and beating heart: | |
| The soul came issuing out, and hiss’d against the dart. | |
| The son of Arcens shone amid the rest, | 790 |
| In glitt’ring armor and a purple vest, | |
| (Fair was his face, his eyes inspiring love,) | |
| Bred by his father in the Martian grove, | |
| Where the fat altars of Palicus flame, | |
| And sent in arms to purchase early fame. | 795 |
| Him when he spied from far, the Tuscan king | |
| Laid by the lance, and took him to the sling, | |
| Thrice whirl’d the thong around his head, and threw: | |
| The heated lead half melted as it flew; | |
| It pierc’d his hollow temples and his brain; | 800 |
| The youth came tumbling down, and spurn’d the plain. | |
| Then young Ascanius, who, before this day, | |
| Was wont in woods to shoot the savage prey, | |
| First bent in martial strife the twanging bow, | |
| And exercis’d against a human foe— | 805 |
| With this bereft Numanus of his life, | |
| Who Turnus’ younger sister took to wife. | |
| Proud of his realm, and of his royal bride, | |
| Vaunting before his troops, and lengthen’d with a stride, | |
| In these insulting terms the Trojans he defied: | 810 |
| ‘Twice-conquer’d cowards, now your shame is shown— | |
| Coop’d up a second time within your town! | |
| Who dare not issue forth in open field, | |
| But hold your walls before you for a shield. | |
| Thus threat you war? thus our alliance force? | 815 |
| What gods, what madness, hether steer’d your course? | |
| You shall not find the sons of Atreus here, | |
| Nor need the frauds of sly Ulysses fear. | |
| Strong from the cradle, of a sturdy brood, | |
| We bear our newborn infants to the flood; | 820 |
| There bath’d amid the stream, our boys we hold, | |
| With winter harden’d, and inur’d to cold. | |
| They wake before the day to range the wood, | |
| Kill ere they eat, nor taste unconquer’d food. | |
| No sports, but what belong to war, they know: | 825 |
| To break the stubborn colt, to bend the bow. | |
| Our youth, of labor patient, earn their bread; | |
| Hardly they work, with frugal diet fed. | |
| From plows and harrows sent to seek renown, | |
| They fight in fields, and storm the shaken town. | 830 |
| No part of life from toils of war is free, | |
| No change in age, or diff’rence in degree. | |
| We plow and till in arms; our oxen feel, | |
| Instead of goads, the spur and pointed steel; | |
| Th’ inverted lance makes furrows in the plain. | 835 |
| Ev’n time, that changes all, yet changes us in vain: | |
| The body, not the mind; nor can control | |
| Th’ immortal vigor, or abate the soul. | |
| Our helms defend the young, disguise the gray: | |
| We live by plunder, and delight in prey. | 840 |
| Your vests embroider’d with rich purple shine; | |
| In sloth you glory, and in dances join. | |
| Your vests have sweeping sleeves; with female pride | |
| Your turbants underneath your chins are tied. | |
| Go, Phrygians, to your Dindymus again! | 845 |
| Go, less than women, in the shapes of men! | |
| Go, mix’d with eunuchs, in the Mother’s rites, | |
| Where with unequal sound the flute invites; | |
| Sing, dance, and howl, by turns, in Ida’s shade: | |
| Resign the war to men, who know the martial trade!” | 850 |
| This foul reproach Ascanius could not hear | |
| With patience, or a vow’d revenge forbear. | |
| At the full stretch of both his hands he drew, | |
| And almost join’d the horns of the tough yew. | |
| But, first, before the throne of Jove he stood, | 855 |
| And thus with lifted hands invok’d the god: | |
| “My first attempt, great Jupiter, succeed! | |
| An annual off’ring in thy grove shall bleed; | |
| A snow-white steer, before thy altar led, | |
| Who, like his mother, bears aloft his head, | 860 |
| Butts with his threat’ning brows, and bellowing stands, | |
| And dares the fight, and spurns the yellow sands.” | |
| Jove bow’d the heav’ns, and lent a gracious ear, | |
| And thunder’d on the left, amidst the clear. | |
| Sounded at once the bow; and swiftly flies | 865 |
| The feather’d death, and hisses thro’ the skies. | |
| The steel thro’ both his temples forc’d the way: | |
| Extended on the ground, Numanus lay. | |
| “Go now, vain boaster, and true valor scorn! | |
| The Phrygians, twice subdued, yet make this third return.” | 870 |
| Ascanius said no more. The Trojans shake | |
| The heav’ns with shouting, and new vigor take. | |
| Apollo then bestrode a golden cloud, | |
| To view the feats of arms, and fighting crowd; | |
| And thus the beardless victor he bespoke aloud: | 875 |
| “Advance, illustrious youth, increase in fame, | |
| And wide from east to west extend thy name; | |
| Offspring of gods thyself; and Rome shall owe | |
| To thee a race of demigods below. | |
| This is the way to heav’n: the pow’rs divine | 880 |
| From this beginning date the Julian line. | |
| To thee, to them, and their victorious heirs, | |
| The conquer’d war is due, and the vast world is theirs. | |
| Troy is too narrow for thy name.” He said, | |
| And plunging downward shot his radiant head; | 885 |
| Dispell’d the breathing air, that broke his flight: | |
| Shorn of his beams, a man to mortal sight. | |
| Old Butes’ form he took, Anchises’ squire, | |
| Now left, to rule Ascanius, by his sire: | |
| His wrinkled visage, and his hoary hairs, | 890 |
| His mien, his habit, and his arms, he wears, | |
| And thus salutes the boy, too forward for his years: | |
| “Suffice it thee, thy father’s worthy son, | |
| The warlike prize thou hast already won. | |
| The god of archers gives thy youth a part | 895 |
| Of his own praise, nor envies equal art. | |
| Now tempt the war no more.” He said, and flew | |
| Obscure in air, and vanish’d from their view. | |
| The Trojans, by his arms, their patron know, | |
| And hear the twanging of his heav’nly bow. | 900 |
| Then duteous force they use, and Phœbus’ name, | |
| To keep from fight the youth too fond of fame. | |
| Undaunted, they themselves no danger shun; | |
| From wall to wall the shouts and clamors run. | |
| They bend their bows; they whirl their slings around; | 905 |
| Heaps of spent arrows fall, and strew the ground; | |
| And helms, and shields, and rattling arms resound. | |
| The combat thickens, like the storm that flies | |
| From westward, when the show’ry Kids arise; | |
| Or patt’ring hail comes pouring on the main, | 910 |
| When Jupiter descends in harden’d rain, | |
| Or bellowing clouds burst with a stormy sound, | |
| And with an armed winter strew the ground. | |
| Pand’rus and Bitias, thunderbolts of war, | |
| Whom Hiera to bold Alcanor bare | 915 |
| On Ida’s top, two youths of height and size | |
| Like firs that on their mother mountain rise, | |
| Presuming on their force, the gates unbar, | |
| And of their own accord invite the war. | |
| With fates averse, against their king’s command, | 920 |
| Arm’d, on the right and on the left they stand, | |
| And flank the passage: shining steel they wear, | |
| And waving crests above their heads appear. | |
| Thus two tall oaks, that Padus’ banks adorn, | |
| Lift up to heav’n their leafy heads unshorn, | 925 |
| And, overpress’d with nature’s heavy load, | |
| Dance to the whistling winds, and at each other nod. | |
| In flows a tide of Latians, when they see | |
| The gate set open, and the passage free; | |
| Bold Quercens, with rash Tmarus, rushing on, | 930 |
| Equicolus, that in bright armor shone, | |
| And Hæmon first; but soon repuls’d they fly, | |
| Or in the well-defended pass they die. | |
| These with success are fir’d, and those with rage, | |
| And each on equal terms at length ingage. | 935 |
| Drawn from their lines, and issuing on the plain, | |
| The Trojans hand to hand the fight maintain. | |
| Fierce Turnus in another quarter fought, | |
| When suddenly th’ unhop’d-for news was brought, | |
| The foes had left the fastness of their place, | 940 |
| Prevail’d in fight, and had his men in chase. | |
| He quits th’ attack, and, to prevent their fate, | |
| Runs where the giant brothers guard the gate. | |
| The first he met, Antiphates the brave, | |
| But base-begotten on a Theban slave, | 945 |
| Sarpedon’s son, he slew: the deadly dart | |
| Found passage thro’ his breast, and pierc’d his heart. | |
| Fix’d in the wound th’ Italian cornel stood, | |
| Warm’d in his lungs, and in his vital blood. | |
| Aphidnus next, and Erymanthus dies, | 950 |
| And Meropes, and the gigantic size | |
| Of Bitias, threat’ning with his ardent eyes. | |
| Not by the feeble dart he fell oppress’d | |
| (A dart were lost within that roomy breast), | |
| But from a knotted lance, large, heavy, strong, | 955 |
| Which roar’d like thunder as it whirl’d along: | |
| Not two bull hides th’ impetuous force withhold, | |
| Nor coat of double mail, with scales of gold. | |
| Down sunk the monster bulk and press’d the ground; | |
| His arms and clatt’ring shield on the vast body sound, | 960 |
| Not with less ruin than the Bajan mole, | |
| Rais’d on the seas, the surges to control— | |
| At once comes tumbling down the rocky wall; | |
| Prone to the deep, the stones disjointed fall | |
| Of the vast pile; the scatter’d ocean flies; | 965 |
| Black sands, discolor’d froth, and mingled mud arise: | |
| The frighted billows roll, and seek the shores; | |
| Then trembles Prochyta, then Ischia roars: | |
| Typhœus, thrown beneath, by Jove’s command, | |
| Astonish’d at the flaw that shakes the land, | 970 |
| Soon shifts his weary side, and, scarce awake, | |
| With wonder feels the weight press lighter on his back. | |
| The warrior god the Latian troops inspir’d, | |
| New strung their sinews, and their courage fir’d, | |
| But chills the Trojan hearts with cold affright: | 975 |
| Then black despair precipitates their flight. | |
| When Pandarus beheld his brother kill’d, | |
| The town with fear and wild confusion fill’d, | |
| He turns the hinges of the heavy gate | |
| With both his hands, and adds his shoulders to the weight; | 980 |
| Some happier friends within the walls inclos’d; | |
| The rest shut out, to certain death expos’d: | |
| Fool as he was, and frantic in his care, | |
| T’ admit young Turnus, and include the war! | |
| He thrust amid the crowd, securely bold, | 985 |
| Like a fierce tiger pent amid the fold. | |
| Too late his blazing buckler they descry, | |
| And sparkling fires that shot from either eye, | |
| His mighty members, and his ample breast, | |
| His rattling armor, and his crimson crest. | 990 |
| Far from that hated face the Trojans fly, | |
| All but the fool who sought his destiny. | |
| Mad Pandarus steps forth, with vengeance vow’d | |
| For Bitias’ death, and threatens thus aloud: | |
| “These are not Ardea’s walls, nor this the town | 995 |
| Amata proffers with Lavinia’s crown: | |
| ’T is hostile earth you tread. Of hope bereft, | |
| No means of safe return by flight are left.” | |
| To whom, with count’nance calm, and soul sedate, | |
| Thus Turnus: “Then begin, and try thy fate: | 1000 |
| My message to the ghost of Priam bear; | |
| Tell him a new Achilles sent thee there.” | |
| A lance of tough ground ash the Trojan threw, | |
| Rough in the rind, and knotted as it grew: | |
| With his full force he whirl’d it first around; | 1005 |
| But the soft yielding air receiv’d the wound: | |
| Imperial Juno turn’d the course before, | |
| And fix’d the wand’ring weapon in the door. | |
| “But hope not thou,” said Turnus, “when I strike, | |
| To shun thy fate: our force is not alike, | 1010 |
| Nor thy steel temper’d by the Lemnian god.” | |
| Then rising, on his utmost stretch he stood, | |
| And aim’d from high: the full descending blow | |
| Cleaves the broad front and beardless cheeks in two. | |
| Down sinks the giant with a thund’ring sound: | 1015 |
| His pond’rous limbs oppress the trembling ground; | |
| Blood, brains, and foam gush from the gaping wound: | |
| Scalp, face, and shoulders the keen steel divides, | |
| And the shar’d visage hangs on equal sides. | |
| The Trojans fly from their approaching fate; | 1020 |
| And, had the victor then secur’d the gate, | |
| And to his troops without unclos’d the bars, | |
| One lucky day had ended all his wars. | |
| But boiling youth, and blind desire of blood, | |
| Push’d on his fury, to pursue the crowd. | 1025 |
| Hamstring’d behind, unhappy Gyges died; | |
| Then Phalaris is added to his side. | |
| The pointed jav’lins from the dead he drew, | |
| And their friends’ arms against their fellows threw. | |
| Strong Halys stands in vain; weak Phlegys flies; | 1030 |
| Saturnia, still at hand, new force and fire supplies. | |
| Then Halius, Prytanis, Alcander fall— | |
| Ingag’d against the foes who scal’d the wall: | |
| But, whom they fear’d without, they found within. | |
| At last, tho’ late, by Lynceus he was seen. | &n |