While these affairs in distant places pass'd,\nThe various Iris Juno sends with haste,\nTo find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought,\nThe secret shade of his great grandsire sought.\nRetir'd alone she found the daring man,\nAnd op'd her rosy lips, and thus began:\n\"What none of all the gods could grant thy vows,\nThat, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows.\nAeneas, gone to seek th' Arcadian prince,\nHas left the Trojan camp without defense;\nAnd, short of succors there, employs his pains\nIn parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains.\nNow snatch an hour that favors thy designs;\nUnite thy forces, and attack their lines.\"\nThis said, on equal wings she pois'd her weight,\nAnd form'd a radiant rainbow in her flight.<\/p>\n
The Daunian hero lifts his hands eyes,\nAnd thus invokes the goddess as she flies:\n\"Iris, the grace of heav'n, what pow'r divine\nHas sent thee down, thro' dusky clouds to shine?\nSee, they divide; immortal day appears,\nAnd glitt'ring planets dancing in their spheres!\nWith joy, these happy omens I obey,\nAnd follow to the war the god that leads the way.\"\nThus having said, as by the brook he stood,\nHe scoop'd the water from the crystal flood;\nThen with his hands the drops to heav'n he throws,\nAnd loads the pow'rs above with offer'd vows.<\/p>\n
Now march the bold confed'rates thro' the plain,\nWell hors'd, well clad; a rich and shining train.\nMessapus leads the van; and, in the rear,\nThe sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear.\nIn the main battle, with his flaming crest,\nThe mighty Turnus tow'rs above the rest.\nSilent they move, majestically slow,\nLike ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow.\nThe Trojans view the dusty cloud from far,\nAnd the dark menace of the distant war.\nCaicus from the rampire saw it rise,\nBlack'ning the fields, and thick'ning thro' the skies.\nThen to his fellows thus aloud he calls:\n\"What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls?\nArm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears\nAnd pointed darts! the Latian host appears.\"<\/p>\n
Thus warn'd, they shut their gates; with shouts ascend\nThe bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend:\nFor their wise gen'ral, with foreseeing care,\nHad charg'd them not to tempt the doubtful war,\nNor, tho' provok'd, in open fields advance,\nBut close within their lines attend their chance.\nUnwilling, yet they keep the strict command,\nAnd sourly wait in arms the hostile band.\nThe fiery Turnus flew before the rest:\nA piebald steed of Thracian strain he press'd;\nHis helm of massy gold, and crimson was his crest.\nWith twenty horse to second his designs,\nAn unexpected foe, he fac'd the lines.\n\"Is there,\" he said, \"in arms, who bravely dare\nHis leader's honor and his danger share?\"\nThen spurring on, his brandish'd dart he threw,\nIn sign of war: applauding shouts ensue.<\/p>\n
Amaz'd to find a dastard race, that run\nBehind the rampires and the battle shun,\nHe rides around the camp, with rolling eyes,\nAnd stops at ev'ry post, and ev'ry passage tries.\nSo roams the nightly wolf about the fold:\nWet with descending show'rs, and stiff with cold,\nHe howls for hunger, and he grins for pain,\n(His gnashing teeth are exercis'd in vain,)\nAnd, impotent of anger, finds no way\nIn his distended paws to grasp the prey.\nThe mothers listen; but the bleating lambs\nSecurely swig the dug, beneath the dams.\nThus ranges eager Turnus o'er the plain.\nSharp with desire, and furious with disdain;\nSurveys each passage with a piercing sight,\nTo force his foes in equal field to fight.\nThus while he gazes round, at length he spies,\nWhere, fenc'd with strong redoubts, their navy lies,\nClose underneath the walls; the washing tide\nSecures from all approach this weaker side.\nHe takes the wish'd occasion, fills his hand\nWith ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand.\nUrg'd by his presence, ev'ry soul is warm'd,\nAnd ev'ry hand with kindled firs is arm'd.\nFrom the fir'd pines the scatt'ring sparkles fly;\nFat vapors, mix'd with flames, involve the sky.\nWhat pow'r, O Muses, could avert the flame\nWhich threaten'd, in the fleet, the Trojan name?\nTell: for the fact, thro' length of time obscure,\nIs hard to faith; yet shall the fame endure.<\/p>\n
'T is said that, when the chief prepar'd his flight,\nAnd fell'd his timber from Mount Ida's height,\nThe grandam goddess then approach'd her son,\nAnd with a mother's majesty begun:\n\"Grant me,\" she said, \"the sole request I bring,\nSince conquer'd heav'n has own'd you for its king.\nOn Ida's brows, for ages past, there stood,\nWith firs and maples fill'd, a shady wood;\nAnd on the summit rose a sacred grove,\nWhere I was worship'd with religious love.\nThose woods, that holy grove, my long delight,\nI gave the Trojan prince, to speed his flight.\nNow, fill'd with fear, on their behalf I come;\nLet neither winds o'erset, nor waves intomb\nThe floating forests of the sacred pine;\nBut let it be their safety to be mine.\"\nThen thus replied her awful son, who rolls\nThe radiant stars, and heav'n and earth controls:\n\"How dare you, mother, endless date demand\nFor vessels molded by a mortal hand?\nWhat then is fate? Shall bold Aeneas ride,\nOf safety certain, on th' uncertain tide?\nYet, what I can, I grant; when, wafted o'er,\nThe chief is landed on the Latian shore,\nWhatever ships escape the raging storms,\nAt my command shall change their fading forms\nTo nymphs divine, and plow the wat'ry way,\nLike Dotis and the daughters of the sea.\"\nTo seal his sacred vow, by Styx he swore,\nThe lake of liquid pitch, the dreary shore,\nAnd Phlegethon's innavigable flood,\nAnd the black regions of his brother god.\nHe said; and shook the skies with his imperial nod.<\/p>\n
And now at length the number'd hours were come,\nPrefix'd by fate's irrevocable doom,\nWhen the great Mother of the Gods was free\nTo save her ships, and finish Jove's decree.\nFirst, from the quarter of the morn, there sprung\nA light that sign'd the heav'ns, and shot along;\nThen from a cloud, fring'd round with golden fires,\nWere timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs;\nAnd, last, a voice, with more than mortal sounds,\nBoth hosts, in arms oppos'd, with equal horror wounds:\n\"O Trojan race, your needless aid forbear,\nAnd know, my ships are my peculiar care.\nWith greater ease the bold Rutulian may,\nWith hissing brands, attempt to burn the sea,\nThan singe my sacred pines. But you, my charge,\nLoos'd from your crooked anchors, launch at large,\nExalted each a nymph: forsake the sand,\nAnd swim the seas, at Cybele's command.\"\nNo sooner had the goddess ceas'd to speak,\nWhen, lo! th' obedient ships their haulsers break;\nAnd, strange to tell, like dolphins, in the main\nThey plunge their prows, and dive, and spring again:\nAs many beauteous maids the billows sweep,\nAs rode before tall vessels on the deep.<\/p>\n
The foes, surpris'd with wonder, stood aghast;\nMessapus curb'd his fiery courser's haste;\nOld Tiber roar'd, and, raising up his head,\nCall'd back his waters to their oozy bed.\nTurnus alone, undaunted, bore the shock,\nAnd with these words his trembling troops bespoke:\n\"These monsters for the Trojans' fate are meant,\nAnd are by Jove for black presages sent.\nHe takes the cowards' last relief away;\nFor fly they cannot, and, constrain'd to stay,\nMust yield unfought, a base inglorious prey.\nThe liquid half of all the globe is lost;\nHeav'n shuts the seas, and we secure the coast.\nTheirs is no more than that small spot of ground\nWhich myriads of our martial men surround.\nTheir fates I fear not, or vain oracles.\n'T was giv'n to Venus they should cross the seas,\nAnd land secure upon the Latian plains:\nTheir promis'd hour is pass'd, and mine remains.\n'T is in the fate of Turnus to destroy,\nWith sword and fire, the faithless race of Troy.\nShall such affronts as these alone inflame\nThe Grecian brothers, and the Grecian name?\nMy cause and theirs is one; a fatal strife,\nAnd final ruin, for a ravish'd wife.\nWas 't not enough, that, punish'd for the crime,\nThey fell; but will they fall a second time?\nOne would have thought they paid enough before,\nTo curse the costly sex, and durst offend no more.\nCan they securely trust their feeble wall,\nA slight partition, a thin interval,\nBetwixt their fate and them; when Troy, tho' built\nBy hands divine, yet perish'd by their guilt?\nLend me, for once, my friends, your valiant hands,\nTo force from out their lines these dastard bands.\nLess than a thousand ships will end this war,\nNor Vulcan needs his fated arms prepare.\nLet all the Tuscans, all th' Arcadians, join!\nNor these, nor those, shall frustrate my design.\nLet them not fear the treasons of the night,\nThe robb'd Palladium, the pretended flight:\nOur onset shall be made in open light.\nNo wooden engine shall their town betray;\nFires they shall have around, but fires by day.\nNo Grecian babes before their camp appear,\nWhom Hector's arms detain'd to the tenth tardy year.\nNow, since the sun is rolling to the west,\nGive we the silent night to needful rest:\nRefresh your bodies, and your arms prepare;\nThe morn shall end the small remains of war.\"<\/p>\n
The post of honor to Messapus falls,\nTo keep the nightly guard, to watch the walls,\nTo pitch the fires at distances around,\nAnd close the Trojans in their scanty ground.\nTwice seven Rutulian captains ready stand,\nAnd twice seven hundred horse these chiefs command;\nAll clad in shining arms the works invest,\nEach with a radiant helm and waving crest.\nStretch'd at their length, they press the grassy ground;\nThey laugh, they sing, (the jolly bowls go round,)\nWith lights and cheerful fires renew the day,\nAnd pass the wakeful night in feasts and play.<\/p>\n
The Trojans, from above, their foes beheld,\nAnd with arm'd legions all the rampires fill'd.\nSeiz'd with affright, their gates they first explore;\nJoin works to works with bridges, tow'r to tow'r:\nThus all things needful for defense abound.\nMnestheus and brave Seresthus walk the round,\nCommission'd by their absent prince to share\nThe common danger, and divide the care.\nThe soldiers draw their lots, and, as they fall,\nBy turns relieve each other on the wall.<\/p>\n
Nigh where the foes their utmost guards advance,\nTo watch the gate was warlike Nisus' chance.\nHis father Hyrtacus of noble blood;\nHis mother was a huntress of the wood,\nAnd sent him to the wars. Well could he bear\nHis lance in fight, and dart the flying spear,\nBut better skill'd unerring shafts to send.\nBeside him stood Euryalus, his friend:\nEuryalus, than whom the Trojan host\nNo fairer face, or sweeter air, could boast-\nScarce had the down to shade his cheeks begun.\nOne was their care, and their delight was one:\nOne common hazard in the war they shar'd,\nAnd now were both by choice upon the guard.<\/p>\n
Then Nisus thus: \"Or do the gods inspire\nThis warmth, or make we gods of our desire?\nA gen'rous ardor boils within my breast,\nEager of action, enemy to rest:\nThis urges me to fight, and fires my mind\nTo leave a memorable name behind.\nThou see'st the foe secure; how faintly shine\nTheir scatter'd fires! the most, in sleep supine\nAlong the ground, an easy conquest lie:\nThe wakeful few the fuming flagon ply;\nAll hush'd around. Now hear what I revolve-\nA thought unripe- and scarcely yet resolve.\nOur absent prince both camp and council mourn;\nBy message both would hasten his return:\nIf they confer what I demand on thee,\n(For fame is recompense enough for me,)\nMethinks, beneath yon hill, I have espied\nA way that safely will my passage guide.\"<\/p>\n
Euryalus stood list'ning while he spoke,\nWith love of praise and noble envy struck;\nThen to his ardent friend expos'd his mind:\n\"All this, alone, and leaving me behind!\nAm I unworthy, Nisus, to be join'd?\nThinkist thou I can my share of glory yield,\nOr send thee unassisted to the field?\nNot so my father taught my childhood arms;\nBorn in a siege, and bred among alarms!\nNor is my youth unworthy of my friend,\nNor of the heav'n-born hero I attend.\nThe thing call'd life, with ease I can disclaim,\nAnd think it over-sold to purchase fame.\"<\/p>\n
Then Nisus thus: \"Alas! thy tender years\nWould minister new matter to my fears.\nSo may the gods, who view this friendly strife,\nRestore me to thy lov'd embrace with life,\nCondemn'd to pay my vows, (as sure I trust,)\nThis thy request is cruel and unjust.\nBut if some chance- as many chances are,\nAnd doubtful hazards, in the deeds of war-\nIf one should reach my head, there let it fall,\nAnd spare thy life; I would not perish all.\nThy bloomy youth deserves a longer date:\nLive thou to mourn thy love's unhappy fate;\nTo bear my mangled body from the foe,\nOr buy it back, and fun'ral rites bestow.\nOr, if hard fortune shall those dues deny,\nThou canst at least an empty tomb supply.\nO let not me the widow's tears renew!\nNor let a mother's curse my name pursue:\nThy pious parent, who, for love of thee,\nForsook the coasts of friendly Sicily,\nHer age committing to the seas and wind,\nWhen ev'ry weary matron stay'd behind.\"\nTo this, Euryalus: \"You plead in vain,\nAnd but protract the cause you cannot gain.\nNo more delays, but haste!\" With that, he wakes\nThe nodding watch; each to his office takes.\nThe guard reliev'd, the gen'rous couple went\nTo find the council at the royal tent.<\/p>\n
All creatures else forgot their daily care,\nAnd sleep, the common gift of nature, share;\nExcept the Trojan peers, who wakeful sate\nIn nightly council for th' indanger'd state.\nThey vote a message to their absent chief,\nShew their distress, and beg a swift relief.\nAmid the camp a silent seat they chose,\nRemote from clamor, and secure from foes.\nOn their left arms their ample shields they bear,\nThe right reclin'd upon the bending spear.\nNow Nisus and his friend approach the guard,\nAnd beg admission, eager to be heard:\nTh' affair important, not to be deferr'd.\nAscanius bids 'em be conducted in,\nOrd'ring the more experienc'd to begin.\nThen Nisus thus: \"Ye fathers, lend your ears;\nNor judge our bold attempt beyond our years.\nThe foe, securely drench'd in sleep and wine,\nNeglect their watch; the fires but thinly shine;\nAnd where the smoke in cloudy vapors flies,\nCov'ring the plain, and curling to the skies,\nBetwixt two paths, which at the gate divide,\nClose by the sea, a passage we have spied,\nWhich will our way to great Aeneas guide.\nExpect each hour to see him safe again,\nLoaded with spoils of foes in battle slain.\nSnatch we the lucky minute while we may;\nNor can we be mistaken in the way;\nFor, hunting in the vale, we both have seen\nThe rising turrets, and the stream between,\nAnd know the winding course, with ev'ry ford.\"<\/p>\n
He ceas'd; and old Alethes took the word:\n\"Our country gods, in whom our trust we place,\nWill yet from ruin save the Trojan race,\nWhile we behold such dauntless worth appear\nIn dawning youth, and souls so void of fear.\"\nThen into tears of joy the father broke;\nEach in his longing arms by turns he took;\nPanted and paus'd; and thus again he spoke:\n\"Ye brave young men, what equal gifts can we,\nIn recompense of such desert, decree?\nThe greatest, sure, and best you can receive,\nThe gods and your own conscious worth will give.\nThe rest our grateful gen'ral will bestow,\nAnd young Ascanius till his manhood owe.\"<\/p>\n
\"And I, whose welfare in my father lies,\"\nAscanius adds, \"by the great deities,\nBy my dear country, by my household gods,\nBy hoary Vesta's rites and dark abodes,\nAdjure you both, (on you my fortune stands;\nThat and my faith I plight into your hands,)\nMake me but happy in his safe return,\nWhose wanted presence I can only mourn;\nYour common gift shall two large goblets be\nOf silver, wrought with curious imagery,\nAnd high emboss'd, which, when old Priam reign'd,\nMy conqu'ring sire at sack'd Arisba gain'd;\nAnd more, two tripods cast in antic mold,\nWith two great talents of the finest gold;\nBeside a costly bowl, ingrav'd with art,\nWhich Dido gave, when first she gave her heart.\nBut, if in conquer'd Italy we reign,\nWhen spoils by lot the victor shall obtain-\nThou saw'st the courser by proud Turnus press'd:\nThat, Nisus, and his arms, and nodding crest,\nAnd shield, from chance exempt, shall be thy share:\nTwelve lab'ring slaves, twelve handmaids young and fair\nAll clad in rich attire, and train'd with care;\nAnd, last, a Latian field with fruitful plains,\nAnd a large portion of the king's domains.\nBut thou, whose years are more to mine allied-\nNo fate my vow'd affection shall divide\nFrom thee, heroic youth! Be wholly mine;\nTake full possession; all my soul is thine.\nOne faith, one fame, one fate, shall both attend;\nMy life's companion, and my bosom friend:\nMy peace shall be committed to thy care,\nAnd to thy conduct my concerns in war.\"<\/p>\n
Then thus the young Euryalus replied:\n\"Whatever fortune, good or bad, betide,\nThe same shall be my age, as now my youth;\nNo time shall find me wanting to my truth.\nThis only from your goodness let me gain\n(And, this ungranted, all rewards are vain)\nOf Priam's royal race my mother came-\nAnd sure the best that ever bore the name-\nWhom neither Troy nor Sicily could hold\nFrom me departing, but, o'erspent and old,\nMy fate she follow'd. Ignorant of this\n(Whatever) danger, neither parting kiss,\nNor pious blessing taken, her I leave,\nAnd in this only act of all my life deceive.\nBy this right hand and conscious Night I swear,\nMy soul so sad a farewell could not bear.\nBe you her comfort; fill my vacant place\n(Permit me to presume so great a grace)\nSupport her age, forsaken and distress'd.\nThat hope alone will fortify my breast\nAgainst the worst of fortunes, and of fears.\"\nHe said. The mov'd assistants melt in tears.<\/p>\n
Then thus Ascanius, wonderstruck to see\nThat image of his filial piety:\n\"So great beginnings, in so green an age,\nExact the faith which I again ingage.\nThy mother all the dues shall justly claim,\nCreusa had, and only want the name.\nWhate'er event thy bold attempt shall have,\n'T is merit to have borne a son so brave.\nNow by my head, a sacred oath, I swear,\n(My father us'd it,) what, returning here\nCrown'd with success, I for thyself prepare,\nThat, if thou fail, shall thy lov'd mother share.\"<\/p>\n
He said, and weeping, while he spoke the word,\nFrom his broad belt he drew a shining sword,\nMagnificent with gold. Lycaon made,\nAnd in an ivory scabbard sheath'd the blade.\nThis was his gift. Great Mnestheus gave his friend\nA lion's hide, his body to defend;\nAnd good Alethes furnish'd him, beside,\nWith his own trusty helm, of temper tried.<\/p>\n
Thus arm'd they went. The noble Trojans wait\nTheir issuing forth, and follow to the gate\nWith prayers and vows. Above the rest appears\nAscanius, manly far beyond his years,\nAnd messages committed to their care,\nWhich all in winds were lost, and flitting air.<\/p>\n
The trenches first they pass'd; then took their way\nWhere their proud foes in pitch'd pavilions lay;\nTo many fatal, ere themselves were slain.\nThey found the careless host dispers'd upon the plain,\nWho, gorg'd, and drunk with wine, supinely snore.\nUnharness'd chariots stand along the shore:\nAmidst the wheels and reins, the goblet by,\nA medley of debauch and war, they lie.\nObserving Nisus shew'd his friend the sight:\n\"Behold a conquest gain'd without a fight.\nOccasion offers, and I stand prepar'd;\nThere lies our way; be thou upon the guard,\nAnd look around, while I securely go,\nAnd hew a passage thro' the sleeping foe.\"\nSoftly he spoke; then striding took his way,\nWith his drawn sword, where haughty Rhamnes lay;\nHis head rais'd high on tapestry beneath,\nAnd heaving from his breast, he drew his breath;\nA king and prophet, by King Turnus lov'd:\nBut fate by prescience cannot be remov'd.\nHim and his sleeping slaves he slew; then spies\nWhere Remus, with his rich retinue, lies.\nHis armor-bearer first, and next he kills\nHis charioteer, intrench'd betwixt the wheels\nAnd his lov'd horses; last invades their lord;\nFull on his neck he drives the fatal sword:\nThe gasping head flies off; a purple flood\nFlows from the trunk, that welters in the blood,\nWhich, by the spurning heels dispers'd around,\nThe bed besprinkles and bedews the ground.\nLamus the bold, and Lamyrus the strong,\nHe slew, and then Serranus fair and young.\nFrom dice and wine the youth retir'd to rest,\nAnd puff'd the fumy god from out his breast:\nEv'n then he dreamt of drink and lucky play-\nMore lucky, had it lasted till the day.\nThe famish'd lion thus, with hunger bold,\nO'erleaps the fences of the nightly fold,\nAnd tears the peaceful flocks: with silent awe\nTrembling they lie, and pant beneath his paw.<\/p>\n
Nor with less rage Euryalus employs\nThe wrathful sword, or fewer foes destroys;\nBut on th' ignoble crowd his fury flew;\nHe Fadus, Hebesus, and Rhoetus slew.\nOppress'd with heavy sleep the former fell,\nBut Rhoetus wakeful, and observing all:\nBehind a spacious jar he slink'd for fear;\nThe fatal iron found and reach'd him there;\nFor, as he rose, it pierc'd his naked side,\nAnd, reeking, thence return'd in crimson dyed.\nThe wound pours out a stream of wine and blood;\nThe purple soul comes floating in the flood.<\/p>\n
Now, where Messapus quarter'd, they arrive.\nThe fires were fainting there, and just alive;\nThe warrior-horses, tied in order, fed.\nNisus observ'd the discipline, and said:\n\"Our eager thirst of blood may both betray;\nAnd see the scatter'd streaks of dawning day,\nFoe to nocturnal thefts. No more, my friend;\nHere let our glutted execution end.\nA lane thro' slaughter'd bodies we have made.\"\nThe bold Euryalus, tho' loth, obey'd.\nOf arms, and arras, and of plate, they find\nA precious load; but these they leave behind.\nYet, fond of gaudy spoils, the boy would stay\nTo make the rich caparison his prey,\nWhich on the steed of conquer'd Rhamnes lay.\nNor did his eyes less longingly behold\nThe girdle-belt, with nails of burnish'd gold.\nThis present Caedicus the rich bestow'd\nOn Remulus, when friendship first they vow'd,\nAnd, absent, join'd in hospitable ties:\nHe, dying, to his heir bequeath'd the prize;\nTill, by the conqu'ring Ardean troops oppress'd,\nHe fell; and they the glorious gift possess'd.\nThese glitt'ring spoils (now made the victor's gain)\nHe to his body suits, but suits in vain:\nMessapus' helm he finds among the rest,\nAnd laces on, and wears the waving crest.\nProud of their conquest, prouder of their prey,\nThey leave the camp, and take the ready way.<\/p>\n
But far they had not pass'd, before they spied\nThree hundred horse, with Volscens for their guide.\nThe queen a legion to King Turnus sent;\nBut the swift horse the slower foot prevent,\nAnd now, advancing, sought the leader's tent.\nThey saw the pair; for, thro' the doubtful shade,\nHis shining helm Euryalus betray'd,\nOn which the moon with full reflection play'd.\n\"'T is not for naught,\" cried Volscens from the crowd,\n\"These men go there;\" then rais'd his voice aloud:\n\"Stand! stand! why thus in arms? And whither bent?\nFrom whence, to whom, and on what errand sent?\"\nSilent they scud away, and haste their flight\nTo neighb'ring woods, and trust themselves to night.\nThe speedy horse all passages belay,\nAnd spur their smoking steeds to cross their way,\nAnd watch each entrance of the winding wood.\nBlack was the forest: thick with beech it stood,\nHorrid with fern, and intricate with thorn;\nFew paths of human feet, or tracks of beasts, were worn.\nThe darkness of the shades, his heavy prey,\nAnd fear, misled the younger from his way.\nBut Nisus hit the turns with happier haste,\nAnd, thoughtless of his friend, the forest pass'd,\nAnd Alban plains, from Alba's name so call'd,\nWhere King Latinus then his oxen stall'd;\nTill, turning at the length, he stood his ground,\nAnd miss'd his friend, and cast his eyes around:\n\"Ah wretch!\" he cried, \"where have I left behind\nTh' unhappy youth? where shall I hope to find?\nOr what way take?\" Again he ventures back,\nAnd treads the mazes of his former track.\nHe winds the wood, and, list'ning, hears the noise\nOf tramping coursers, and the riders' voice.\nThe sound approach'd; and suddenly he view'd\nThe foes inclosing, and his friend pursued,\nForelaid and taken, while he strove in vain\nThe shelter of the friendly shades to gain.\nWhat should he next attempt? what arms employ,\nWhat fruitless force, to free the captive boy?\nOr desperate should he rush and lose his life,\nWith odds oppress'd, in such unequal strife?<\/p>\n
Resolv'd at length, his pointed spear he shook;\nAnd, casting on the moon a mournful look:\n\"Guardian of groves, and goddess of the night,\nFair queen,\" he said, \"direct my dart aright.\nIf e'er my pious father, for my sake,\nDid grateful off'rings on thy altars make,\nOr I increas'd them with my sylvan toils,\nAnd hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils,\nGive me to scatter these.\" Then from his ear\nHe pois'd, and aim'd, and launch'd the trembling spear.\nThe deadly weapon, hissing from the grove,\nImpetuous on the back of Sulmo drove;\nPierc'd his thin armor, drank his vital blood,\nAnd in his body left the broken wood.\nHe staggers round; his eyeballs roll in death,\nAnd with short sobs he gasps away his breath.\nAll stand amaz'd- a second jav'lin flies\nWith equal strength, and quivers thro' the skies.\nThis thro' thy temples, Tagus, forc'd the way,\nAnd in the brainpan warmly buried lay.\nFierce Volscens foams with rage, and, gazing round,\nDescried not him who gave the fatal wound,\nNor knew to fix revenge: \"But thou,\" he cries,\n\"Shalt pay for both,\" and at the pris'ner flies\nWith his drawn sword. Then, struck with deep despair,\nThat cruel sight the lover could not bear;\nBut from his covert rush'd in open view,\nAnd sent his voice before him as he flew:\n\"Me! me!\" he cried- \"turn all your swords alone\nOn me- the fact confess'd, the fault my own.\nHe neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth:\nYe moon and stars, bear witness to the truth!\nHis only crime (if friendship can offend)\nIs too much love to his unhappy friend.\"\nToo late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides,\nDriv'n with full force, had pierc'd his tender sides.\nDown fell the beauteous youth: the yawning wound\nGush'd out a purple stream, and stain'd the ground.\nHis snowy neck reclines upon his breast,\nLike a fair flow'r by the keen share oppress'd;\nLike a white poppy sinking on the plain,\nWhose heavy head is overcharg'd with rain.\nDespair, and rage, and vengeance justly vow'd,\nDrove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd.\nVolscens he seeks; on him alone he bends:\nBorne back and bor'd by his surrounding friends,\nOnward he press'd, and kept him still in sight;\nThen whirl'd aloft his sword with all his might:\nTh' unerring steel descended while he spoke,\nPiered his wide mouth, and thro' his weazon broke.\nDying, he slew; and, stagg'ring on the plain,\nWith swimming eyes he sought his lover slain;\nThen quiet on his bleeding bosom fell,\nContent, in death, to be reveng'd so well.<\/p>\n
O happy friends! for, if my verse can give\nImmortal life, your fame shall ever live,\nFix'd as the Capitol's foundation lies,\nAnd spread, where'er the Roman eagle flies!<\/p>\n
The conqu'ring party first divide the prey,\nThen their slain leader to the camp convey.\nWith wonder, as they went, the troops were fill'd,\nTo see such numbers whom so few had kill'd.\nSerranus, Rhamnes, and the rest, they found:\nVast crowds the dying and the dead surround;\nAnd the yet reeking blood o'erflows the ground.\nAll knew the helmet which Messapus lost,\nBut mourn'd a purchase that so dear had cost.\nNow rose the ruddy morn from Tithon's bed,\nAnd with the dawn of day the skies o'erspread;\nNor long the sun his daily course withheld,\nBut added colors to the world reveal'd:\nWhen early Turnus, wak'ning with the light,\nAll clad in armor, calls his troops to fight.\nHis martial men with fierce harangue he fir'd,\nAnd his own ardor in their souls inspir'd.\nThis done- to give new terror to his foes,\nThe heads of Nisus and his friend he shows,\nRais'd high on pointed spears- a ghastly sight:\nLoud peals of shouts ensue, and barbarous delight.<\/p>\n
Meantime the Trojans run, where danger calls;\nThey line their trenches, and they man their walls.\nIn front extended to the left they stood;\nSafe was the right, surrounded by the flood.\nBut, casting from their tow'rs a frightful view,\nThey saw the faces, which too well they knew,\nTho' then disguis'd in death, and smear'd all o'er\nWith filth obscene, and dropping putrid gore.\nSoon hasty fame thro' the sad city bears\nThe mournful message to the mother's ears.\nAn icy cold benumbs her limbs; she shakes;\nHer cheeks the blood, her hand the web forsakes.\nShe runs the rampires round amidst the war,\nNor fears the flying darts; she rends her hair,\nAnd fills with loud laments the liquid air.\n\"Thus, then, my lov'd Euryalus appears!\nThus looks the prop my declining years!\nWas't on this face my famish'd eyes I fed?\nAh! how unlike the living is the dead!\nAnd could'st thou leave me, cruel, thus alone?\nNot one kind kiss from a departing son!\nNo look, no last adieu before he went,\nIn an ill-boding hour to slaughter sent!\nCold on the ground, and pressing foreign clay,\nTo Latian dogs and fowls he lies a prey!\nNor was I near to close his dying eyes,\nTo wash his wounds, to weep his obsequies,\nTo call about his corpse his crying friends,\nOr spread the mantle (made for other ends)\nOn his dear body, which I wove with care,\nNor did my daily pains or nightly labor spare.\nWhere shall I find his corpse? what earth sustains\nHis trunk dismember'd, and his cold remains?\nFor this, alas! I left my needful ease,\nExpos'd my life to winds and winter seas!\nIf any pity touch Rutulian hearts,\nHere empty all your quivers, all your darts;\nOr, if they fail, thou, Jove, conclude my woe,\nAnd send me thunderstruck to shades below!\"\nHer shrieks and clamors pierce the Trojans' ears,\nUnman their courage, and augment their fears;\nNor young Ascanius could the sight sustain,\nNor old Ilioneus his tears restrain,\nBut Actor and Idaeus jointly sent,\nTo bear the madding mother to her tent.<\/p>\n
And now the trumpets terribly, from far,\nWith rattling clangor, rouse the sleepy war.\nThe soldiers' shouts succeed the brazen sounds;\nAnd heav'n, from pole to pole, the noise rebounds.\nThe Volscians bear their shields upon their head,\nAnd, rushing forward, form a moving shed.\nThese fill the ditch; those pull the bulwarks down:\nSome raise the ladders; others scale the town.\nBut, where void spaces on the walls appear,\nOr thin defense, they pour their forces there.\nWith poles and missive weapons, from afar,\nThe Trojans keep aloof the rising war.\nTaught, by their ten years' siege, defensive fight,\nThey roll down ribs of rocks, an unresisted weight,\nTo break the penthouse with the pond'rous blow,\nWhich yet the patient Volscians undergo:\nBut could not bear th' unequal combat long;\nFor, where the Trojans find the thickest throng,\nThe ruin falls: their shatter'd shields give way,\nAnd their crush'd heads become an easy prey.\nThey shrink for fear, abated of their rage,\nNor longer dare in a blind fight engage;\nContented now to gall them from below\nWith darts and slings, and with the distant bow.<\/p>\n
Elsewhere Mezentius, terrible to view,\nA blazing pine within the trenches threw.\nBut brave Messapus, Neptune's warlike son,\nBroke down the palisades, the trenches won,\nAnd loud for ladders calls, to scale the town.<\/p>\n
Calliope, begin! Ye sacred Nine,\nInspire your poet in his high design,\nTo sing what slaughter manly Turnus made,\nWhat souls he sent below the Stygian shade,\nWhat fame the soldiers with their captain share,\nAnd the vast circuit of the fatal war;\nFor you in singing martial facts excel;\nYou best remember, and alone can tell.<\/p>\n
There stood a tow'r, amazing to the sight,\nBuilt up of beams, and of stupendous height:\nArt, and the nature of the place, conspir'd\nTo furnish all the strength that war requir'd.\nTo level this, the bold Italians join;\nThe wary Trojans obviate their design;\nWith weighty stones o'erwhelm their troops below,\nShoot thro' the loopholes, and sharp jav'lins throw.\nTurnus, the chief, toss'd from his thund'ring hand\nAgainst the wooden walls, a flaming brand:\nIt stuck, the fiery plague; the winds were high;\nThe planks were season'd, and the timber dry.\nContagion caught the posts; it spread along,\nScorch'd, and to distance drove the scatter'd throng.\nThe Trojans fled; the fire pursued amain,\nStill gath'ring fast upon the trembling train;\nTill, crowding to the corners of the wall,\nDown the defense and the defenders fall.\nThe mighty flaw makes heav'n itself resound:\nThe dead and dying Trojans strew the ground.\nThe tow'r, that follow'd on the fallen crew,\nWhelm'd o'er their heads, and buried whom it slew:\nSome stuck upon the darts themselves had sent;\nAll the same equal ruin underwent.<\/p>\n
Young Lycus and Helenor only scape;\nSav'd- how, they know not- from the steepy leap.\nHelenor, elder of the two: by birth,\nOn one side royal, one a son of earth,\nWhom to the Lydian king Licymnia bare,\nAnd sent her boasted bastard to the war\n(A privilege which none but freemen share).\nSlight were his arms, a sword and silver shield:\nNo marks of honor charg'd its empty field.\nLight as he fell, so light the youth arose,\nAnd rising, found himself amidst his foes;\nNor flight was left, nor hopes to force his way.\nEmbolden'd by despair, he stood at bay;\nAnd- like a stag, whom all the troop surrounds\nOf eager huntsmen and invading hounds-\nResolv'd on death, he dissipates his fears,\nAnd bounds aloft against the pointed spears:\nSo dares the youth, secure of death; and throws\nHis dying body on his thickest foes.\nBut Lycus, swifter of his feet by far,\nRuns, doubles, winds and turns, amidst the war;\nSprings to the walls, and leaves his foes behind,\nAnd snatches at the beam he first can find;\nLooks up, and leaps aloft at all the stretch,\nIn hopes the helping hand of some kind friend to reach.\nBut Turnus follow'd hard his hunted prey\n(His spear had almost reach'd him in the way,\nShort of his reins, and scarce a span behind)\n\"Fool!\" said the chief, \"tho' fleeter than the wind,\nCouldst thou presume to scape, when I pursue?\"\nHe said, and downward by the feet he drew\nThe trembling dastard; at the tug he falls;\nVast ruins come along, rent from the smoking walls.\nThus on some silver swan, or tim'rous hare,\nJove's bird comes sousing down from upper air;\nHer crooked talons truss the fearful prey:\nThen out of sight she soars, and wings her way.\nSo seizes the grim wolf the tender lamb,\nIn vain lamented by the bleating dam.<\/p>\n
Then rushing onward with a barb'rous cry,\nThe troops of Turnus to the combat fly.\nThe ditch with fagots fill'd, the daring foe\nToss'd firebrands to the steepy turrets throw.<\/p>\n
Ilioneus, as bold Lucetius came\nTo force the gate, and feed the kindling flame,\nRoll'd down the fragment of a rock so right,\nIt crush'd him double underneath the weight.\nTwo more young Liger and Asylas slew:\nTo bend the bow young Liger better knew;\nAsylas best the pointed jav'lin threw.\nBrave Caeneus laid Ortygius on the plain;\nThe victor Caeneus was by Turnus slain.\nBy the same hand, Clonius and Itys fall,\nSagar, and Ida, standing on the wall.\nFrom Capys' arms his fate Privernus found:\nHurt by Themilla first-but slight the wound-\nHis shield thrown by, to mitigate the smart,\nHe clapp'd his hand upon the wounded part:\nThe second shaft came swift and unespied,\nAnd pierc'd his hand, and nail'd it to his side,\nTransfix'd his breathing lungs and beating heart:\nThe soul came issuing out, and hiss'd against the dart.<\/p>\n
The son of Arcens shone amid the rest,\nIn glitt'ring armor and a purple vest,\n(Fair was his face, his eyes inspiring love,)\nBred by his father in the Martian grove,\nWhere the fat altars of Palicus flame,\nAnd send in arms to purchase early fame.\nHim when he spied from far, the Tuscan king\nLaid by the lance, and took him to the sling,\nThrice whirl'd the thong around his head, and threw:\nThe heated lead half melted as it flew;\nIt pierc'd his hollow temples and his brain;\nThe youth came tumbling down, and spurn'd the plain.<\/p>\n
Then young Ascanius, who, before this day,\nWas wont in woods to shoot the savage prey,\nFirst bent in martial strife the twanging bow,\nAnd exercis'd against a human foe-\nWith this bereft Numanus of his life,\nWho Turnus' younger sister took to wife.\nProud of his realm, and of his royal bride,\nVaunting before his troops, and lengthen'd with a stride,\nIn these insulting terms the Trojans he defied:<\/p>\n
\"Twice-conquer'd cowards, now your shame is shown-\nCoop'd up a second time within your town!\nWho dare not issue forth in open field,\nBut hold your walls before you for a shield.\nThus threat you war? thus our alliance force?\nWhat gods, what madness, hether steer'd your course?\nYou shall not find the sons of Atreus here,\nNor need the frauds of sly Ulysses fear.\nStrong from the cradle, of a sturdy brood,\nWe bear our newborn infants to the flood;\nThere bath'd amid the stream, our boys we hold,\nWith winter harden'd, and inur'd to cold.\nThey wake before the day to range the wood,\nKill ere they eat, nor taste unconquer'd food.\nNo sports, but what belong to war, they know:\nTo break the stubborn colt, to bend the bow.\nOur youth, of labor patient, earn their bread;\nHardly they work, with frugal diet fed.\nFrom plows and harrows sent to seek renown,\nThey fight in fields, and storm the shaken town.\nNo part of life from toils of war is free,\nNo change in age, or diff'rence in degree.\nWe plow and till in arms; our oxen feel,\nInstead of goads, the spur and pointed steel;\nTh' inverted lance makes furrows in the plain.\nEv'n time, that changes all, yet changes us in vain:\nThe body, not the mind; nor can control\nTh' immortal vigor, or abate the soul.\nOur helms defend the young, disguise the gray:\nWe live by plunder, and delight in prey.\nYour vests embroider'd with rich purple shine;\nIn sloth you glory, and in dances join.\nYour vests have sweeping sleeves; with female pride\nYour turbants underneath your chins are tied.\nGo, Phrygians, to your Dindymus again!\nGo, less than women, in the shapes of men!\nGo, mix'd with eunuchs, in the Mother's rites,\nWhere with unequal sound the flute invites;\nSing, dance, and howl, by turns, in Ida's shade:\nResign the war to men, who know the martial trade!\"<\/p>\n
This foul reproach Ascanius could not hear\nWith patience, or a vow'd revenge forbear.\nAt the full stretch of both his hands he drew,\nAnd almost join'd the horns of the tough yew.\nBut, first, before the throne of Jove he stood,\nAnd thus with lifted hands invok'd the god:\n\"My first attempt, great Jupiter, succeed!\nAn annual off'ring in thy grove shall bleed;\nA snow-white steer, before thy altar led,\nWho, like his mother, bears aloft his head,\nButts with his threat'ning brows, and bellowing stands,\nAnd dares the fight, and spurns the yellow sands.\"<\/p>\n
Jove bow'd the heav'ns, and lent a gracious ear,\nAnd thunder'd on the left, amidst the clear.\nSounded at once the bow; and swiftly flies\nThe feather'd death, and hisses thro' the skies.\nThe steel thro' both his temples forc'd the way:\nExtended on the ground, Numanus lay.\n\"Go now, vain boaster, and true valor scorn!\nThe Phrygians, twice subdued, yet make this third return.\"\nAscanius said no more. The Trojans shake\nThe heav'ns with shouting, and new vigor take.<\/p>\n
Apollo then bestrode a golden cloud,\nTo view the feats of arms, and fighting crowd;\nAnd thus the beardless victor he bespoke aloud:\n\"Advance, illustrious youth, increase in fame,\nAnd wide from east to west extend thy name;\nOffspring of gods thyself; and Rome shall owe\nTo thee a race of demigods below.\nThis is the way to heav'n: the pow'rs divine\nFrom this beginning date the Julian line.\nTo thee, to them, and their victorious heirs,\nThe conquer'd war is due, and the vast world is theirs.\nTroy is too narrow for thy name.\" He said,\nAnd plunging downward shot his radiant head;\nDispell'd the breathing air, that broke his flight:\nShorn of his beams, a man to mortal sight.\nOld Butes' form he took, Anchises' squire,\nNow left, to rule Ascanius, by his sire:\nHis wrinkled visage, and his hoary hairs,\nHis mien, his habit, and his arms, he wears,\nAnd thus salutes the boy, too forward for his years:\n\"Suffice it thee, thy father's worthy son,\nThe warlike prize thou hast already won.\nThe god of archers gives thy youth a part\nOf his own praise, nor envies equal art.\nNow tempt the war no more.\" He said, and flew\nObscure in air, and vanish'd from their view.\nThe Trojans, by his arms, their patron know,\nAnd hear the twanging of his heav'nly bow.\nThen duteous force they use, and Phoebus' name,\nTo keep from fight the youth too fond of fame.\nUndaunted, they themselves no danger shun;\nFrom wall to wall the shouts and clamors run.\nThey bend their bows; they whirl their slings around;\nHeaps of spent arrows fall, and strew the ground;\nAnd helms, and shields, and rattling arms resound.\nThe combat thickens, like the storm that flies\nFrom westward, when the show'ry Kids arise;\nOr patt'ring hail comes pouring on the main,\nWhen Jupiter descends in harden'd rain,\nOr bellowing clouds burst with a stormy sound,\nAnd with an armed winter strew the ground.<\/p>\n
Pand'rus and Bitias, thunderbolts of war,\nWhom Hiera to bold Alcanor bare\nOn Ida's top, two youths of height and size\nLike firs that on their mother mountain rise,\nPresuming on their force, the gates unbar,\nAnd of their own accord invite the war.\nWith fates averse, against their king's command,\nArm'd, on the right and on the left they stand,\nAnd flank the passage: shining steel they wear,\nAnd waving crests above their heads appear.\nThus two tall oaks, that Padus' banks adorn,\nLift up to heav'n their leafy heads unshorn,\nAnd, overpress'd with nature's heavy load,\nDance to the whistling winds, and at each other nod.\nIn flows a tide of Latians, when they see\nThe gate set open, and the passage free;\nBold Quercens, with rash Tmarus, rushing on,\nEquicolus, that in bright armor shone,\nAnd Haemon first; but soon repuls'd they fly,\nOr in the well-defended pass they die.\nThese with success are fir'd, and those with rage,\nAnd each on equal terms at length ingage.\nDrawn from their lines, and issuing on the plain,\nThe Trojans hand to hand the fight maintain.<\/p>\n
Fierce Turnus in another quarter fought,\nWhen suddenly th' unhop'd-for news was brought,\nThe foes had left the fastness of their place,\nPrevail'd in fight, and had his men in chase.\nHe quits th' attack, and, to prevent their fate,\nRuns where the giant brothers guard the gate.\nThe first he met, Antiphates the brave,\nBut base-begotten on a Theban slave,\nSarpedon's son, he slew: the deadly dart\nFound passage thro' his breast, and pierc'd his heart.\nFix'd in the wound th' Italian cornel stood,\nWarm'd in his lungs, and in his vital blood.\nAphidnus next, and Erymanthus dies,\nAnd Meropes, and the gigantic size\nOf Bitias, threat'ning with his ardent eyes.\nNot by the feeble dart he fell oppress'd\n(A dart were lost within that roomy breast),\nBut from a knotted lance, large, heavy, strong,\nWhich roar'd like thunder as it whirl'd along:\nNot two bull hides th' impetuous force withhold,\nNor coat of double mail, with scales of gold.\nDown sunk the monster bulk and press'd the ground;\nHis arms and clatt'ring shield on the vast body sound,\nNot with less ruin than the Bajan mole,\nRais'd on the seas, the surges to control-\nAt once comes tumbling down the rocky wall;\nProne to the deep, the stones disjointed fall\nOf the vast pile; the scatter'd ocean flies;\nBlack sands, discolor'd froth, and mingled mud arise:\nThe frighted billows roll, and seek the shores;\nThen trembles Prochyta, then Ischia roars:\nTyphoeus, thrown beneath, by Jove's command,\nAstonish'd at the flaw that shakes the land,\nSoon shifts his weary side, and, scarce awake,\nWith wonder feels the weight press lighter on his back.<\/p>\n
The warrior god the Latian troops inspir'd,\nNew strung their sinews, and their courage fir'd,\nBut chills the Trojan hearts with cold affright:\nThen black despair precipitates their flight.<\/p>\n
When Pandarus beheld his brother kill'd,\nThe town with fear and wild confusion fill'd,\nHe turns the hinges of the heavy gate\nWith both his hands, and adds his shoulders to the weight\nSome happier friends within the walls inclos'd;\nThe rest shut out, to certain death expos'd:\nFool as he was, and frantic in his care,\nT' admit young Turnus, and include the war!\nHe thrust amid the crowd, securely bold,\nLike a fierce tiger pent amid the fold.\nToo late his blazing buckler they descry,\nAnd sparkling fires that shot from either eye,\nHis mighty members, and his ample breast,\nHis rattling armor, and his crimson crest.<\/p>\n
Far from that hated face the Trojans fly,\nAll but the fool who sought his destiny.\nMad Pandarus steps forth, with vengeance vow'd\nFor Bitias' death, and threatens thus aloud:\n\"These are not Ardea's walls, nor this the town\nAmata proffers with Lavinia's crown:\n'T is hostile earth you tread. Of hope bereft,\nNo means of safe return by flight are left.\"\nTo whom, with count'nance calm, and soul sedate,\nThus Turnus: \"Then begin, and try thy fate:\nMy message to the ghost of Priam bear;\nTell him a new Achilles sent thee there.\"<\/p>\n
A lance of tough ground ash the Trojan threw,\nRough in the rind, and knotted as it grew:\nWith his full force he whirl'd it first around;\nBut the soft yielding air receiv'd the wound:\nImperial Juno turn'd the course before,\nAnd fix'd the wand'ring weapon in the door.<\/p>\n
\"But hope not thou,\" said Turnus, \"when I strike,\nTo shun thy fate: our force is not alike,\nNor thy steel temper'd by the Lemnian god.\"\nThen rising, on his utmost stretch he stood,\nAnd aim'd from high: the full descending blow\nCleaves the broad front and beardless cheeks in two.\nDown sinks the giant with a thund'ring sound:\nHis pond'rous limbs oppress the trembling ground;\nBlood, brains, and foam gush from the gaping wound:\nScalp, face, and shoulders the keen steel divides,\nAnd the shar'd visage hangs on equal sides.\nThe Trojans fly from their approaching fate;\nAnd, had the victor then secur'd the gate,\nAnd to his troops without unclos'd the bars,\nOne lucky day had ended all his wars.\nBut boiling youth, and blind desire of blood,\nPush'd on his fury, to pursue the crowd.\nHamstring'd behind, unhappy Gyges died;\nThen Phalaris is added to his side.\nThe pointed jav'lins from the dead he drew,\nAnd their friends' arms against their fellows threw.\nStrong Halys stands in vain; weak Phlegys flies;\nSaturnia, still at hand, new force and fire supplies.\nThen Halius, Prytanis, Alcander fall-\nIngag'd against the foes who scal'd the wall:\nBut, whom they fear'd without, they found within.\nAt last, tho' late, by Lynceus he was seen.\nHe calls new succors, and assaults the prince:\nBut weak his force, and vain is their defense.\nTurn'd to the right, his sword the hero drew,\nAnd at one blow the bold aggressor slew.\nHe joints the neck; and, with a stroke so strong,\nThe helm flies off, and bears the head along.\nNext him, the huntsman Amycus he kill'd,\nIn darts invenom'd and in poison skill'd.\nThen Clytius fell beneath his fatal spear,\nAnd Creteus, whom the Muses held so dear:\nHe fought with courage, and he sung the fight;\nArms were his bus'ness, verses his delight.<\/p>\n
The Trojan chiefs behold, with rage and grief,\nTheir slaughter'd friends, and hasten their relief.\nBold Mnestheus rallies first the broken train,\nWhom brave Seresthus and his troop sustain.\nTo save the living, and revenge the dead,\nAgainst one warrior's arms all Troy they led.\n\"O, void of sense and courage!\" Mnestheus cried,\n\"Where can you hope your coward heads to hide?\nAh! where beyond these rampires can you run?\nOne man, and in your camp inclos'd, you shun!\nShall then a single sword such slaughter boast,\nAnd pass unpunish'd from a num'rous host?\nForsaking honor, and renouncing fame,\nYour gods, your country, and your king you shame!\"\nThis just reproach their virtue does excite:\nThey stand, they join, they thicken to the fight.<\/p>\n
Now Turnus doubts, and yet disdains to yield,\nBut with slow paces measures back the field,\nAnd inches to the walls, where Tiber's tide,\nWashing the camp, defends the weaker side.\nThe more he loses, they advance the more,\nAnd tread in ev'ry step he trod before.\nThey shout: they bear him back; and, whom by might\nThey cannot conquer, they oppress with weight.<\/p>\n
As, compass'd with a wood of spears around,\nThe lordly lion still maintains his ground;\nGrins horrible, retires, and turns again;\nThreats his distended paws, and shakes his mane;\nHe loses while in vain he presses on,\nNor will his courage let him dare to run:\nSo Turnus fares, and, unresolved of flight,\nMoves tardy back, and just recedes from fight.\nYet twice, inrag'd, the combat he renews,\nTwice breaks, and twice his broken foes pursues.\nBut now they swarm, and, with fresh troops supplied,\nCome rolling on, and rush from ev'ry side:\nNor Juno, who sustain'd his arms before,\nDares with new strength suffice th' exhausted store;\nFor Jove, with sour commands, sent Iris down,\nTo force th' invader from the frighted town.<\/p>\n
With labor spent, no longer can he wield\nThe heavy fanchion, or sustain the shield,\nO'erwhelm'd with darts, which from afar they fling:\nThe weapons round his hollow temples ring;\nHis golden helm gives way, with stony blows\nBatter'd, and flat, and beaten to his brows.\nHis crest is rash'd away; his ample shield\nIs falsified, and round with jav'lins fill'd.<\/p>\n
The foe, now faint, the Trojans overwhelm;\nAnd Mnestheus lays hard load upon his helm.\nSick sweat succeeds; he drops at ev'ry pore;\nWith driving dust his cheeks are pasted o'er;\nShorter and shorter ev'ry gasp he takes;\nAnd vain efforts and hurtless blows he makes.\nPlung'd in the flood, and made the waters fly.\nThe yellow god the welcome burthen bore,\nAnd wip'd the sweat, and wash'd away the gore;\nThen gently wafts him to the farther coast,\nAnd sends him safe to cheer his anxious host.<\/p>","rendered":"
While these affairs in distant places pass’d,
\nThe various Iris Juno sends with haste,
\nTo find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought,
\nThe secret shade of his great grandsire sought.
\nRetir’d alone she found the daring man,
\nAnd op’d her rosy lips, and thus began:
\n“What none of all the gods could grant thy vows,
\nThat, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows.
\nAeneas, gone to seek th’ Arcadian prince,
\nHas left the Trojan camp without defense;
\nAnd, short of succors there, employs his pains
\nIn parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains.
\nNow snatch an hour that favors thy designs;
\nUnite thy forces, and attack their lines.”
\nThis said, on equal wings she pois’d her weight,
\nAnd form’d a radiant rainbow in her flight.<\/p>\n
The Daunian hero lifts his hands eyes,
\nAnd thus invokes the goddess as she flies:
\n“Iris, the grace of heav’n, what pow’r divine
\nHas sent thee down, thro’ dusky clouds to shine?
\nSee, they divide; immortal day appears,
\nAnd glitt’ring planets dancing in their spheres!
\nWith joy, these happy omens I obey,
\nAnd follow to the war the god that leads the way.”
\nThus having said, as by the brook he stood,
\nHe scoop’d the water from the crystal flood;
\nThen with his hands the drops to heav’n he throws,
\nAnd loads the pow’rs above with offer’d vows.<\/p>\n
Now march the bold confed’rates thro’ the plain,
\nWell hors’d, well clad; a rich and shining train.
\nMessapus leads the van; and, in the rear,
\nThe sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear.
\nIn the main battle, with his flaming crest,
\nThe mighty Turnus tow’rs above the rest.
\nSilent they move, majestically slow,
\nLike ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow.
\nThe Trojans view the dusty cloud from far,
\nAnd the dark menace of the distant war.
\nCaicus from the rampire saw it rise,
\nBlack’ning the fields, and thick’ning thro’ the skies.
\nThen to his fellows thus aloud he calls:
\n“What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls?
\nArm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears
\nAnd pointed darts! the Latian host appears.”<\/p>\n
Thus warn’d, they shut their gates; with shouts ascend
\nThe bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend:
\nFor their wise gen’ral, with foreseeing care,
\nHad charg’d them not to tempt the doubtful war,
\nNor, tho’ provok’d, in open fields advance,
\nBut close within their lines attend their chance.
\nUnwilling, yet they keep the strict command,
\nAnd sourly wait in arms the hostile band.
\nThe fiery Turnus flew before the rest:
\nA piebald steed of Thracian strain he press’d;
\nHis helm of massy gold, and crimson was his crest.
\nWith twenty horse to second his designs,
\nAn unexpected foe, he fac’d the lines.
\n“Is there,” he said, “in arms, who bravely dare
\nHis leader’s honor and his danger share?”
\nThen spurring on, his brandish’d dart he threw,
\nIn sign of war: applauding shouts ensue.<\/p>\n
Amaz’d to find a dastard race, that run
\nBehind the rampires and the battle shun,
\nHe rides around the camp, with rolling eyes,
\nAnd stops at ev’ry post, and ev’ry passage tries.
\nSo roams the nightly wolf about the fold:
\nWet with descending show’rs, and stiff with cold,
\nHe howls for hunger, and he grins for pain,
\n(His gnashing teeth are exercis’d in vain,)
\nAnd, impotent of anger, finds no way
\nIn his distended paws to grasp the prey.
\nThe mothers listen; but the bleating lambs
\nSecurely swig the dug, beneath the dams.
\nThus ranges eager Turnus o’er the plain.
\nSharp with desire, and furious with disdain;
\nSurveys each passage with a piercing sight,
\nTo force his foes in equal field to fight.
\nThus while he gazes round, at length he spies,
\nWhere, fenc’d with strong redoubts, their navy lies,
\nClose underneath the walls; the washing tide
\nSecures from all approach this weaker side.
\nHe takes the wish’d occasion, fills his hand
\nWith ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand.
\nUrg’d by his presence, ev’ry soul is warm’d,
\nAnd ev’ry hand with kindled firs is arm’d.
\nFrom the fir’d pines the scatt’ring sparkles fly;
\nFat vapors, mix’d with flames, involve the sky.
\nWhat pow’r, O Muses, could avert the flame
\nWhich threaten’d, in the fleet, the Trojan name?
\nTell: for the fact, thro’ length of time obscure,
\nIs hard to faith; yet shall the fame endure.<\/p>\n
‘T is said that, when the chief prepar’d his flight,
\nAnd fell’d his timber from Mount Ida’s height,
\nThe grandam goddess then approach’d her son,
\nAnd with a mother’s majesty begun:
\n“Grant me,” she said, “the sole request I bring,
\nSince conquer’d heav’n has own’d you for its king.
\nOn Ida’s brows, for ages past, there stood,
\nWith firs and maples fill’d, a shady wood;
\nAnd on the summit rose a sacred grove,
\nWhere I was worship’d with religious love.
\nThose woods, that holy grove, my long delight,
\nI gave the Trojan prince, to speed his flight.
\nNow, fill’d with fear, on their behalf I come;
\nLet neither winds o’erset, nor waves intomb
\nThe floating forests of the sacred pine;
\nBut let it be their safety to be mine.”
\nThen thus replied her awful son, who rolls
\nThe radiant stars, and heav’n and earth controls:
\n“How dare you, mother, endless date demand
\nFor vessels molded by a mortal hand?
\nWhat then is fate? Shall bold Aeneas ride,
\nOf safety certain, on th’ uncertain tide?
\nYet, what I can, I grant; when, wafted o’er,
\nThe chief is landed on the Latian shore,
\nWhatever ships escape the raging storms,
\nAt my command shall change their fading forms
\nTo nymphs divine, and plow the wat’ry way,
\nLike Dotis and the daughters of the sea.”
\nTo seal his sacred vow, by Styx he swore,
\nThe lake of liquid pitch, the dreary shore,
\nAnd Phlegethon’s innavigable flood,
\nAnd the black regions of his brother god.
\nHe said; and shook the skies with his imperial nod.<\/p>\n
And now at length the number’d hours were come,
\nPrefix’d by fate’s irrevocable doom,
\nWhen the great Mother of the Gods was free
\nTo save her ships, and finish Jove’s decree.
\nFirst, from the quarter of the morn, there sprung
\nA light that sign’d the heav’ns, and shot along;
\nThen from a cloud, fring’d round with golden fires,
\nWere timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs;
\nAnd, last, a voice, with more than mortal sounds,
\nBoth hosts, in arms oppos’d, with equal horror wounds:
\n“O Trojan race, your needless aid forbear,
\nAnd know, my ships are my peculiar care.
\nWith greater ease the bold Rutulian may,
\nWith hissing brands, attempt to burn the sea,
\nThan singe my sacred pines. But you, my charge,
\nLoos’d from your crooked anchors, launch at large,
\nExalted each a nymph: forsake the sand,
\nAnd swim the seas, at Cybele’s command.”
\nNo sooner had the goddess ceas’d to speak,
\nWhen, lo! th’ obedient ships their haulsers break;
\nAnd, strange to tell, like dolphins, in the main
\nThey plunge their prows, and dive, and spring again:
\nAs many beauteous maids the billows sweep,
\nAs rode before tall vessels on the deep.<\/p>\n
The foes, surpris’d with wonder, stood aghast;
\nMessapus curb’d his fiery courser’s haste;
\nOld Tiber roar’d, and, raising up his head,
\nCall’d back his waters to their oozy bed.
\nTurnus alone, undaunted, bore the shock,
\nAnd with these words his trembling troops bespoke:
\n“These monsters for the Trojans’ fate are meant,
\nAnd are by Jove for black presages sent.
\nHe takes the cowards’ last relief away;
\nFor fly they cannot, and, constrain’d to stay,
\nMust yield unfought, a base inglorious prey.
\nThe liquid half of all the globe is lost;
\nHeav’n shuts the seas, and we secure the coast.
\nTheirs is no more than that small spot of ground
\nWhich myriads of our martial men surround.
\nTheir fates I fear not, or vain oracles.
\n‘T was giv’n to Venus they should cross the seas,
\nAnd land secure upon the Latian plains:
\nTheir promis’d hour is pass’d, and mine remains.
\n‘T is in the fate of Turnus to destroy,
\nWith sword and fire, the faithless race of Troy.
\nShall such affronts as these alone inflame
\nThe Grecian brothers, and the Grecian name?
\nMy cause and theirs is one; a fatal strife,
\nAnd final ruin, for a ravish’d wife.
\nWas ‘t not enough, that, punish’d for the crime,
\nThey fell; but will they fall a second time?
\nOne would have thought they paid enough before,
\nTo curse the costly sex, and durst offend no more.
\nCan they securely trust their feeble wall,
\nA slight partition, a thin interval,
\nBetwixt their fate and them; when Troy, tho’ built
\nBy hands divine, yet perish’d by their guilt?
\nLend me, for once, my friends, your valiant hands,
\nTo force from out their lines these dastard bands.
\nLess than a thousand ships will end this war,
\nNor Vulcan needs his fated arms prepare.
\nLet all the Tuscans, all th’ Arcadians, join!
\nNor these, nor those, shall frustrate my design.
\nLet them not fear the treasons of the night,
\nThe robb’d Palladium, the pretended flight:
\nOur onset shall be made in open light.
\nNo wooden engine shall their town betray;
\nFires they shall have around, but fires by day.
\nNo Grecian babes before their camp appear,
\nWhom Hector’s arms detain’d to the tenth tardy year.
\nNow, since the sun is rolling to the west,
\nGive we the silent night to needful rest:
\nRefresh your bodies, and your arms prepare;
\nThe morn shall end the small remains of war.”<\/p>\n
The post of honor to Messapus falls,
\nTo keep the nightly guard, to watch the walls,
\nTo pitch the fires at distances around,
\nAnd close the Trojans in their scanty ground.
\nTwice seven Rutulian captains ready stand,
\nAnd twice seven hundred horse these chiefs command;
\nAll clad in shining arms the works invest,
\nEach with a radiant helm and waving crest.
\nStretch’d at their length, they press the grassy ground;
\nThey laugh, they sing, (the jolly bowls go round,)
\nWith lights and cheerful fires renew the day,
\nAnd pass the wakeful night in feasts and play.<\/p>\n
The Trojans, from above, their foes beheld,
\nAnd with arm’d legions all the rampires fill’d.
\nSeiz’d with affright, their gates they first explore;
\nJoin works to works with bridges, tow’r to tow’r:
\nThus all things needful for defense abound.
\nMnestheus and brave Seresthus walk the round,
\nCommission’d by their absent prince to share
\nThe common danger, and divide the care.
\nThe soldiers draw their lots, and, as they fall,
\nBy turns relieve each other on the wall.<\/p>\n
Nigh where the foes their utmost guards advance,
\nTo watch the gate was warlike Nisus’ chance.
\nHis father Hyrtacus of noble blood;
\nHis mother was a huntress of the wood,
\nAnd sent him to the wars. Well could he bear
\nHis lance in fight, and dart the flying spear,
\nBut better skill’d unerring shafts to send.
\nBeside him stood Euryalus, his friend:
\nEuryalus, than whom the Trojan host
\nNo fairer face, or sweeter air, could boast-
\nScarce had the down to shade his cheeks begun.
\nOne was their care, and their delight was one:
\nOne common hazard in the war they shar’d,
\nAnd now were both by choice upon the guard.<\/p>\n
Then Nisus thus: “Or do the gods inspire
\nThis warmth, or make we gods of our desire?
\nA gen’rous ardor boils within my breast,
\nEager of action, enemy to rest:
\nThis urges me to fight, and fires my mind
\nTo leave a memorable name behind.
\nThou see’st the foe secure; how faintly shine
\nTheir scatter’d fires! the most, in sleep supine
\nAlong the ground, an easy conquest lie:
\nThe wakeful few the fuming flagon ply;
\nAll hush’d around. Now hear what I revolve-
\nA thought unripe- and scarcely yet resolve.
\nOur absent prince both camp and council mourn;
\nBy message both would hasten his return:
\nIf they confer what I demand on thee,
\n(For fame is recompense enough for me,)
\nMethinks, beneath yon hill, I have espied
\nA way that safely will my passage guide.”<\/p>\n
Euryalus stood list’ning while he spoke,
\nWith love of praise and noble envy struck;
\nThen to his ardent friend expos’d his mind:
\n“All this, alone, and leaving me behind!
\nAm I unworthy, Nisus, to be join’d?
\nThinkist thou I can my share of glory yield,
\nOr send thee unassisted to the field?
\nNot so my father taught my childhood arms;
\nBorn in a siege, and bred among alarms!
\nNor is my youth unworthy of my friend,
\nNor of the heav’n-born hero I attend.
\nThe thing call’d life, with ease I can disclaim,
\nAnd think it over-sold to purchase fame.”<\/p>\n
Then Nisus thus: “Alas! thy tender years
\nWould minister new matter to my fears.
\nSo may the gods, who view this friendly strife,
\nRestore me to thy lov’d embrace with life,
\nCondemn’d to pay my vows, (as sure I trust,)
\nThis thy request is cruel and unjust.
\nBut if some chance- as many chances are,
\nAnd doubtful hazards, in the deeds of war-
\nIf one should reach my head, there let it fall,
\nAnd spare thy life; I would not perish all.
\nThy bloomy youth deserves a longer date:
\nLive thou to mourn thy love’s unhappy fate;
\nTo bear my mangled body from the foe,
\nOr buy it back, and fun’ral rites bestow.
\nOr, if hard fortune shall those dues deny,
\nThou canst at least an empty tomb supply.
\nO let not me the widow’s tears renew!
\nNor let a mother’s curse my name pursue:
\nThy pious parent, who, for love of thee,
\nForsook the coasts of friendly Sicily,
\nHer age committing to the seas and wind,
\nWhen ev’ry weary matron stay’d behind.”
\nTo this, Euryalus: “You plead in vain,
\nAnd but protract the cause you cannot gain.
\nNo more delays, but haste!” With that, he wakes
\nThe nodding watch; each to his office takes.
\nThe guard reliev’d, the gen’rous couple went
\nTo find the council at the royal tent.<\/p>\n
All creatures else forgot their daily care,
\nAnd sleep, the common gift of nature, share;
\nExcept the Trojan peers, who wakeful sate
\nIn nightly council for th’ indanger’d state.
\nThey vote a message to their absent chief,
\nShew their distress, and beg a swift relief.
\nAmid the camp a silent seat they chose,
\nRemote from clamor, and secure from foes.
\nOn their left arms their ample shields they bear,
\nThe right reclin’d upon the bending spear.
\nNow Nisus and his friend approach the guard,
\nAnd beg admission, eager to be heard:
\nTh’ affair important, not to be deferr’d.
\nAscanius bids ’em be conducted in,
\nOrd’ring the more experienc’d to begin.
\nThen Nisus thus: “Ye fathers, lend your ears;
\nNor judge our bold attempt beyond our years.
\nThe foe, securely drench’d in sleep and wine,
\nNeglect their watch; the fires but thinly shine;
\nAnd where the smoke in cloudy vapors flies,
\nCov’ring the plain, and curling to the skies,
\nBetwixt two paths, which at the gate divide,
\nClose by the sea, a passage we have spied,
\nWhich will our way to great Aeneas guide.
\nExpect each hour to see him safe again,
\nLoaded with spoils of foes in battle slain.
\nSnatch we the lucky minute while we may;
\nNor can we be mistaken in the way;
\nFor, hunting in the vale, we both have seen
\nThe rising turrets, and the stream between,
\nAnd know the winding course, with ev’ry ford.”<\/p>\n
He ceas’d; and old Alethes took the word:
\n“Our country gods, in whom our trust we place,
\nWill yet from ruin save the Trojan race,
\nWhile we behold such dauntless worth appear
\nIn dawning youth, and souls so void of fear.”
\nThen into tears of joy the father broke;
\nEach in his longing arms by turns he took;
\nPanted and paus’d; and thus again he spoke:
\n“Ye brave young men, what equal gifts can we,
\nIn recompense of such desert, decree?
\nThe greatest, sure, and best you can receive,
\nThe gods and your own conscious worth will give.
\nThe rest our grateful gen’ral will bestow,
\nAnd young Ascanius till his manhood owe.”<\/p>\n
“And I, whose welfare in my father lies,”
\nAscanius adds, “by the great deities,
\nBy my dear country, by my household gods,
\nBy hoary Vesta’s rites and dark abodes,
\nAdjure you both, (on you my fortune stands;
\nThat and my faith I plight into your hands,)
\nMake me but happy in his safe return,
\nWhose wanted presence I can only mourn;
\nYour common gift shall two large goblets be
\nOf silver, wrought with curious imagery,
\nAnd high emboss’d, which, when old Priam reign’d,
\nMy conqu’ring sire at sack’d Arisba gain’d;
\nAnd more, two tripods cast in antic mold,
\nWith two great talents of the finest gold;
\nBeside a costly bowl, ingrav’d with art,
\nWhich Dido gave, when first she gave her heart.
\nBut, if in conquer’d Italy we reign,
\nWhen spoils by lot the victor shall obtain-
\nThou saw’st the courser by proud Turnus press’d:
\nThat, Nisus, and his arms, and nodding crest,
\nAnd shield, from chance exempt, shall be thy share:
\nTwelve lab’ring slaves, twelve handmaids young and fair
\nAll clad in rich attire, and train’d with care;
\nAnd, last, a Latian field with fruitful plains,
\nAnd a large portion of the king’s domains.
\nBut thou, whose years are more to mine allied-
\nNo fate my vow’d affection shall divide
\nFrom thee, heroic youth! Be wholly mine;
\nTake full possession; all my soul is thine.
\nOne faith, one fame, one fate, shall both attend;
\nMy life’s companion, and my bosom friend:
\nMy peace shall be committed to thy care,
\nAnd to thy conduct my concerns in war.”<\/p>\n
Then thus the young Euryalus replied:
\n“Whatever fortune, good or bad, betide,
\nThe same shall be my age, as now my youth;
\nNo time shall find me wanting to my truth.
\nThis only from your goodness let me gain
\n(And, this ungranted, all rewards are vain)
\nOf Priam’s royal race my mother came-
\nAnd sure the best that ever bore the name-
\nWhom neither Troy nor Sicily could hold
\nFrom me departing, but, o’erspent and old,
\nMy fate she follow’d. Ignorant of this
\n(Whatever) danger, neither parting kiss,
\nNor pious blessing taken, her I leave,
\nAnd in this only act of all my life deceive.
\nBy this right hand and conscious Night I swear,
\nMy soul so sad a farewell could not bear.
\nBe you her comfort; fill my vacant place
\n(Permit me to presume so great a grace)
\nSupport her age, forsaken and distress’d.
\nThat hope alone will fortify my breast
\nAgainst the worst of fortunes, and of fears.”
\nHe said. The mov’d assistants melt in tears.<\/p>\n
Then thus Ascanius, wonderstruck to see
\nThat image of his filial piety:
\n“So great beginnings, in so green an age,
\nExact the faith which I again ingage.
\nThy mother all the dues shall justly claim,
\nCreusa had, and only want the name.
\nWhate’er event thy bold attempt shall have,
\n‘T is merit to have borne a son so brave.
\nNow by my head, a sacred oath, I swear,
\n(My father us’d it,) what, returning here
\nCrown’d with success, I for thyself prepare,
\nThat, if thou fail, shall thy lov’d mother share.”<\/p>\n
He said, and weeping, while he spoke the word,
\nFrom his broad belt he drew a shining sword,
\nMagnificent with gold. Lycaon made,
\nAnd in an ivory scabbard sheath’d the blade.
\nThis was his gift. Great Mnestheus gave his friend
\nA lion’s hide, his body to defend;
\nAnd good Alethes furnish’d him, beside,
\nWith his own trusty helm, of temper tried.<\/p>\n
Thus arm’d they went. The noble Trojans wait
\nTheir issuing forth, and follow to the gate
\nWith prayers and vows. Above the rest appears
\nAscanius, manly far beyond his years,
\nAnd messages committed to their care,
\nWhich all in winds were lost, and flitting air.<\/p>\n
The trenches first they pass’d; then took their way
\nWhere their proud foes in pitch’d pavilions lay;
\nTo many fatal, ere themselves were slain.
\nThey found the careless host dispers’d upon the plain,
\nWho, gorg’d, and drunk with wine, supinely snore.
\nUnharness’d chariots stand along the shore:
\nAmidst the wheels and reins, the goblet by,
\nA medley of debauch and war, they lie.
\nObserving Nisus shew’d his friend the sight:
\n“Behold a conquest gain’d without a fight.
\nOccasion offers, and I stand prepar’d;
\nThere lies our way; be thou upon the guard,
\nAnd look around, while I securely go,
\nAnd hew a passage thro’ the sleeping foe.”
\nSoftly he spoke; then striding took his way,
\nWith his drawn sword, where haughty Rhamnes lay;
\nHis head rais’d high on tapestry beneath,
\nAnd heaving from his breast, he drew his breath;
\nA king and prophet, by King Turnus lov’d:
\nBut fate by prescience cannot be remov’d.
\nHim and his sleeping slaves he slew; then spies
\nWhere Remus, with his rich retinue, lies.
\nHis armor-bearer first, and next he kills
\nHis charioteer, intrench’d betwixt the wheels
\nAnd his lov’d horses; last invades their lord;
\nFull on his neck he drives the fatal sword:
\nThe gasping head flies off; a purple flood
\nFlows from the trunk, that welters in the blood,
\nWhich, by the spurning heels dispers’d around,
\nThe bed besprinkles and bedews the ground.
\nLamus the bold, and Lamyrus the strong,
\nHe slew, and then Serranus fair and young.
\nFrom dice and wine the youth retir’d to rest,
\nAnd puff’d the fumy god from out his breast:
\nEv’n then he dreamt of drink and lucky play-
\nMore lucky, had it lasted till the day.
\nThe famish’d lion thus, with hunger bold,
\nO’erleaps the fences of the nightly fold,
\nAnd tears the peaceful flocks: with silent awe
\nTrembling they lie, and pant beneath his paw.<\/p>\n
Nor with less rage Euryalus employs
\nThe wrathful sword, or fewer foes destroys;
\nBut on th’ ignoble crowd his fury flew;
\nHe Fadus, Hebesus, and Rhoetus slew.
\nOppress’d with heavy sleep the former fell,
\nBut Rhoetus wakeful, and observing all:
\nBehind a spacious jar he slink’d for fear;
\nThe fatal iron found and reach’d him there;
\nFor, as he rose, it pierc’d his naked side,
\nAnd, reeking, thence return’d in crimson dyed.
\nThe wound pours out a stream of wine and blood;
\nThe purple soul comes floating in the flood.<\/p>\n
Now, where Messapus quarter’d, they arrive.
\nThe fires were fainting there, and just alive;
\nThe warrior-horses, tied in order, fed.
\nNisus observ’d the discipline, and said:
\n“Our eager thirst of blood may both betray;
\nAnd see the scatter’d streaks of dawning day,
\nFoe to nocturnal thefts. No more, my friend;
\nHere let our glutted execution end.
\nA lane thro’ slaughter’d bodies we have made.”
\nThe bold Euryalus, tho’ loth, obey’d.
\nOf arms, and arras, and of plate, they find
\nA precious load; but these they leave behind.
\nYet, fond of gaudy spoils, the boy would stay
\nTo make the rich caparison his prey,
\nWhich on the steed of conquer’d Rhamnes lay.
\nNor did his eyes less longingly behold
\nThe girdle-belt, with nails of burnish’d gold.
\nThis present Caedicus the rich bestow’d
\nOn Remulus, when friendship first they vow’d,
\nAnd, absent, join’d in hospitable ties:
\nHe, dying, to his heir bequeath’d the prize;
\nTill, by the conqu’ring Ardean troops oppress’d,
\nHe fell; and they the glorious gift possess’d.
\nThese glitt’ring spoils (now made the victor’s gain)
\nHe to his body suits, but suits in vain:
\nMessapus’ helm he finds among the rest,
\nAnd laces on, and wears the waving crest.
\nProud of their conquest, prouder of their prey,
\nThey leave the camp, and take the ready way.<\/p>\n
But far they had not pass’d, before they spied
\nThree hundred horse, with Volscens for their guide.
\nThe queen a legion to King Turnus sent;
\nBut the swift horse the slower foot prevent,
\nAnd now, advancing, sought the leader’s tent.
\nThey saw the pair; for, thro’ the doubtful shade,
\nHis shining helm Euryalus betray’d,
\nOn which the moon with full reflection play’d.
\n“‘T is not for naught,” cried Volscens from the crowd,
\n“These men go there;” then rais’d his voice aloud:
\n“Stand! stand! why thus in arms? And whither bent?
\nFrom whence, to whom, and on what errand sent?”
\nSilent they scud away, and haste their flight
\nTo neighb’ring woods, and trust themselves to night.
\nThe speedy horse all passages belay,
\nAnd spur their smoking steeds to cross their way,
\nAnd watch each entrance of the winding wood.
\nBlack was the forest: thick with beech it stood,
\nHorrid with fern, and intricate with thorn;
\nFew paths of human feet, or tracks of beasts, were worn.
\nThe darkness of the shades, his heavy prey,
\nAnd fear, misled the younger from his way.
\nBut Nisus hit the turns with happier haste,
\nAnd, thoughtless of his friend, the forest pass’d,
\nAnd Alban plains, from Alba’s name so call’d,
\nWhere King Latinus then his oxen stall’d;
\nTill, turning at the length, he stood his ground,
\nAnd miss’d his friend, and cast his eyes around:
\n“Ah wretch!” he cried, “where have I left behind
\nTh’ unhappy youth? where shall I hope to find?
\nOr what way take?” Again he ventures back,
\nAnd treads the mazes of his former track.
\nHe winds the wood, and, list’ning, hears the noise
\nOf tramping coursers, and the riders’ voice.
\nThe sound approach’d; and suddenly he view’d
\nThe foes inclosing, and his friend pursued,
\nForelaid and taken, while he strove in vain
\nThe shelter of the friendly shades to gain.
\nWhat should he next attempt? what arms employ,
\nWhat fruitless force, to free the captive boy?
\nOr desperate should he rush and lose his life,
\nWith odds oppress’d, in such unequal strife?<\/p>\n
Resolv’d at length, his pointed spear he shook;
\nAnd, casting on the moon a mournful look:
\n“Guardian of groves, and goddess of the night,
\nFair queen,” he said, “direct my dart aright.
\nIf e’er my pious father, for my sake,
\nDid grateful off’rings on thy altars make,
\nOr I increas’d them with my sylvan toils,
\nAnd hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils,
\nGive me to scatter these.” Then from his ear
\nHe pois’d, and aim’d, and launch’d the trembling spear.
\nThe deadly weapon, hissing from the grove,
\nImpetuous on the back of Sulmo drove;
\nPierc’d his thin armor, drank his vital blood,
\nAnd in his body left the broken wood.
\nHe staggers round; his eyeballs roll in death,
\nAnd with short sobs he gasps away his breath.
\nAll stand amaz’d- a second jav’lin flies
\nWith equal strength, and quivers thro’ the skies.
\nThis thro’ thy temples, Tagus, forc’d the way,
\nAnd in the brainpan warmly buried lay.
\nFierce Volscens foams with rage, and, gazing round,
\nDescried not him who gave the fatal wound,
\nNor knew to fix revenge: “But thou,” he cries,
\n“Shalt pay for both,” and at the pris’ner flies
\nWith his drawn sword. Then, struck with deep despair,
\nThat cruel sight the lover could not bear;
\nBut from his covert rush’d in open view,
\nAnd sent his voice before him as he flew:
\n“Me! me!” he cried- “turn all your swords alone
\nOn me- the fact confess’d, the fault my own.
\nHe neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth:
\nYe moon and stars, bear witness to the truth!
\nHis only crime (if friendship can offend)
\nIs too much love to his unhappy friend.”
\nToo late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides,
\nDriv’n with full force, had pierc’d his tender sides.
\nDown fell the beauteous youth: the yawning wound
\nGush’d out a purple stream, and stain’d the ground.
\nHis snowy neck reclines upon his breast,
\nLike a fair flow’r by the keen share oppress’d;
\nLike a white poppy sinking on the plain,
\nWhose heavy head is overcharg’d with rain.
\nDespair, and rage, and vengeance justly vow’d,
\nDrove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd.
\nVolscens he seeks; on him alone he bends:
\nBorne back and bor’d by his surrounding friends,
\nOnward he press’d, and kept him still in sight;
\nThen whirl’d aloft his sword with all his might:
\nTh’ unerring steel descended while he spoke,
\nPiered his wide mouth, and thro’ his weazon broke.
\nDying, he slew; and, stagg’ring on the plain,
\nWith swimming eyes he sought his lover slain;
\nThen quiet on his bleeding bosom fell,
\nContent, in death, to be reveng’d so well.<\/p>\n
O happy friends! for, if my verse can give
\nImmortal life, your fame shall ever live,
\nFix’d as the Capitol’s foundation lies,
\nAnd spread, where’er the Roman eagle flies!<\/p>\n
The conqu’ring party first divide the prey,
\nThen their slain leader to the camp convey.
\nWith wonder, as they went, the troops were fill’d,
\nTo see such numbers whom so few had kill’d.
\nSerranus, Rhamnes, and the rest, they found:
\nVast crowds the dying and the dead surround;
\nAnd the yet reeking blood o’erflows the ground.
\nAll knew the helmet which Messapus lost,
\nBut mourn’d a purchase that so dear had cost.
\nNow rose the ruddy morn from Tithon’s bed,
\nAnd with the dawn of day the skies o’erspread;
\nNor long the sun his daily course withheld,
\nBut added colors to the world reveal’d:
\nWhen early Turnus, wak’ning with the light,
\nAll clad in armor, calls his troops to fight.
\nHis martial men with fierce harangue he fir’d,
\nAnd his own ardor in their souls inspir’d.
\nThis done- to give new terror to his foes,
\nThe heads of Nisus and his friend he shows,
\nRais’d high on pointed spears- a ghastly sight:
\nLoud peals of shouts ensue, and barbarous delight.<\/p>\n
Meantime the Trojans run, where danger calls;
\nThey line their trenches, and they man their walls.
\nIn front extended to the left they stood;
\nSafe was the right, surrounded by the flood.
\nBut, casting from their tow’rs a frightful view,
\nThey saw the faces, which too well they knew,
\nTho’ then disguis’d in death, and smear’d all o’er
\nWith filth obscene, and dropping putrid gore.
\nSoon hasty fame thro’ the sad city bears
\nThe mournful message to the mother’s ears.
\nAn icy cold benumbs her limbs; she shakes;
\nHer cheeks the blood, her hand the web forsakes.
\nShe runs the rampires round amidst the war,
\nNor fears the flying darts; she rends her hair,
\nAnd fills with loud laments the liquid air.
\n“Thus, then, my lov’d Euryalus appears!
\nThus looks the prop my declining years!
\nWas’t on this face my famish’d eyes I fed?
\nAh! how unlike the living is the dead!
\nAnd could’st thou leave me, cruel, thus alone?
\nNot one kind kiss from a departing son!
\nNo look, no last adieu before he went,
\nIn an ill-boding hour to slaughter sent!
\nCold on the ground, and pressing foreign clay,
\nTo Latian dogs and fowls he lies a prey!
\nNor was I near to close his dying eyes,
\nTo wash his wounds, to weep his obsequies,
\nTo call about his corpse his crying friends,
\nOr spread the mantle (made for other ends)
\nOn his dear body, which I wove with care,
\nNor did my daily pains or nightly labor spare.
\nWhere shall I find his corpse? what earth sustains
\nHis trunk dismember’d, and his cold remains?
\nFor this, alas! I left my needful ease,
\nExpos’d my life to winds and winter seas!
\nIf any pity touch Rutulian hearts,
\nHere empty all your quivers, all your darts;
\nOr, if they fail, thou, Jove, conclude my woe,
\nAnd send me thunderstruck to shades below!”
\nHer shrieks and clamors pierce the Trojans’ ears,
\nUnman their courage, and augment their fears;
\nNor young Ascanius could the sight sustain,
\nNor old Ilioneus his tears restrain,
\nBut Actor and Idaeus jointly sent,
\nTo bear the madding mother to her tent.<\/p>\n
And now the trumpets terribly, from far,
\nWith rattling clangor, rouse the sleepy war.
\nThe soldiers’ shouts succeed the brazen sounds;
\nAnd heav’n, from pole to pole, the noise rebounds.
\nThe Volscians bear their shields upon their head,
\nAnd, rushing forward, form a moving shed.
\nThese fill the ditch; those pull the bulwarks down:
\nSome raise the ladders; others scale the town.
\nBut, where void spaces on the walls appear,
\nOr thin defense, they pour their forces there.
\nWith poles and missive weapons, from afar,
\nThe Trojans keep aloof the rising war.
\nTaught, by their ten years’ siege, defensive fight,
\nThey roll down ribs of rocks, an unresisted weight,
\nTo break the penthouse with the pond’rous blow,
\nWhich yet the patient Volscians undergo:
\nBut could not bear th’ unequal combat long;
\nFor, where the Trojans find the thickest throng,
\nThe ruin falls: their shatter’d shields give way,
\nAnd their crush’d heads become an easy prey.
\nThey shrink for fear, abated of their rage,
\nNor longer dare in a blind fight engage;
\nContented now to gall them from below
\nWith darts and slings, and with the distant bow.<\/p>\n
Elsewhere Mezentius, terrible to view,
\nA blazing pine within the trenches threw.
\nBut brave Messapus, Neptune’s warlike son,
\nBroke down the palisades, the trenches won,
\nAnd loud for ladders calls, to scale the town.<\/p>\n
Calliope, begin! Ye sacred Nine,
\nInspire your poet in his high design,
\nTo sing what slaughter manly Turnus made,
\nWhat souls he sent below the Stygian shade,
\nWhat fame the soldiers with their captain share,
\nAnd the vast circuit of the fatal war;
\nFor you in singing martial facts excel;
\nYou best remember, and alone can tell.<\/p>\n
There stood a tow’r, amazing to the sight,
\nBuilt up of beams, and of stupendous height:
\nArt, and the nature of the place, conspir’d
\nTo furnish all the strength that war requir’d.
\nTo level this, the bold Italians join;
\nThe wary Trojans obviate their design;
\nWith weighty stones o’erwhelm their troops below,
\nShoot thro’ the loopholes, and sharp jav’lins throw.
\nTurnus, the chief, toss’d from his thund’ring hand
\nAgainst the wooden walls, a flaming brand:
\nIt stuck, the fiery plague; the winds were high;
\nThe planks were season’d, and the timber dry.
\nContagion caught the posts; it spread along,
\nScorch’d, and to distance drove the scatter’d throng.
\nThe Trojans fled; the fire pursued amain,
\nStill gath’ring fast upon the trembling train;
\nTill, crowding to the corners of the wall,
\nDown the defense and the defenders fall.
\nThe mighty flaw makes heav’n itself resound:
\nThe dead and dying Trojans strew the ground.
\nThe tow’r, that follow’d on the fallen crew,
\nWhelm’d o’er their heads, and buried whom it slew:
\nSome stuck upon the darts themselves had sent;
\nAll the same equal ruin underwent.<\/p>\n
Young Lycus and Helenor only scape;
\nSav’d- how, they know not- from the steepy leap.
\nHelenor, elder of the two: by birth,
\nOn one side royal, one a son of earth,
\nWhom to the Lydian king Licymnia bare,
\nAnd sent her boasted bastard to the war
\n(A privilege which none but freemen share).
\nSlight were his arms, a sword and silver shield:
\nNo marks of honor charg’d its empty field.
\nLight as he fell, so light the youth arose,
\nAnd rising, found himself amidst his foes;
\nNor flight was left, nor hopes to force his way.
\nEmbolden’d by despair, he stood at bay;
\nAnd- like a stag, whom all the troop surrounds
\nOf eager huntsmen and invading hounds-
\nResolv’d on death, he dissipates his fears,
\nAnd bounds aloft against the pointed spears:
\nSo dares the youth, secure of death; and throws
\nHis dying body on his thickest foes.
\nBut Lycus, swifter of his feet by far,
\nRuns, doubles, winds and turns, amidst the war;
\nSprings to the walls, and leaves his foes behind,
\nAnd snatches at the beam he first can find;
\nLooks up, and leaps aloft at all the stretch,
\nIn hopes the helping hand of some kind friend to reach.
\nBut Turnus follow’d hard his hunted prey
\n(His spear had almost reach’d him in the way,
\nShort of his reins, and scarce a span behind)
\n“Fool!” said the chief, “tho’ fleeter than the wind,
\nCouldst thou presume to scape, when I pursue?”
\nHe said, and downward by the feet he drew
\nThe trembling dastard; at the tug he falls;
\nVast ruins come along, rent from the smoking walls.
\nThus on some silver swan, or tim’rous hare,
\nJove’s bird comes sousing down from upper air;
\nHer crooked talons truss the fearful prey:
\nThen out of sight she soars, and wings her way.
\nSo seizes the grim wolf the tender lamb,
\nIn vain lamented by the bleating dam.<\/p>\n
Then rushing onward with a barb’rous cry,
\nThe troops of Turnus to the combat fly.
\nThe ditch with fagots fill’d, the daring foe
\nToss’d firebrands to the steepy turrets throw.<\/p>\n
Ilioneus, as bold Lucetius came
\nTo force the gate, and feed the kindling flame,
\nRoll’d down the fragment of a rock so right,
\nIt crush’d him double underneath the weight.
\nTwo more young Liger and Asylas slew:
\nTo bend the bow young Liger better knew;
\nAsylas best the pointed jav’lin threw.
\nBrave Caeneus laid Ortygius on the plain;
\nThe victor Caeneus was by Turnus slain.
\nBy the same hand, Clonius and Itys fall,
\nSagar, and Ida, standing on the wall.
\nFrom Capys’ arms his fate Privernus found:
\nHurt by Themilla first-but slight the wound-
\nHis shield thrown by, to mitigate the smart,
\nHe clapp’d his hand upon the wounded part:
\nThe second shaft came swift and unespied,
\nAnd pierc’d his hand, and nail’d it to his side,
\nTransfix’d his breathing lungs and beating heart:
\nThe soul came issuing out, and hiss’d against the dart.<\/p>\n
The son of Arcens shone amid the rest,
\nIn glitt’ring armor and a purple vest,
\n(Fair was his face, his eyes inspiring love,)
\nBred by his father in the Martian grove,
\nWhere the fat altars of Palicus flame,
\nAnd send in arms to purchase early fame.
\nHim when he spied from far, the Tuscan king
\nLaid by the lance, and took him to the sling,
\nThrice whirl’d the thong around his head, and threw:
\nThe heated lead half melted as it flew;
\nIt pierc’d his hollow temples and his brain;
\nThe youth came tumbling down, and spurn’d the plain.<\/p>\n
Then young Ascanius, who, before this day,
\nWas wont in woods to shoot the savage prey,
\nFirst bent in martial strife the twanging bow,
\nAnd exercis’d against a human foe-
\nWith this bereft Numanus of his life,
\nWho Turnus’ younger sister took to wife.
\nProud of his realm, and of his royal bride,
\nVaunting before his troops, and lengthen’d with a stride,
\nIn these insulting terms the Trojans he defied:<\/p>\n
“Twice-conquer’d cowards, now your shame is shown-
\nCoop’d up a second time within your town!
\nWho dare not issue forth in open field,
\nBut hold your walls before you for a shield.
\nThus threat you war? thus our alliance force?
\nWhat gods, what madness, hether steer’d your course?
\nYou shall not find the sons of Atreus here,
\nNor need the frauds of sly Ulysses fear.
\nStrong from the cradle, of a sturdy brood,
\nWe bear our newborn infants to the flood;
\nThere bath’d amid the stream, our boys we hold,
\nWith winter harden’d, and inur’d to cold.
\nThey wake before the day to range the wood,
\nKill ere they eat, nor taste unconquer’d food.
\nNo sports, but what belong to war, they know:
\nTo break the stubborn colt, to bend the bow.
\nOur youth, of labor patient, earn their bread;
\nHardly they work, with frugal diet fed.
\nFrom plows and harrows sent to seek renown,
\nThey fight in fields, and storm the shaken town.
\nNo part of life from toils of war is free,
\nNo change in age, or diff’rence in degree.
\nWe plow and till in arms; our oxen feel,
\nInstead of goads, the spur and pointed steel;
\nTh’ inverted lance makes furrows in the plain.
\nEv’n time, that changes all, yet changes us in vain:
\nThe body, not the mind; nor can control
\nTh’ immortal vigor, or abate the soul.
\nOur helms defend the young, disguise the gray:
\nWe live by plunder, and delight in prey.
\nYour vests embroider’d with rich purple shine;
\nIn sloth you glory, and in dances join.
\nYour vests have sweeping sleeves; with female pride
\nYour turbants underneath your chins are tied.
\nGo, Phrygians, to your Dindymus again!
\nGo, less than women, in the shapes of men!
\nGo, mix’d with eunuchs, in the Mother’s rites,
\nWhere with unequal sound the flute invites;
\nSing, dance, and howl, by turns, in Ida’s shade:
\nResign the war to men, who know the martial trade!”<\/p>\n
This foul reproach Ascanius could not hear
\nWith patience, or a vow’d revenge forbear.
\nAt the full stretch of both his hands he drew,
\nAnd almost join’d the horns of the tough yew.
\nBut, first, before the throne of Jove he stood,
\nAnd thus with lifted hands invok’d the god:
\n“My first attempt, great Jupiter, succeed!
\nAn annual off’ring in thy grove shall bleed;
\nA snow-white steer, before thy altar led,
\nWho, like his mother, bears aloft his head,
\nButts with his threat’ning brows, and bellowing stands,
\nAnd dares the fight, and spurns the yellow sands.”<\/p>\n
Jove bow’d the heav’ns, and lent a gracious ear,
\nAnd thunder’d on the left, amidst the clear.
\nSounded at once the bow; and swiftly flies
\nThe feather’d death, and hisses thro’ the skies.
\nThe steel thro’ both his temples forc’d the way:
\nExtended on the ground, Numanus lay.
\n“Go now, vain boaster, and true valor scorn!
\nThe Phrygians, twice subdued, yet make this third return.”
\nAscanius said no more. The Trojans shake
\nThe heav’ns with shouting, and new vigor take.<\/p>\n
Apollo then bestrode a golden cloud,
\nTo view the feats of arms, and fighting crowd;
\nAnd thus the beardless victor he bespoke aloud:
\n“Advance, illustrious youth, increase in fame,
\nAnd wide from east to west extend thy name;
\nOffspring of gods thyself; and Rome shall owe
\nTo thee a race of demigods below.
\nThis is the way to heav’n: the pow’rs divine
\nFrom this beginning date the Julian line.
\nTo thee, to them, and their victorious heirs,
\nThe conquer’d war is due, and the vast world is theirs.
\nTroy is too narrow for thy name.” He said,
\nAnd plunging downward shot his radiant head;
\nDispell’d the breathing air, that broke his flight:
\nShorn of his beams, a man to mortal sight.
\nOld Butes’ form he took, Anchises’ squire,
\nNow left, to rule Ascanius, by his sire:
\nHis wrinkled visage, and his hoary hairs,
\nHis mien, his habit, and his arms, he wears,
\nAnd thus salutes the boy, too forward for his years:
\n“Suffice it thee, thy father’s worthy son,
\nThe warlike prize thou hast already won.
\nThe god of archers gives thy youth a part
\nOf his own praise, nor envies equal art.
\nNow tempt the war no more.” He said, and flew
\nObscure in air, and vanish’d from their view.
\nThe Trojans, by his arms, their patron know,
\nAnd hear the twanging of his heav’nly bow.
\nThen duteous force they use, and Phoebus’ name,
\nTo keep from fight the youth too fond of fame.
\nUndaunted, they themselves no danger shun;
\nFrom wall to wall the shouts and clamors run.
\nThey bend their bows; they whirl their slings around;
\nHeaps of spent arrows fall, and strew the ground;
\nAnd helms, and shields, and rattling arms resound.
\nThe combat thickens, like the storm that flies
\nFrom westward, when the show’ry Kids arise;
\nOr patt’ring hail comes pouring on the main,
\nWhen Jupiter descends in harden’d rain,
\nOr bellowing clouds burst with a stormy sound,
\nAnd with an armed winter strew the ground.<\/p>\n
Pand’rus and Bitias, thunderbolts of war,
\nWhom Hiera to bold Alcanor bare
\nOn Ida’s top, two youths of height and size
\nLike firs that on their mother mountain rise,
\nPresuming on their force, the gates unbar,
\nAnd of their own accord invite the war.
\nWith fates averse, against their king’s command,
\nArm’d, on the right and on the left they stand,
\nAnd flank the passage: shining steel they wear,
\nAnd waving crests above their heads appear.
\nThus two tall oaks, that Padus’ banks adorn,
\nLift up to heav’n their leafy heads unshorn,
\nAnd, overpress’d with nature’s heavy load,
\nDance to the whistling winds, and at each other nod.
\nIn flows a tide of Latians, when they see
\nThe gate set open, and the passage free;
\nBold Quercens, with rash Tmarus, rushing on,
\nEquicolus, that in bright armor shone,
\nAnd Haemon first; but soon repuls’d they fly,
\nOr in the well-defended pass they die.
\nThese with success are fir’d, and those with rage,
\nAnd each on equal terms at length ingage.
\nDrawn from their lines, and issuing on the plain,
\nThe Trojans hand to hand the fight maintain.<\/p>\n
Fierce Turnus in another quarter fought,
\nWhen suddenly th’ unhop’d-for news was brought,
\nThe foes had left the fastness of their place,
\nPrevail’d in fight, and had his men in chase.
\nHe quits th’ attack, and, to prevent their fate,
\nRuns where the giant brothers guard the gate.
\nThe first he met, Antiphates the brave,
\nBut base-begotten on a Theban slave,
\nSarpedon’s son, he slew: the deadly dart
\nFound passage thro’ his breast, and pierc’d his heart.
\nFix’d in the wound th’ Italian cornel stood,
\nWarm’d in his lungs, and in his vital blood.
\nAphidnus next, and Erymanthus dies,
\nAnd Meropes, and the gigantic size
\nOf Bitias, threat’ning with his ardent eyes.
\nNot by the feeble dart he fell oppress’d
\n(A dart were lost within that roomy breast),
\nBut from a knotted lance, large, heavy, strong,
\nWhich roar’d like thunder as it whirl’d along:
\nNot two bull hides th’ impetuous force withhold,
\nNor coat of double mail, with scales of gold.
\nDown sunk the monster bulk and press’d the ground;
\nHis arms and clatt’ring shield on the vast body sound,
\nNot with less ruin than the Bajan mole,
\nRais’d on the seas, the surges to control-
\nAt once comes tumbling down the rocky wall;
\nProne to the deep, the stones disjointed fall
\nOf the vast pile; the scatter’d ocean flies;
\nBlack sands, discolor’d froth, and mingled mud arise:
\nThe frighted billows roll, and seek the shores;
\nThen trembles Prochyta, then Ischia roars:
\nTyphoeus, thrown beneath, by Jove’s command,
\nAstonish’d at the flaw that shakes the land,
\nSoon shifts his weary side, and, scarce awake,
\nWith wonder feels the weight press lighter on his back.<\/p>\n
The warrior god the Latian troops inspir’d,
\nNew strung their sinews, and their courage fir’d,
\nBut chills the Trojan hearts with cold affright:
\nThen black despair precipitates their flight.<\/p>\n
When Pandarus beheld his brother kill’d,
\nThe town with fear and wild confusion fill’d,
\nHe turns the hinges of the heavy gate
\nWith both his hands, and adds his shoulders to the weight
\nSome happier friends within the walls inclos’d;
\nThe rest shut out, to certain death expos’d:
\nFool as he was, and frantic in his care,
\nT’ admit young Turnus, and include the war!
\nHe thrust amid the crowd, securely bold,
\nLike a fierce tiger pent amid the fold.
\nToo late his blazing buckler they descry,
\nAnd sparkling fires that shot from either eye,
\nHis mighty members, and his ample breast,
\nHis rattling armor, and his crimson crest.<\/p>\n
Far from that hated face the Trojans fly,
\nAll but the fool who sought his destiny.
\nMad Pandarus steps forth, with vengeance vow’d
\nFor Bitias’ death, and threatens thus aloud:
\n“These are not Ardea’s walls, nor this the town
\nAmata proffers with Lavinia’s crown:
\n‘T is hostile earth you tread. Of hope bereft,
\nNo means of safe return by flight are left.”
\nTo whom, with count’nance calm, and soul sedate,
\nThus Turnus: “Then begin, and try thy fate:
\nMy message to the ghost of Priam bear;
\nTell him a new Achilles sent thee there.”<\/p>\n
A lance of tough ground ash the Trojan threw,
\nRough in the rind, and knotted as it grew:
\nWith his full force he whirl’d it first around;
\nBut the soft yielding air receiv’d the wound:
\nImperial Juno turn’d the course before,
\nAnd fix’d the wand’ring weapon in the door.<\/p>\n
“But hope not thou,” said Turnus, “when I strike,
\nTo shun thy fate: our force is not alike,
\nNor thy steel temper’d by the Lemnian god.”
\nThen rising, on his utmost stretch he stood,
\nAnd aim’d from high: the full descending blow
\nCleaves the broad front and beardless cheeks in two.
\nDown sinks the giant with a thund’ring sound:
\nHis pond’rous limbs oppress the trembling ground;
\nBlood, brains, and foam gush from the gaping wound:
\nScalp, face, and shoulders the keen steel divides,
\nAnd the shar’d visage hangs on equal sides.
\nThe Trojans fly from their approaching fate;
\nAnd, had the victor then secur’d the gate,
\nAnd to his troops without unclos’d the bars,
\nOne lucky day had ended all his wars.
\nBut boiling youth, and blind desire of blood,
\nPush’d on his fury, to pursue the crowd.
\nHamstring’d behind, unhappy Gyges died;
\nThen Phalaris is added to his side.
\nThe pointed jav’lins from the dead he drew,
\nAnd their friends’ arms against their fellows threw.
\nStrong Halys stands in vain; weak Phlegys flies;
\nSaturnia, still at hand, new force and fire supplies.
\nThen Halius, Prytanis, Alcander fall-
\nIngag’d against the foes who scal’d the wall:
\nBut, whom they fear’d without, they found within.
\nAt last, tho’ late, by Lynceus he was seen.
\nHe calls new succors, and assaults the prince:
\nBut weak his force, and vain is their defense.
\nTurn’d to the right, his sword the hero drew,
\nAnd at one blow the bold aggressor slew.
\nHe joints the neck; and, with a stroke so strong,
\nThe helm flies off, and bears the head along.
\nNext him, the huntsman Amycus he kill’d,
\nIn darts invenom’d and in poison skill’d.
\nThen Clytius fell beneath his fatal spear,
\nAnd Creteus, whom the Muses held so dear:
\nHe fought with courage, and he sung the fight;
\nArms were his bus’ness, verses his delight.<\/p>\n
The Trojan chiefs behold, with rage and grief,
\nTheir slaughter’d friends, and hasten their relief.
\nBold Mnestheus rallies first the broken train,
\nWhom brave Seresthus and his troop sustain.
\nTo save the living, and revenge the dead,
\nAgainst one warrior’s arms all Troy they led.
\n“O, void of sense and courage!” Mnestheus cried,
\n“Where can you hope your coward heads to hide?
\nAh! where beyond these rampires can you run?
\nOne man, and in your camp inclos’d, you shun!
\nShall then a single sword such slaughter boast,
\nAnd pass unpunish’d from a num’rous host?
\nForsaking honor, and renouncing fame,
\nYour gods, your country, and your king you shame!”
\nThis just reproach their virtue does excite:
\nThey stand, they join, they thicken to the fight.<\/p>\n
Now Turnus doubts, and yet disdains to yield,
\nBut with slow paces measures back the field,
\nAnd inches to the walls, where Tiber’s tide,
\nWashing the camp, defends the weaker side.
\nThe more he loses, they advance the more,
\nAnd tread in ev’ry step he trod before.
\nThey shout: they bear him back; and, whom by might
\nThey cannot conquer, they oppress with weight.<\/p>\n
As, compass’d with a wood of spears around,
\nThe lordly lion still maintains his ground;
\nGrins horrible, retires, and turns again;
\nThreats his distended paws, and shakes his mane;
\nHe loses while in vain he presses on,
\nNor will his courage let him dare to run:
\nSo Turnus fares, and, unresolved of flight,
\nMoves tardy back, and just recedes from fight.
\nYet twice, inrag’d, the combat he renews,
\nTwice breaks, and twice his broken foes pursues.
\nBut now they swarm, and, with fresh troops supplied,
\nCome rolling on, and rush from ev’ry side:
\nNor Juno, who sustain’d his arms before,
\nDares with new strength suffice th’ exhausted store;
\nFor Jove, with sour commands, sent Iris down,
\nTo force th’ invader from the frighted town.<\/p>\n
With labor spent, no longer can he wield
\nThe heavy fanchion, or sustain the shield,
\nO’erwhelm’d with darts, which from afar they fling:
\nThe weapons round his hollow temples ring;
\nHis golden helm gives way, with stony blows
\nBatter’d, and flat, and beaten to his brows.
\nHis crest is rash’d away; his ample shield
\nIs falsified, and round with jav’lins fill’d.<\/p>\n
The foe, now faint, the Trojans overwhelm;
\nAnd Mnestheus lays hard load upon his helm.
\nSick sweat succeeds; he drops at ev’ry pore;
\nWith driving dust his cheeks are pasted o’er;
\nShorter and shorter ev’ry gasp he takes;
\nAnd vain efforts and hurtless blows he makes.
\nPlung’d in the flood, and made the waters fly.
\nThe yellow god the welcome burthen bore,
\nAnd wip’d the sweat, and wash’d away the gore;
\nThen gently wafts him to the farther coast,
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