The gates of heav'n unfold: Jove summons all\nThe gods to council in the common hall.\nSublimely seated, he surveys from far\nThe fields, the camp, the fortune of the war,\nAnd all th' inferior world. From first to last,\nThe sov'reign senate in degrees are plac'd.<\/p>\n
Then thus th' almighty sire began: \"Ye gods,\nNatives or denizens of blest abodes,\nFrom whence these murmurs, and this change of mind,\nThis backward fate from what was first design'd?\nWhy this protracted war, when my commands\nPronounc'd a peace, and gave the Latian lands?\nWhat fear or hope on either part divides\nOur heav'ns, and arms our powers on diff'rent sides?\nA lawful time of war at length will come,\n(Nor need your haste anticipate the doom),\nWhen Carthage shall contend the world with Rome,\nShall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains,\nAnd, like a flood, come pouring on the plains.\nThen is your time for faction and debate,\nFor partial favor, and permitted hate.\nLet now your immature dissension cease;\nSit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.\"<\/p>\n
Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge;\nBut lovely Venus thus replies at large:\n\"O pow'r immense, eternal energy,\n(For to what else protection can we fly?)\nSeest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare\nIn fields, unpunish'd, and insult my care?\nHow lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train,\nIn shining arms, triumphant on the plain?\nEv'n in their lines and trenches they contend,\nAnd scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend:\nThe town is fill'd with slaughter, and o'erfloats,\nWith a red deluge, their increasing moats.\nAeneas, ignorant, and far from thence,\nHas left a camp expos'd, without defense.\nThis endless outrage shall they still sustain?\nShall Troy renew'd be forc'd and fir'd again?\nA second siege my banish'd issue fears,\nAnd a new Diomede in arms appears.\nOne more audacious mortal will be found;\nAnd I, thy daughter, wait another wound.\nYet, if with fates averse, without thy leave,\nThe Latian lands my progeny receive,\nBear they the pains of violated law,\nAnd thy protection from their aid withdraw.\nBut, if the gods their sure success foretell;\nIf those of heav'n consent with those of hell,\nTo promise Italy; who dare debate\nThe pow'r of Jove, or fix another fate?\nWhat should I tell of tempests on the main,\nOf Aeolus usurping Neptune's reign?\nOf Iris sent, with Bacchanalian heat\nT' inspire the matrons, and destroy the fleet?\nNow Juno to the Stygian sky descends,\nSolicits hell for aid, and arms the fiends.\nThat new example wanted yet above:\nAn act that well became the wife of Jove!\nAlecto, rais'd by her, with rage inflames\nThe peaceful bosoms of the Latian dames.\nImperial sway no more exalts my mind;\n(Such hopes I had indeed, while Heav'n was kind;)\nNow let my happier foes possess my place,\nWhom Jove prefers before the Trojan race;\nAnd conquer they, whom you with conquest grace.\nSince you can spare, from all your wide command,\nNo spot of earth, no hospitable land,\nWhich may my wand'ring fugitives receive;\n(Since haughty Juno will not give you leave;)\nThen, father, (if I still may use that name,)\nBy ruin'd Troy, yet smoking from the flame,\nI beg you, let Ascanius, by my care,\nBe freed from danger, and dismiss'd the war:\nInglorious let him live, without a crown.\nThe father may be cast on coasts unknown,\nStruggling with fate; but let me save the son.\nMine is Cythera, mine the Cyprian tow'rs:\nIn those recesses, and those sacred bow'rs,\nObscurely let him rest; his right resign\nTo promis'd empire, and his Julian line.\nThen Carthage may th' Ausonian towns destroy,\nNor fear the race of a rejected boy.\nWhat profits it my son to scape the fire,\nArm'd with his gods, and loaded with his sire;\nTo pass the perils of the seas and wind;\nEvade the Greeks, and leave the war behind;\nTo reach th' Italian shores; if, after all,\nOur second Pergamus is doom'd to fall?\nMuch better had he curb'd his high desires,\nAnd hover'd o'er his ill-extinguish'd fires.\nTo Simois' banks the fugitives restore,\nAnd give them back to war, and all the woes before.\"<\/p>\n
Deep indignation swell'd Saturnia's heart:\n\"And must I own,\" she said, \"my secret smart-\nWhat with more decence were in silence kept,\nAnd, but for this unjust reproach, had slept?\nDid god or man your fav'rite son advise,\nWith war unhop'd the Latians to surprise?\nBy fate, you boast, and by the gods' decree,\nHe left his native land for Italy!\nConfess the truth; by mad Cassandra, more\nThan Heav'n inspir'd, he sought a foreign shore!\nDid I persuade to trust his second Troy\nTo the raw conduct of a beardless boy,\nWith walls unfinish'd, which himself forsakes,\nAnd thro' the waves a wand'ring voyage takes?\nWhen have I urg'd him meanly to demand\nThe Tuscan aid, and arm a quiet land?\nDid I or Iris give this mad advice,\nOr made the fool himself the fatal choice?\nYou think it hard, the Latians should destroy\nWith swords your Trojans, and with fires your Troy!\nHard and unjust indeed, for men to draw\nTheir native air, nor take a foreign law!\nThat Turnus is permitted still to live,\nTo whom his birth a god and goddess give!\nBut yet is just and lawful for your line\nTo drive their fields, and force with fraud to join;\nRealms, not your own, among your clans divide,\nAnd from the bridegroom tear the promis'd bride;\nPetition, while you public arms prepare;\nPretend a peace, and yet provoke a war!\n'T was giv'n to you, your darling son to shroud,\nTo draw the dastard from the fighting crowd,\nAnd, for a man, obtend an empty cloud.\nFrom flaming fleets you turn'd the fire away,\nAnd chang'd the ships to daughters of the sea.\nBut is my crime- the Queen of Heav'n offends,\nIf she presume to save her suff'ring friends!\nYour son, not knowing what his foes decree,\nYou say, is absent: absent let him be.\nYours is Cythera, yours the Cyprian tow'rs,\nThe soft recesses, and the sacred bow'rs.\nWhy do you then these needless arms prepare,\nAnd thus provoke a people prone to war?\nDid I with fire the Trojan town deface,\nOr hinder from return your exil'd race?\nWas I the cause of mischief, or the man\nWhose lawless lust the fatal war began?\nThink on whose faith th' adult'rous youth relied;\nWho promis'd, who procur'd, the Spartan bride?\nWhen all th' united states of Greece combin'd,\nTo purge the world of the perfidious kind,\nThen was your time to fear the Trojan fate:\nYour quarrels and complaints are now too late.\"<\/p>\n
Thus Juno. Murmurs rise, with mix'd applause,\nJust as they favor or dislike the cause.\nSo winds, when yet unfledg'd in woods they lie,\nIn whispers first their tender voices try,\nThen issue on the main with bellowing rage,\nAnd storms to trembling mariners presage.<\/p>\n
Then thus to both replied th' imperial god,\nWho shakes heav'n's axles with his awful nod.\n(When he begins, the silent senate stand\nWith rev'rence, list'ning to the dread command:\nThe clouds dispel; the winds their breath restrain;\nAnd the hush'd waves lie flatted on the main.)\n\"Celestials, your attentive ears incline!\nSince,\" said the god, \"the Trojans must not join\nIn wish'd alliance with the Latian line;\nSince endless jarrings and immortal hate\nTend but to discompose our happy state;\nThe war henceforward be resign'd to fate:\nEach to his proper fortune stand or fall;\nEqual and unconcern'd I look on all.\nRutulians, Trojans, are the same to me;\nAnd both shall draw the lots their fates decree.\nLet these assault, if Fortune be their friend;\nAnd, if she favors those, let those defend:\nThe Fates will find their way.\" The Thund'rer said,\nAnd shook the sacred honors of his head,\nAttesting Styx, th' inviolable flood,\nAnd the black regions of his brother god.\nTrembled the poles of heav'n, and earth confess'd the nod.\nThis end the sessions had: the senate rise,\nAnd to his palace wait their sov'reign thro' the skies.<\/p>\n
Meantime, intent upon their siege, the foes\nWithin their walls the Trojan host inclose:\nThey wound, they kill, they watch at ev'ry gate;\nRenew the fires, and urge their happy fate.<\/p>\n
Th' Aeneans wish in vain their wanted chief,\nHopeless of flight, more hopeless of relief.\nThin on the tow'rs they stand; and ev'n those few\nA feeble, fainting, and dejected crew.\nYet in the face of danger some there stood:\nThe two bold brothers of Sarpedon's blood,\nAsius and Acmon; both th' Assaraci;\nYoung Haemon, and tho' young, resolv'd to die.\nWith these were Clarus and Thymoetes join'd;\nTibris and Castor, both of Lycian kind.\nFrom Acmon's hands a rolling stone there came,\nSo large, it half deserv'd a mountain's name:\nStrong-sinew'd was the youth, and big of bone;\nHis brother Mnestheus could not more have done,\nOr the great father of th' intrepid son.\nSome firebrands throw, some flights of arrows send;\nAnd some with darts, and some with stones defend.<\/p>\n
Amid the press appears the beauteous boy,\nThe care of Venus, and the hope of Troy.\nHis lovely face unarm'd, his head was bare;\nIn ringlets o'er his shoulders hung his hair.\nHis forehead circled with a diadem;\nDistinguish'd from the crowd, he shines a gem,\nEnchas'd in gold, or polish'd iv'ry set,\nAmidst the meaner foil of sable jet.<\/p>\n
Nor Ismarus was wanting to the war,\nDirecting pointed arrows from afar,\nAnd death with poison arm'd- in Lydia born,\nWhere plenteous harvests the fat fields adorn;\nWhere proud Pactolus floats the fruitful lands,\nAnd leaves a rich manure of golden sands.\nThere Capys, author of the Capuan name,\nAnd there was Mnestheus too, increas'd in fame,\nSince Turnus from the camp he cast with shame.<\/p>\n
Thus mortal war was wag'd on either side.\nMeantime the hero cuts the nightly tide:\nFor, anxious, from Evander when he went,\nHe sought the Tyrrhene camp, and Tarchon's tent;\nExpos'd the cause of coming to the chief;\nHis name and country told, and ask'd relief;\nPropos'd the terms; his own small strength declar'd;\nWhat vengeance proud Mezentius had prepar'd:\nWhat Turnus, bold and violent, design'd;\nThen shew'd the slipp'ry state of humankind,\nAnd fickle fortune; warn'd him to beware,\nAnd to his wholesome counsel added pray'r.\nTarchon, without delay, the treaty signs,\nAnd to the Trojan troops the Tuscan joins.<\/p>\n
They soon set sail; nor now the fates withstand;\nTheir forces trusted with a foreign hand.\nAeneas leads; upon his stern appear\nTwo lions carv'd, which rising Ida bear-\nIda, to wand'ring Trojans ever dear.\nUnder their grateful shade Aeneas sate,\nRevolving war's events, and various fate.\nHis left young Pallas kept, fix'd to his side,\nAnd oft of winds enquir'd, and of the tide;\nOft of the stars, and of their wat'ry way;\nAnd what he suffer'd both by land and sea.<\/p>\n
Now, sacred sisters, open all your spring!\nThe Tuscan leaders, and their army sing,\nWhich follow'd great Aeneas to the war:\nTheir arms, their numbers, and their names declare.<\/p>\n
A thousand youths brave Massicus obey,\nBorne in the Tiger thro' the foaming sea;\nFrom Asium brought, and Cosa, by his care:\nFor arms, light quivers, bows and shafts, they bear.\nFierce Abas next: his men bright armor wore;\nHis stern Apollo's golden statue bore.\nSix hundred Populonia sent along,\nAll skill'd in martial exercise, and strong.\nThree hundred more for battle Ilva joins,\nAn isle renown'd for steel, and unexhausted mines.\nAsylas on his prow the third appears,\nWho heav'n interprets, and the wand'ring stars;\nFrom offer'd entrails prodigies expounds,\nAnd peals of thunder, with presaging sounds.\nA thousand spears in warlike order stand,\nSent by the Pisans under his command.<\/p>\n
Fair Astur follows in the wat'ry field,\nProud of his manag'd horse and painted shield.\nGravisca, noisome from the neighb'ring fen,\nAnd his own Caere, sent three hundred men;\nWith those which Minio's fields and Pyrgi gave,\nAll bred in arms, unanimous, and brave.<\/p>\n
Thou, Muse, the name of Cinyras renew,\nAnd brave Cupavo follow'd but by few;\nWhose helm confess'd the lineage of the man,\nAnd bore, with wings display'd, a silver swan.\nLove was the fault of his fam'd ancestry,\nWhose forms and fortunes in his ensigns fly.\nFor Cycnus lov'd unhappy Phaeton,\nAnd sung his loss in poplar groves, alone,\nBeneath the sister shades, to soothe his grief.\nHeav'n heard his song, and hasten'd his relief,\nAnd chang'd to snowy plumes his hoary hair,\nAnd wing'd his flight, to chant aloft in air.\nHis son Cupavo brush'd the briny flood:\nUpon his stern a brawny Centaur stood,\nWho heav'd a rock, and, threat'ning still to throw,\nWith lifted hands alarm'd the seas below:\nThey seem'd to fear the formidable sight,\nAnd roll'd their billows on, to speed his flight.<\/p>\n
Ocnus was next, who led his native train\nOf hardy warriors thro' the wat'ry plain:\nThe son of Manto by the Tuscan stream,\nFrom whence the Mantuan town derives the name-\nAn ancient city, but of mix'd descent:\nThree sev'ral tribes compose the government;\nFour towns are under each; but all obey\nThe Mantuan laws, and own the Tuscan sway.<\/p>\n
Hate to Mezentius arm'd five hundred more,\nWhom Mincius from his sire Benacus bore:\nMincius, with wreaths of reeds his forehead cover'd o'er.\nThese grave Auletes leads: a hundred sweep\nWith stretching oars at once the glassy deep.\nHim and his martial train the Triton bears;\nHigh on his poop the sea-green god appears:\nFrowning he seems his crooked shell to sound,\nAnd at the blast the billows dance around.\nA hairy man above the waist he shows;\nA porpoise tail beneath his belly grows;\nAnd ends a fish: his breast the waves divides,\nAnd froth and foam augment the murm'ring tides.<\/p>\n
Full thirty ships transport the chosen train\nFor Troy's relief, and scour the briny main.<\/p>\n
Now was the world forsaken by the sun,\nAnd Phoebe half her nightly race had run.\nThe careful chief, who never clos'd his eyes,\nHimself the rudder holds, the sails supplies.\nA choir of Nereids meet him on the flood,\nOnce his own galleys, hewn from Ida's wood;\nBut now, as many nymphs, the sea they sweep,\nAs rode, before, tall vessels on the deep.\nThey know him from afar; and in a ring\nInclose the ship that bore the Trojan king.\nCymodoce, whose voice excell'd the rest,\nAbove the waves advanc'd her snowy breast;\nHer right hand stops the stern; her left divides\nThe curling ocean, and corrects the tides.\nShe spoke for all the choir, and thus began\nWith pleasing words to warn th' unknowing man:\n\"Sleeps our lov'd lord? O goddess-born, awake!\nSpread ev'ry sail, pursue your wat'ry track,\nAnd haste your course. Your navy once were we,\nFrom Ida's height descending to the sea;\nTill Turnus, as at anchor fix'd we stood,\nPresum'd to violate our holy wood.\nThen, loos'd from shore, we fled his fires profane\n(Unwillingly we broke our master's chain),\nAnd since have sought you thro' the Tuscan main.\nThe mighty Mother chang'd our forms to these,\nAnd gave us life immortal in the seas.\nBut young Ascanius, in his camp distress'd,\nBy your insulting foes is hardly press'd.\nTh' Arcadian horsemen, and Etrurian host,\nAdvance in order on the Latian coast:\nTo cut their way the Daunian chief designs,\nBefore their troops can reach the Trojan lines.\nThou, when the rosy morn restores the light,\nFirst arm thy soldiers for th' ensuing fight:\nThyself the fated sword of Vulcan wield,\nAnd bear aloft th' impenetrable shield.\nTo-morrow's sun, unless my skill be vain,\nShall see huge heaps of foes in battle slain.\"\nParting, she spoke; and with immortal force\nPush'd on the vessel in her wat'ry course;\nFor well she knew the way. Impell'd behind,\nThe ship flew forward, and outstripp'd the wind.\nThe rest make up. Unknowing of the cause,\nThe chief admires their speed, and happy omens draws.<\/p>\n
Then thus he pray'd, and fix'd on heav'n his eyes:\n\"Hear thou, great Mother of the deities.\nWith turrets crown'd! (on Ida's holy hill\nFierce tigers, rein'd and curb'd, obey thy will.)\nFirm thy own omens; lead us on to fight;\nAnd let thy Phrygians conquer in thy right.\"<\/p>\n
He said no more. And now renewing day\nHad chas'd the shadows of the night away.\nHe charg'd the soldiers, with preventing care,\nTheir flags to follow, and their arms prepare;\nWarn'd of th' ensuing fight, and bade 'em hope the war.\nNow, his lofty poop, he view'd below\nHis camp incompass'd, and th' inclosing foe.\nHis blazing shield, imbrac'd, he held on high;\nThe camp receive the sign, and with loud shouts reply.\nHope arms their courage: from their tow'rs they throw\nTheir darts with double force, and drive the foe.\nThus, at the signal giv'n, the cranes arise\nBefore the stormy south, and blacken all the skies.<\/p>\n
King Turnus wonder'd at the fight renew'd,\nTill, looking back, the Trojan fleet he view'd,\nThe seas with swelling canvas cover'd o'er,\nAnd the swift ships descending on the shore.\nThe Latians saw from far, with dazzled eyes,\nThe radiant crest that seem'd in flames to rise,\nAnd dart diffusive fires around the field,\nAnd the keen glitt'ring of the golden shield.\nThus threat'ning comets, when by night they rise,\nShoot sanguine streams, and sadden all the skies:\nSo Sirius, flashing forth sinister lights,\nPale humankind with plagues and with dry famine fright:<\/p>\n
Yet Turnus with undaunted mind is bent\nTo man the shores, and hinder their descent,\nAnd thus awakes the courage of his friends:\n\"What you so long have wish'd, kind Fortune sends;\nIn ardent arms to meet th' invading foe:\nYou find, and find him at advantage now.\nYours is the day: you need but only dare;\nYour swords will make you masters of the war.\nYour sires, your sons, your houses, and your lands,\nAnd dearest wifes, are all within your hands.\nBe mindful of the race from whence you came,\nAnd emulate in arms your fathers' fame.\nNow take the time, while stagg'ring yet they stand\nWith feet unfirm, and prepossess the strand:\nFortune befriends the bold.\" Nor more he said,\nBut balanc'd whom to leave, and whom to lead;\nThen these elects, the landing to prevent;\nAnd those he leaves, to keep the city pent.<\/p>\n
Meantime the Trojan sends his troops ashore:\nSome are by boats expos'd, by bridges more.\nWith lab'ring oars they bear along the strand,\nWhere the tide languishes, and leap aland.\nTarchon observes the coast with careful eyes,\nAnd, where no ford he finds, no water fries,\nNor billows with unequal murmurs roar,\nBut smoothly slide along, and swell the shore,\nThat course he steer'd, and thus he gave command:\n\"Here ply your oars, and at all hazard land:\nForce on the vessel, that her keel may wound\nThis hated soil, and furrow hostile ground.\nLet me securely land- I ask no more;\nThen sink my ships, or shatter on the shore.\"<\/p>\n
This fiery speech inflames his fearful friends:\nThey tug at ev'ry oar, and ev'ry stretcher bends;\nThey run their ships aground; the vessels knock,\n(Thus forc'd ashore,) and tremble with the shock.\nTarchon's alone was lost, that stranded stood,\nStuck on a bank, and beaten by the flood:\nShe breaks her back; the loosen'd sides give way,\nAnd plunge the Tuscan soldiers in the sea.\nTheir broken oars and floating planks withstand\nTheir passage, while they labor to the land,\nAnd ebbing tides bear back upon th' uncertain sand.<\/p>\n
Now Turnus leads his troops without delay,\nAdvancing to the margin of the sea.\nThe trumpets sound: Aeneas first assail'd\nThe clowns new-rais'd and raw, and soon prevail'd.\nGreat Theron fell, an omen of the fight;\nGreat Theron, large of limbs, of giant height.\nHe first in open field defied the prince:\nBut armor scal'd with gold was no defense\nAgainst the fated sword, which open'd wide\nHis plated shield, and pierc'd his naked side.\nNext, Lichas fell, who, not like others born,\nWas from his wretched mother ripp'd and torn;\nSacred, O Phoebus, from his birth to thee;\nFor his beginning life from biting steel was free.\nNot far from him was Gyas laid along,\nOf monstrous bulk; with Cisseus fierce and strong:\nVain bulk and strength! for, when the chief assail'd,\nNor valor nor Herculean arms avail'd,\nNor their fam'd father, wont in war to go\nWith great Alcides, while he toil'd below.\nThe noisy Pharos next receiv'd his death:\nAeneas writh'd his dart, and stopp'd his bawling breath.\nThen wretched Cydon had receiv'd his doom,\nWho courted Clytius in his beardless bloom,\nAnd sought with lust obscene polluted joys:\nThe Trojan sword had curd his love of boys,\nHad not his sev'n bold brethren stopp'd the course\nOf the fierce champions, with united force.\nSev'n darts were thrown at once; and some rebound\nFrom his bright shield, some on his helmet sound:\nThe rest had reach'd him; but his mother's care\nPrevented those, and turn'd aside in air.<\/p>\n
The prince then call'd Achates, to supply\nThe spears that knew the way to victory-\n\"Those fatal weapons, which, inur'd to blood,\nIn Grecian bodies under Ilium stood:\nNot one of those my hand shall toss in vain\nAgainst our foes, on this contended plain.\"\nHe said; then seiz'd a mighty spear, and threw;\nWhich, wing'd with fate, thro' Maeon's buckler flew,\nPierc'd all the brazen plates, and reach'd his heart:\nHe stagger'd with intolerable smart.\nAlcanor saw; and reach'd, but reach'd in vain,\nHis helping hand, his brother to sustain.\nA second spear, which kept the former course,\nFrom the same hand, and sent with equal force,\nHis right arm pierc'd, and holding on, bereft\nHis use of both, and pinion'd down his left.\nThen Numitor from his dead brother drew\nTh' ill-omen'd spear, and at the Trojan threw:\nPreventing fate directs the lance awry,\nWhich, glancing, only mark'd Achates' thigh.<\/p>\n
In pride of youth the Sabine Clausus came,\nAnd, from afar, at Dryops took his aim.\nThe spear flew hissing thro' the middle space,\nAnd pierc'd his throat, directed at his face;\nIt stopp'd at once the passage of his wind,\nAnd the free soul to flitting air resign'd:\nHis forehead was the first that struck the ground;\nLifeblood and life rush'd mingled thro' the wound.\nHe slew three brothers of the Borean race,\nAnd three, whom Ismarus, their native place,\nHad sent to war, but all the sons of Thrace.\nHalesus, next, the bold Aurunci leads:\nThe son of Neptune to his aid succeeds,\nConspicuous on his horse. On either hand,\nThese fight to keep, and those to win, the land.\nWith mutual blood th' Ausonian soil is dyed,\nWhile on its borders each their claim decide.\nAs wintry winds, contending in the sky,\nWith equal force of lungs their titles try:\nThey rage, they roar; the doubtful rack of heav'n\nStands without motion, and the tide undriv'n:\nEach bent to conquer, neither side to yield,\nThey long suspend the fortune of the field.\nBoth armies thus perform what courage can;\nFoot set to foot, and mingled man to man.<\/p>\n
But, in another part, th' Arcadian horse\nWith ill success ingage the Latin force:\nFor, where th' impetuous torrent, rushing down,\nHuge craggy stones and rooted trees had thrown,\nThey left their coursers, and, unus'd to fight\nOn foot, were scatter'd in a shameful flight.\nPallas, who with disdain and grief had view'd\nHis foes pursuing, and his friends pursued,\nUs'd threat'nings mix'd with pray'rs, his last resource,\nWith these to move their minds, with those to fire their force\n\"Which way, companions? whether would you run?\nBy you yourselves, and mighty battles won,\nBy my great sire, by his establish'd name,\nAnd early promise of my future fame;\nBy my youth, emulous of equal right\nTo share his honors- shun ignoble flight!\nTrust not your feet: your hands must hew way\nThro' yon black body, and that thick array:\n'T is thro' that forward path that we must come;\nThere lies our way, and that our passage home.\nNor pow'rs above, nor destinies below\nOppress our arms: with equal strength we go,\nWith mortal hands to meet a mortal foe.\nSee on what foot we stand: a scanty shore,\nThe sea behind, our enemies before;\nNo passage left, unless we swim the main;\nOr, forcing these, the Trojan trenches gain.\"\nThis said, he strode with eager haste along,\nAnd bore amidst the thickest of the throng.\nLagus, the first he met, with fate to foe,\nHad heav'd a stone of mighty weight, to throw:\nStooping, the spear descended on his chine,\nJust where the bone distinguished either loin:\nIt stuck so fast, so deeply buried lay,\nThat scarce the victor forc'd the steel away.\nHisbon came on: but, while he mov'd too slow\nTo wish'd revenge, the prince prevents his blow;\nFor, warding his at once, at once he press'd,\nAnd plung'd the fatal weapon in his breast.\nThen lewd Anchemolus he laid in dust,\nWho stain'd his stepdam's bed with impious lust.\nAnd, after him, the Daucian twins were slain,\nLaris and Thymbrus, on the Latian plain;\nSo wondrous like in feature, shape, and size,\nAs caus'd an error in their parents' eyes-\nGrateful mistake! but soon the sword decides\nThe nice distinction, and their fate divides:\nFor Thymbrus' head was lopp'd; and Laris' hand,\nDismember'd, sought its owner on the strand:\nThe trembling fingers yet the fauchion strain,\nAnd threaten still th' intended stroke in vain.<\/p>\n
Now, to renew the charge, th' Arcadians came:\nSight of such acts, and sense of honest shame,\nAnd grief, with anger mix'd, their minds inflame.\nThen, with a casual blow was Rhoeteus slain,\nWho chanc'd, as Pallas threw, to cross the plain:\nThe flying spear was after Ilus sent;\nBut Rhoeteus happen'd on a death unmeant:\nFrom Teuthras and from Tyres while he fled,\nThe lance, athwart his body, laid him dead:\nRoll'd from his chariot with a mortal wound,\nAnd intercepted fate, he spurn'd the ground.\nAs when, in summer, welcome winds arise,\nThe watchful shepherd to the forest flies,\nAnd fires the midmost plants; contagion spreads,\nAnd catching flames infect the neighb'ring heads;\nAround the forest flies the furious blast,\nAnd all the leafy nation sinks at last,\nAnd Vulcan rides in triumph o'er the waste;\nThe pastor, pleas'd with his dire victory,\nBeholds the satiate flames in sheets ascend the sky:\nSo Pallas' troops their scatter'd strength unite,\nAnd, pouring on their foes, their prince delight.<\/p>\n
Halesus came, fierce with desire of blood;\nBut first collected in his arms he stood:\nAdvancing then, he plied the spear so well,\nLadon, Demodocus, and Pheres fell.\nAround his head he toss'd his glitt'ring brand,\nAnd from Strymonius hew'd his better hand,\nHeld up to guard his throat; then hurl'd a stone\nAt Thoas' ample front, and pierc'd the bone:\nIt struck beneath the space of either eye;\nAnd blood, and mingled brains, together fly.\nDeep skill'd in future fates, Halesus' sire\nDid with the youth to lonely groves retire:\nBut, when the father's mortal race was run,\nDire destiny laid hold upon the son,\nAnd haul'd him to the war, to find, beneath\nTh' Evandrian spear, a memorable death.\nPallas th' encounter seeks, but, ere he throws,\nTo Tuscan Tiber thus address'd his vows:\n\"O sacred stream, direct my flying dart,\nAnd give to pass the proud Halesus' heart!\nHis arms and spoils thy holy oak shall bear.\"\nPleas'd with the bribe, the god receiv'd his pray'r:\nFor, while his shield protects a friend distress'd,\nThe dart came driving on, and pierc'd his breast.<\/p>\n
But Lausus, no small portion of the war,\nPermits not panic fear to reign too far,\nCaus'd by the death of so renown'd a knight;\nBut by his own example cheers the fight.\nFierce Abas first he slew; Abas, the stay\nOf Trojan hopes, and hindrance of the day.\nThe Phrygian troops escap'd the Greeks in vain:\nThey, and their mix'd allies, now load the plain.\nTo the rude shock of war both armies came;\nTheir leaders equal, and their strength the same.\nThe rear so press'd the front, they could not wield\nTheir angry weapons, to dispute the field.\nHere Pallas urges on, and Lausus there:\nOf equal youth and beauty both appear,\nBut both by fate forbid to breathe their native air.\nTheir congress in the field great Jove withstands:\nBoth doom'd to fall, but fall by greater hands.<\/p>\n
Meantime Juturna warns the Daunian chief\nOf Lausus' danger, urging swift relief.\nWith his driv'n chariot he divides the crowd,\nAnd, making to his friends, thus calls aloud:\n\"Let none presume his needless aid to join;\nRetire, and clear the field; the fight is mine:\nTo this right hand is Pallas only due;\nO were his father here, my just revenge to view!\"\nFrom the forbidden space his men retir'd.\nPallas their awe, and his stern words, admir'd;\nSurvey'd him o'er and o'er with wond'ring sight,\nStruck with his haughty mien, and tow'ring height.\nThen to the king: \"Your empty vaunts forbear;\nSuccess I hope, and fate I cannot fear;\nAlive or dead, I shall deserve a name;\nJove is impartial, and to both the same.\"\nHe said, and to the void advanc'd his pace:\nPale horror sate on each Arcadian face.\nThen Turnus, from his chariot leaping light,\nAddress'd himself on foot to single fight.\nAnd, as a lion- when he spies from far\nA bull that seems to meditate the war,\nBending his neck, and spurning back the sand-\nRuns roaring downward from his hilly stand:\nImagine eager Turnus not more slow,\nTo rush from high on his unequal foe.<\/p>\n
Young Pallas, when he saw the chief advance\nWithin due distance of his flying lance,\nPrepares to charge him first, resolv'd to try\nIf fortune would his want of force supply;\nAnd thus to Heav'n and Hercules address'd:\n\"Alcides, once on earth Evander's guest,\nHis son adjures you by those holy rites,\nThat hospitable board, those genial nights;\nAssist my great attempt to gain this prize,\nAnd let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes,\nHis ravish'd spoils.\" 'T was heard, the vain request;\nAlcides mourn'd, and stifled sighs within his breast.\nThen Jove, to soothe his sorrow, thus began:\n\"Short bounds of life are set to mortal man.\n'T is virtue's work alone to stretch the narrow span.\nSo many sons of gods, in bloody fight,\nAround the walls of Troy, have lost the light:\nMy own Sarpedon fell beneath his foe;\nNor I, his mighty sire, could ward the blow.\nEv'n Turnus shortly shall resign his breath,\nAnd stands already on the verge of death.\"\nThis said, the god permits the fatal fight,\nBut from the Latian fields averts his sight.<\/p>\n
Now with full force his spear young Pallas threw,\nAnd, having thrown, his shining fauchion drew\nThe steel just graz'd along the shoulder joint,\nAnd mark'd it slightly with the glancing point,\nFierce Turnus first to nearer distance drew,\nAnd pois'd his pointed spear, before he threw:\nThen, as the winged weapon whizz'd along,\n\"See now,\" said he, \"whose arm is better strung.\"\nThe spear kept on the fatal course, unstay'd\nBy plates of ir'n, which o'er the shield were laid:\nThro' folded brass and tough bull hides it pass'd,\nHis corslet pierc'd, and reach'd his heart at last.\nIn vain the youth tugs at the broken wood;\nThe soul comes issuing with the vital blood:\nHe falls; his arms upon his body sound;\nAnd with his bloody teeth he bites the ground.<\/p>\n
Turnus bestrode the corpse: \"Arcadians, hear,\"\nSaid he; \"my message to your master bear:\nSuch as the sire deserv'd, the son I send;\nIt costs him dear to be the Phrygians' friend.\nThe lifeless body, tell him, I bestow,\nUnask'd, to rest his wand'ring ghost below.\"\nHe said, and trampled down with all the force\nOf his left foot, and spurn'd the wretched corse;\nThen snatch'd the shining belt, with gold inlaid;\nThe belt Eurytion's artful hands had made,\nWhere fifty fatal brides, express'd to sight,\nAll in the compass of one mournful night,\nDepriv'd their bridegrooms of returning light.<\/p>\n
In an ill hour insulting Turnus tore\nThose golden spoils, and in a worse he wore.\nO mortals, blind in fate, who never know\nTo bear high fortune, or endure the low!\nThe time shall come, when Turnus, but in vain,\nShall wish untouch'd the trophies of the slain;\nShall wish the fatal belt were far away,\nAnd curse the dire remembrance of the day.<\/p>\n
The sad Arcadians, from th' unhappy field,\nBear back the breathless body on a shield.\nO grace and grief of war! at once restor'd,\nWith praises, to thy sire, at once deplor'd!\nOne day first sent thee to the fighting field,\nBeheld whole heaps of foes in battle kill'd;\nOne day beheld thee dead, and borne upon thy shield.\nThis dismal news, not from uncertain fame,\nBut sad spectators, to the hero came:\nHis friends upon the brink of ruin stand,\nUnless reliev'd by his victorious hand.\nHe whirls his sword around, without delay,\nAnd hews thro' adverse foes an ample way,\nTo find fierce Turnus, of his conquest proud:\nEvander, Pallas, all that friendship ow'd\nTo large deserts, are present to his eyes;\nHis plighted hand, and hospitable ties.<\/p>\n
Four sons of Sulmo, four whom Ufens bred,\nHe took in fight, and living victims led,\nTo please the ghost of Pallas, and expire,\nIn sacrifice, before his fun'ral fire.\nAt Magus next he threw: he stoop'd below\nThe flying spear, and shunn'd the promis'd blow;\nThen, creeping, clasp'd the hero's knees, and pray'd:\n\"By young Iulus, by thy father's shade,\nO spare my life, and send me back to see\nMy longing sire, and tender progeny!\nA lofty house I have, and wealth untold,\nIn silver ingots, and in bars of gold:\nAll these, and sums besides, which see no day,\nThe ransom of this one poor life shall pay.\nIf I survive, will Troy the less prevail?\nA single soul's too light to turn the scale.\"\nHe said. The hero sternly thus replied:\n\"Thy bars and ingots, and the sums beside,\nLeave for thy children's lot. Thy Turnus broke\nAll rules of war by one relentless stroke,\nWhen Pallas fell: so deems, nor deems alone\nMy father's shadow, but my living son.\"\nThus having said, of kind remorse bereft,\nHe seiz'd his helm, and dragg'd him with his left;\nThen with his right hand, while his neck he wreath'd,\nUp to the hilts his shining fauchion sheath'd.<\/p>\n
Apollo's priest, Emonides, was near;\nHis holy fillets on his front appear;\nGlitt'ring in arms, he shone amidst the crowd;\nMuch of his god, more of his purple, proud.\nHim the fierce Trojan follow'd thro' the field:\nThe holy coward fell; and, forc'd to yield,\nThe prince stood o'er the priest, and, at one blow,\nSent him an off'ring to the shades below.\nHis arms Seresthus on his shoulders bears,\nDesign'd a trophy to the God of Wars.<\/p>\n
Vulcanian Caeculus renews the fight,\nAnd Umbro, born upon the mountains' height.\nThe champion cheers his troops t' encounter those,\nAnd seeks revenge himself on other foes.\nAt Anxur's shield he drove; and, at the blow,\nBoth shield and arm to ground together go.\nAnxur had boasted much of magic charms,\nAnd thought he wore impenetrable arms,\nSo made by mutter'd spells; and, from the spheres,\nHad life secur'd, in vain, for length of years.\nThen Tarquitus the field in triumph trod;\nA nymph his mother, his sire a god.\nExulting in bright arms, he braves the prince:\nWith his protended lance he makes defense;\nBears back his feeble foe; then, pressing on,\nArrests his better hand, and drags him down;\nStands o'er the prostrate wretch, and, as he lay,\nVain tales inventing, and prepar'd to pray,\nMows off his head: the trunk a moment stood,\nThen sunk, and roll'd along the sand in blood.\nThe vengeful victor thus upbraids the slain:\n\"Lie there, proud man, unpitied, on the plain;\nLie there, inglorious, and without a tomb,\nFar from thy mother and thy native home,\nExposed to savage beasts, and birds of prey,\nOr thrown for food to monsters of the sea.\"<\/p>\n
On Lycas and Antaeus next he ran,\nTwo chiefs of Turnus, and who led his van.\nThey fled for fear; with these, he chas'd along\nCamers the yellow-lock'd, and Numa strong;\nBoth great in arms, and both were fair and young.\nCamers was son to Volscens lately slain,\nIn wealth surpassing all the Latian train,\nAnd in Amycla fix'd his silent easy reign.\nAnd, as Aegaeon, when with heav'n he strove,\nStood opposite in arms to mighty Jove;\nMov'd all his hundred hands, provok'd the war,\nDefied the forky lightning from afar;\nAt fifty mouths his flaming breath expires,\nAnd flash for flash returns, and fires for fires;\nIn his right hand as many swords he wields,\nAnd takes the thunder on as many shields:\nWith strength like his, the Trojan hero stood;\nAnd soon the fields with falling corps were strow'd,\nWhen once his fauchion found the taste of blood.\nWith fury scarce to be conceiv'd, he flew\nAgainst Niphaeus, whom four coursers drew.\nThey, when they see the fiery chief advance,\nAnd pushing at their chests his pointed lance,\nWheel'd with so swift a motion, mad with fear,\nThey threw their master headlong from the chair.\nThey stare, they start, nor stop their course, before\nThey bear the bounding chariot to the shore.<\/p>\n
Now Lucagus and Liger scour the plains,\nWith two white steeds; but Liger holds the reins,\nAnd Lucagus the lofty seat maintains:\nBold brethren both. The former wav'd in air\nHis flaming sword: Aeneas couch'd his spear,\nUnus'd to threats, and more unus'd to fear.\nThen Liger thus: \"Thy confidence is vain\nTo scape from hence, as from the Trojan plain:\nNor these the steeds which Diomede bestrode,\nNor this the chariot where Achilles rode;\nNor Venus' veil is here, near Neptune's shield;\nThy fatal hour is come, and this the field.\"\nThus Liger vainly vaunts: the Trojan peer\nReturn'd his answer with his flying spear.\nAs Lucagus, to lash his horses, bends,\nProne to the wheels, and his left foot protends,\nPrepar'd for fight; the fatal dart arrives,\nAnd thro' the borders of his buckler drives;\nPass'd thro' and pierc'd his groin: the deadly wound,\nCast from his chariot, roll'd him on the ground.\nWhom thus the chief upbraids with scornful spite:\n\"Blame not the slowness of your steeds in flight;\nVain shadows did not force their swift retreat;\nBut you yourself forsake your empty seat.\"\nHe said, and seiz'd at once the loosen'd rein;\nFor Liger lay already on the plain,\nBy the same shock: then, stretching out his hands,\nThe recreant thus his wretched life demands:\n\"Now, by thyself, O more than mortal man!\nBy her and him from whom thy breath began,\nWho form'd thee thus divine, I beg thee, spare\nThis forfeit life, and hear thy suppliant's pray'r.\"\nThus much he spoke, and more he would have said;\nBut the stern hero turn'd aside his head,\nAnd cut him short: \"I hear another man;\nYou talk'd not thus before the fight began.\nNow take your turn; and, as a brother should,\nAttend your brother to the Stygian flood.\"\nThen thro' his breast his fatal sword he sent,\nAnd the soul issued at the gaping vent.<\/p>\n
As storms the skies, and torrents tear the ground,\nThus rag'd the prince, and scatter'd deaths around.\nAt length Ascanius and the Trojan train\nBroke from the camp, so long besieg'd in vain.<\/p>\n
Meantime the King of Gods and Mortal Man\nHeld conference with his queen, and thus began:\n\"My sister goddess, and well-pleasing wife,\nStill think you Venus' aid supports the strife-\nSustains her Trojans- or themselves, alone,\nWith inborn valor force their fortune on?\nHow fierce in fight, with courage undecay'd!\nJudge if such warriors want immortal aid.\"\nTo whom the goddess with the charming eyes,\nSoft in her tone, submissively replies:\n\"Why, O my sov'reign lord, whose frown I fear,\nAnd cannot, unconcern'd, your anger bear;\nWhy urge you thus my grief? when, if I still\n(As once I was) were mistress of your will,\nFrom your almighty pow'r your pleasing wife\nMight gain the grace of length'ning Turnus' life,\nSecurely snatch him from the fatal fight,\nAnd give him to his aged father's sight.\nNow let him perish, since you hold it good,\nAnd glut the Trojans with his pious blood.\nYet from our lineage he derives his name,\nAnd, in the fourth degree, from god Pilumnus came;\nYet he devoutly pays you rites divine,\nAnd offers daily incense at your shrine.\"<\/p>\n
Then shortly thus the sov'reign god replied:\n\"Since in my pow'r and goodness you confide,\nIf for a little space, a lengthen'd span,\nYou beg reprieve for this expiring man,\nI grant you leave to take your Turnus hence\nFrom instant fate, and can so far dispense.\nBut, if some secret meaning lies beneath,\nTo save the short-liv'd youth from destin'd death,\nOr if a farther thought you entertain,\nTo change the fates; you feed your hopes in vain.\"\nTo whom the goddess thus, with weeping eyes:\n\"And what if that request, your tongue denies,\nYour heart should grant; and not a short reprieve,\nBut length of certain life, to Turnus give?\nNow speedy death attends the guiltless youth,\nIf my presaging soul divines with truth;\nWhich, O! I wish, might err thro' causeless fears,\nAnd you (for you have pow'r) prolong his years!\"<\/p>\n
Thus having said, involv'd in clouds, she flies,\nAnd drives a storm before her thro' the skies.\nSwift she descends, alighting on the plain,\nWhere the fierce foes a dubious fight maintain.\nOf air condens'd a specter soon she made;\nAnd, what Aeneas was, such seem'd the shade.\nAdorn'd with Dardan arms, the phantom bore\nHis head aloft; a plumy crest he wore;\nThis hand appear'd a shining sword to wield,\nAnd that sustain'd an imitated shield.\nWith manly mien he stalk'd along the ground,\nNor wanted voice belied, nor vaunting sound.\n(Thus haunting ghosts appear to waking sight,\nOr dreadful visions in our dreams by night.)\nThe specter seems the Daunian chief to dare,\nAnd flourishes his empty sword in air.\nAt this, advancing, Turnus hurl'd his spear:\nThe phantom wheel'd, and seem'd to fly for fear.\nDeluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled,\nAnd with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed.\n\"Whether, O coward?\" (thus he calls aloud,\nNor found he spoke to wind, and chas'd a cloud,)\n\"Why thus forsake your bride! Receive from me\nThe fated land you sought so long by sea.\"\nHe said, and, brandishing at once his blade,\nWith eager pace pursued the flying shade.\nBy chance a ship was fasten'd to the shore,\nWhich from old Clusium King Osinius bore:\nThe plank was ready laid for safe ascent;\nFor shelter there the trembling shadow bent,\nAnd skipp't and skulk'd, and under hatches went.\nExulting Turnus, with regardless haste,\nAscends the plank, and to the galley pass'd.\nScarce had he reach'd the prow: Saturnia's hand\nThe haulsers cuts, and shoots the ship from land.\nWith wind in poop, the vessel plows the sea,\nAnd measures back with speed her former way.\nMeantime Aeneas seeks his absent foe,\nAnd sends his slaughter'd troops to shades below.<\/p>\n
The guileful phantom now forsook the shroud,\nAnd flew sublime, and vanish'd in a cloud.\nToo late young Turnus the delusion found,\nFar on the sea, still making from the ground.\nThen, thankless for a life redeem'd by shame,\nWith sense of honor stung, and forfeit fame,\nFearful besides of what in fight had pass'd,\nHis hands and haggard eyes to heav'n he cast;\n\"O Jove!\" he cried, \"for what offense have\nDeserv'd to bear this endless infamy?\nWhence am I forc'd, and whether am I borne?\nHow, and with what reproach, shall I return?\nShall ever I behold the Latian plain,\nOr see Laurentum's lofty tow'rs again?\nWhat will they say of their deserting chief\nThe war was mine: I fly from their relief;\nI led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave;\nAnd ev'n from hence their dying groans receive.\nHere, overmatch'd in fight, in heaps they lie;\nThere, scatter'd o'er the fields, ignobly fly.\nGape wide, O earth, and draw me down alive!\nOr, O ye pitying winds, a wretch relieve!\nOn sands or shelves the splitting vessel drive;\nOr set me shipwrack'd on some desart shore,\nWhere no Rutulian eyes may see me more,\nUnknown to friends, or foes, or conscious Fame,\nLest she should follow, and my flight proclaim.\"<\/p>\n
Thus Turnus rav'd, and various fates revolv'd:\nThe choice was doubtful, but the death resolv'd.\nAnd now the sword, and now the sea took place,\nThat to revenge, and this to purge disgrace.\nSometimes he thought to swim the stormy main,\nBy stretch of arms the distant shore to gain.\nThrice he the sword assay'd, and thrice the flood;\nBut Juno, mov'd with pity, both withstood.\nAnd thrice repress'd his rage; strong gales supplied,\nAnd push'd the vessel o'er the swelling tide.\nAt length she lands him on his native shores,\nAnd to his father's longing arms restores.<\/p>\n
Meantime, by Jove's impulse, Mezentius arm'd,\nSucceeding Turnus, with his ardor warm'd\nHis fainting friends, reproach'd their shameful flight,\nRepell'd the victors, and renew'd the fight.\nAgainst their king the Tuscan troops conspire;\nSuch is their hate, and such their fierce desire\nOf wish'd revenge: on him, and him alone,\nAll hands employ'd, and all their darts are thrown.\nHe, like a solid rock by seas inclos'd,\nTo raging winds and roaring waves oppos'd,\nFrom his proud summit looking down, disdains\nTheir empty menace, and unmov'd remains.<\/p>\n
Beneath his feet fell haughty Hebrus dead,\nThen Latagus, and Palmus as he fled.\nAt Latagus a weighty stone he flung:\nHis face was flatted, and his helmet rung.\nBut Palmus from behind receives his wound;\nHamstring'd he falls, and grovels on the ground:\nHis crest and armor, from his body torn,\nThy shoulders, Lausus, and thy head adorn.\nEvas and Mimas, both of Troy, he slew.\nMimas his birth from fair Theano drew,\nBorn on that fatal night, when, big with fire,\nThe queen produc'd young Paris to his sire:\nBut Paris in the Phrygian fields was slain,\nUnthinking Mimas on the Latian plain.<\/p>\n
And, as a savage boar, on mountains bred,\nWith forest mast and fatt'ning marshes fed,\nWhen once he sees himself in toils inclos'd,\nBy huntsmen and their eager hounds oppos'd-\nHe whets his tusks, and turns, and dares the war;\nTh' invaders dart their jav'lins from afar:\nAll keep aloof, and safely shout around;\nBut none presumes to give a nearer wound:\nHe frets and froths, erects his bristled hide,\nAnd shakes a grove of lances from his side:\nNot otherwise the troops, with hate inspir'd,\nAnd just revenge against the tyrant fir'd,\nTheir darts with clamor at a distance drive,\nAnd only keep the languish'd war alive.<\/p>\n
From Coritus came Acron to the fight,\nWho left his spouse betroth'd, and unconsummate night.\nMezentius sees him thro' the squadrons ride,\nProud of the purple favors of his bride.\nThen, as a hungry lion, who beholds\nA gamesome goat, who frisks about the folds,\nOr beamy stag, that grazes on the plain-\nHe runs, he roars, he shakes his rising mane,\nHe grins, and opens wide his greedy jaws;\nThe prey lies panting underneath his paws:\nHe fills his famish'd maw; his mouth runs o'er\nWith unchew'd morsels, while he churns the gore:\nSo proud Mezentius rushes on his foes,\nAnd first unhappy Acron overthrows:\nStretch'd at his length, he spurns the swarthy ground;\nThe lance, besmear'd with blood, lies broken in the wound.\nThen with disdain the haughty victor view'd\nOrodes flying, nor the wretch pursued,\nNor thought the dastard's back deserv'd a wound,\nBut, running, gain'd th' advantage of the ground:\nThen turning short, he met him face to face,\nTo give his victor the better grace.\nOrodes falls, in equal fight oppress'd:\nMezentius fix'd his foot upon his breast,\nAnd rested lance; and thus aloud he cries:\n\"Lo! here the champion of my rebels lies!\"\nThe fields around with Io Paean! ring;\nAnd peals of shouts applaud the conqu'ring king.\nAt this the vanquish'd, with his dying breath,\nThus faintly spoke, and prophesied in death:\n\"Nor thou, proud man, unpunish'd shalt remain:\nLike death attends thee on this fatal plain.\"\nThen, sourly smiling, thus the king replied:\n\"For what belongs to me, let Jove provide;\nBut die thou first, whatever chance ensue.\"\nHe said, and from the wound the weapon drew.\nA hov'ring mist came swimming o'er his sight,\nAnd seal'd his eyes in everlasting night.<\/p>\n
By Caedicus, Alcathous was slain;\nSacrator laid Hydaspes on the plain;\nOrses the strong to greater strength must yield;\nHe, with Parthenius, were by Rapo kill'd.\nThen brave Messapus Ericetes slew,\nWho from Lycaon's blood his lineage drew.\nBut from his headstrong horse his fate he found,\nWho threw his master, as he made a bound:\nThe chief, alighting, stuck him to the ground;\nThen Clonius, hand to hand, on foot assails:\nThe Trojan sinks, and Neptune's son prevails.\nAgis the Lycian, stepping forth with pride,\nTo single fight the boldest foe defied;\nWhom Tuscan Valerus by force o'ercame,\nAnd not belied his mighty father's fame.\nSalius to death the great Antronius sent:\nBut the same fate the victor underwent,\nSlain by Nealces' hand, well-skill'd to throw\nThe flying dart, and draw the far-deceiving bow.<\/p>\n
Thus equal deaths are dealt with equal chance;\nBy turns they quit their ground, by turns advance:\nVictors and vanquish'd, in the various field,\nNor wholly overcome, nor wholly yield.\nThe gods from heav'n survey the fatal strife,\nAnd mourn the miseries of human life.\nAbove the rest, two goddesses appear\nConcern'd for each: here Venus, Juno there.\nAmidst the crowd, infernal Ate shakes\nHer scourge aloft, and crest of hissing snakes.<\/p>\n
Once more the proud Mezentius, with disdain,\nBrandish'd his spear, and rush'd into the plain,\nWhere tow'ring in the midmost rank she stood,\nLike tall Orion stalking o'er the flood.\n(When with his brawny breast he cuts the waves,\nHis shoulders scarce the topmost billow laves),\nOr like a mountain ash, whose roots are spread,\nDeep fix'd in earth; in clouds he hides his head.<\/p>\n
The Trojan prince beheld him from afar,\nAnd dauntless undertook the doubtful war.\nCollected in his strength, and like a rock,\nPois'd on his base, Mezentius stood the shock.\nHe stood, and, measuring first with careful eyes\nThe space his spear could reach, aloud he cries:\n\"My strong right hand, and sword, assist my stroke!\n(Those only gods Mezentius will invoke.)\nHis armor, from the Trojan pirate torn,\nBy my triumphant Lausus shall be worn.\"\nHe said; and with his utmost force he threw\nThe massy spear, which, hissing as it flew,\nReach'd the celestial shield, that stopp'd the course;\nBut, glancing thence, the yet unbroken force\nTook a new bent obliquely, and betwixt\nThe side and bowels fam'd Anthores fix'd.\nAnthores had from Argos travel'd far,\nAlcides' friend, and brother of the war;\nTill, tir'd with toils, fair Italy he chose,\nAnd in Evander's palace sought repose.\nNow, falling by another's wound, his eyes\nHe cast to heav'n, on Argos thinks, and dies.<\/p>\n
The pious Trojan then his jav'lin sent;\nThe shield gave way; thro' treble plates it went\nOf solid brass, of linen trebly roll'd,\nAnd three bull hides which round the buckler fold.\nAll these it pass'd, resistless in the course,\nTranspierc'd his thigh, and spent its dying force.\nThe gaping wound gush'd out a crimson flood.\nThe Trojan, glad with sight of hostile blood,\nHis faunchion drew, to closer fight address'd,\nAnd with new force his fainting foe oppress'd.<\/p>\n
His father's peril Lausus view'd with grief;\nHe sigh'd, he wept, he ran to his relief.\nAnd here, heroic youth, 't is here I must\nTo thy immortal memory be just,\nAnd sing an act so noble and so new,\nPosterity will scarce believe 't is true.\nPain'd with his wound, and useless for the fight,\nThe father sought to save himself by flight:\nIncumber'd, slow he dragg'd the spear along,\nWhich pierc'd his thigh, and in his buckler hung.\nThe pious youth, resolv'd on death, below\nThe lifted sword springs forth to face the foe;\nProtects his parent, and prevents the blow.\nShouts of applause ran ringing thro' the field,\nTo see the son the vanquish'd father shield.\nAll, fir'd with gen'rous indignation, strive,\nAnd with a storm of darts to distance drive\nThe Trojan chief, who, held at bay from far,\nOn his Vulcanian orb sustain'd the war.<\/p>\n
As, when thick hail comes rattling in the wind,\nThe plowman, passenger, and lab'ring hind\nFor shelter to the neighb'ring covert fly,\nOr hous'd, or safe in hollow caverns lie;\nBut, that o'erblown, when heav'n above 'em smiles,\nReturn to travel, and renew their toils:\nAeneas thus, o'erwhelmed on ev'ry side,\nThe storm of darts, undaunted, did abide;\nAnd thus to Lausus loud with friendly threat'ning cried:\n\"Why wilt thou rush to certain death, and rage\nIn rash attempts, beyond thy tender age,\nBetray'd by pious love?\" Nor, thus forborne,\nThe youth desists, but with insulting scorn\nProvokes the ling'ring prince, whose patience, tir'd,\nGave place; and all his breast with fury fir'd.\nFor now the Fates prepar'd their sharpen'd shears;\nAnd lifted high the flaming sword appears,\nWhich, full descending with a frightful sway,\nThro' shield and corslet forc'd th' impetuous way,\nAnd buried deep in his fair bosom lay.\nThe purple streams thro' the thin armor strove,\nAnd drench'd th' imbroider'd coat his mother wove;\nAnd life at length forsook his heaving heart,\nLoth from so sweet a mansion to depart.<\/p>\n
But when, with blood and paleness all o'erspread,\nThe pious prince beheld young Lausus dead,\nHe griev'd; he wept; the sight an image brought\nOf his own filial love, a sadly pleasing thought:\nThen stretch'd his hand to hold him up, and said:\n\"Poor hapless youth! what praises can be paid\nTo love so great, to such transcendent store\nOf early worth, and sure presage of more?\nAccept whate'er Aeneas can afford;\nUntouch'd thy arms, untaken be thy sword;\nAnd all that pleas'd thee living, still remain\nInviolate, and sacred to the slain.\nThy body on thy parents I bestow,\nTo rest thy soul, at least, if shadows know,\nOr have a sense of human things below.\nThere to thy fellow ghosts with glory tell:\n''T was by the great Aeneas hand I fell.'\"\nWith this, his distant friends he beckons near,\nProvokes their duty, and prevents their fear:\nHimself assists to lift him from the ground,\nWith clotted locks, and blood that well'd from out the wound.<\/p>\n
Meantime, his father, now no father, stood,\nAnd wash'd his wounds by Tiber's yellow flood:\nOppress'd with anguish, panting, and o'erspent,\nHis fainting limbs against an oak he leant.\nA bough his brazen helmet did sustain;\nHis heavier arms lay scatter'd on the plain:\nA chosen train of youth around him stand;\nHis drooping head was rested on his hand:\nHis grisly beard his pensive bosom sought;\nAnd all on Lausus ran his restless thought.\nCareful, concern'd his danger to prevent,\nHe much enquir'd, and many a message sent\nTo warn him from the field- alas! in vain!\nBehold, his mournful followers bear him slain!\nO'er his broad shield still gush'd the yawning wound,\nAnd drew a bloody trail along the ground.\nFar off he heard their cries, far off divin'd\nThe dire event, with a foreboding mind.\nWith dust he sprinkled first his hoary head;\nThen both his lifted hands to heav'n he spread;\nLast, the dear corpse embracing, thus he said:\n\"What joys, alas! could this frail being give,\nThat I have been so covetous to live?\nTo see my son, and such a son, resign\nHis life, a ransom for preserving mine!\nAnd am I then preserv'd, and art thou lost?\nHow much too dear has that redemption cost!\n'T is now my bitter banishment I feel:\nThis is a wound too deep for time to heal.\nMy guilt thy growing virtues did defame;\nMy blackness blotted thy unblemish'd name.\nChas'd from a throne, abandon'd, and exil'd\nFor foul misdeeds, were punishments too mild:\nI ow'd my people these, and, from their hate,\nWith less resentment could have borne my fate.\nAnd yet I live, and yet sustain the sight\nOf hated men, and of more hated light:\nBut will not long.\" With that he rais'd from ground\nHis fainting limbs, that stagger'd with his wound;\nYet, with a mind resolv'd, and unappall'd\nWith pains or perils, for his courser call'd\nWell-mouth'd, well-manag'd, whom himself did dress\nWith daily care, and mounted with success;\nHis aid in arms, his ornament in peace.<\/p>\n
Soothing his courage with a gentle stroke,\nThe steed seem'd sensible, while thus he spoke:\n\"O Rhoebus, we have liv'd too long for me-\nIf life and long were terms that could agree!\nThis day thou either shalt bring back the head\nAnd bloody trophies of the Trojan dead;\nThis day thou either shalt revenge my woe,\nFor murther'd Lausus, on his cruel foe;\nOr, if inexorable fate deny\nOur conquest, with thy conquer'd master die:\nFor, after such a lord, I rest secure,\nThou wilt no foreign reins, or Trojan load endure.\"\nHe said; and straight th' officious courser kneels,\nTo take his wonted weight. His hands he fills\nWith pointed jav'lins; on his head he lac'd\nHis glitt'ring helm, which terribly was grac'd\nWith waving horsehair, nodding from afar;\nThen spurr'd his thund'ring steed amidst the war.\nLove, anguish, wrath, and grief, to madness wrought,\nDespair, and secret shame, and conscious thought\nOf inborn worth, his lab'ring soul oppress'd,\nRoll'd in his eyes, and rag'd within his breast.\nThen loud he call'd Aeneas thrice by name:\nThe loud repeated voice to glad Aeneas came.\n\"Great Jove,\" he said, \"and the far-shooting god,\nInspire thy mind to make thy challenge good!\"\nHe spoke no more; but hasten'd, void of fear,\nAnd threaten'd with his long protended spear.<\/p>\n
To whom Mezentius thus: \"Thy vaunts are vain.\nMy Lausus lies extended on the plain:\nHe's lost! thy conquest is already won;\nThe wretched sire is murther'd in the son.\nNor fate I fear, but all the gods defy.\nForbear thy threats: my bus'ness is to die;\nBut first receive this parting legacy.\"\nHe said; and straight a whirling dart he sent;\nAnother after, and another went.\nRound in a spacious ring he rides the field,\nAnd vainly plies th' impenetrable shield.\nThrice rode he round; and thrice Aeneas wheel'd,\nTurn'd as he turn'd: the golden orb withstood\nThe strokes, and bore about an iron wood.\nImpatient of delay, and weary grown,\nStill to defend, and to defend alone,\nTo wrench the darts which in his buckler light,\nUrg'd and o'er-labor'd in unequal fight;\nAt length resolv'd, he throws with all his force\nFull at the temples of the warrior horse.\nJust where the stroke was aim'd, th' unerring spear\nMade way, and stood transfix'd thro' either ear.\nSeiz'd with unwonted pain, surpris'd with fright,\nThe wounded steed curvets, and, rais'd upright,\nLights on his feet before; his hoofs behind\nSpring up in air aloft, and lash the wind.\nDown comes the rider headlong from his height:\nHis horse came after with unwieldy weight,\nAnd, flound'ring forward, pitching on his head,\nHis lord's incumber'd shoulder overlaid.<\/p>\n
From either host, the mingled shouts and cries\nOf Trojans and Rutulians rend the skies.\nAeneas, hast'ning, wav'd his fatal sword\nHigh o'er his head, with this reproachful word:\n\"Now; where are now thy vaunts, the fierce disdain\nOf proud Mezentius, and the lofty strain?\"<\/p>\n
Struggling, and wildly staring on the skies,\nWith scarce recover'd sight he thus replies:\n\"Why these insulting words, this waste of breath,\nTo souls undaunted, and secure of death?\n'T is no dishonor for the brave to die,\nNor came I here with hope victory;\nNor ask I life, nor fought with that design:\nAs I had us'd my fortune, use thou thine.\nMy dying son contracted no such band;\nThe gift is hateful from his murd'rer's hand.\nFor this, this only favor let me sue,\nIf pity can to conquer'd foes be due:\nRefuse it not; but let my body have\nThe last retreat of humankind, a grave.\nToo well I know th' insulting people's hate;\nProtect me from their vengeance after fate:\nThis refuge for my poor remains provide,\nAnd lay my much-lov'd Lausus by my side.\"\nHe said, and to the sword his throat applied.\nThe crimson stream distain'd his arms around,\nAnd the disdainful soul came rushing thro' the wound.<\/p>","rendered":"
The gates of heav’n unfold: Jove summons all
\nThe gods to council in the common hall.
\nSublimely seated, he surveys from far
\nThe fields, the camp, the fortune of the war,
\nAnd all th’ inferior world. From first to last,
\nThe sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d.<\/p>\n
Then thus th’ almighty sire began: “Ye gods,
\nNatives or denizens of blest abodes,
\nFrom whence these murmurs, and this change of mind,
\nThis backward fate from what was first design’d?
\nWhy this protracted war, when my commands
\nPronounc’d a peace, and gave the Latian lands?
\nWhat fear or hope on either part divides
\nOur heav’ns, and arms our powers on diff’rent sides?
\nA lawful time of war at length will come,
\n(Nor need your haste anticipate the doom),
\nWhen Carthage shall contend the world with Rome,
\nShall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains,
\nAnd, like a flood, come pouring on the plains.
\nThen is your time for faction and debate,
\nFor partial favor, and permitted hate.
\nLet now your immature dissension cease;
\nSit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.”<\/p>\n
Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge;
\nBut lovely Venus thus replies at large:
\n“O pow’r immense, eternal energy,
\n(For to what else protection can we fly?)
\nSeest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare
\nIn fields, unpunish’d, and insult my care?
\nHow lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train,
\nIn shining arms, triumphant on the plain?
\nEv’n in their lines and trenches they contend,
\nAnd scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend:
\nThe town is fill’d with slaughter, and o’erfloats,
\nWith a red deluge, their increasing moats.
\nAeneas, ignorant, and far from thence,
\nHas left a camp expos’d, without defense.
\nThis endless outrage shall they still sustain?
\nShall Troy renew’d be forc’d and fir’d again?
\nA second siege my banish’d issue fears,
\nAnd a new Diomede in arms appears.
\nOne more audacious mortal will be found;
\nAnd I, thy daughter, wait another wound.
\nYet, if with fates averse, without thy leave,
\nThe Latian lands my progeny receive,
\nBear they the pains of violated law,
\nAnd thy protection from their aid withdraw.
\nBut, if the gods their sure success foretell;
\nIf those of heav’n consent with those of hell,
\nTo promise Italy; who dare debate
\nThe pow’r of Jove, or fix another fate?
\nWhat should I tell of tempests on the main,
\nOf Aeolus usurping Neptune’s reign?
\nOf Iris sent, with Bacchanalian heat
\nT’ inspire the matrons, and destroy the fleet?
\nNow Juno to the Stygian sky descends,
\nSolicits hell for aid, and arms the fiends.
\nThat new example wanted yet above:
\nAn act that well became the wife of Jove!
\nAlecto, rais’d by her, with rage inflames
\nThe peaceful bosoms of the Latian dames.
\nImperial sway no more exalts my mind;
\n(Such hopes I had indeed, while Heav’n was kind;)
\nNow let my happier foes possess my place,
\nWhom Jove prefers before the Trojan race;
\nAnd conquer they, whom you with conquest grace.
\nSince you can spare, from all your wide command,
\nNo spot of earth, no hospitable land,
\nWhich may my wand’ring fugitives receive;
\n(Since haughty Juno will not give you leave;)
\nThen, father, (if I still may use that name,)
\nBy ruin’d Troy, yet smoking from the flame,
\nI beg you, let Ascanius, by my care,
\nBe freed from danger, and dismiss’d the war:
\nInglorious let him live, without a crown.
\nThe father may be cast on coasts unknown,
\nStruggling with fate; but let me save the son.
\nMine is Cythera, mine the Cyprian tow’rs:
\nIn those recesses, and those sacred bow’rs,
\nObscurely let him rest; his right resign
\nTo promis’d empire, and his Julian line.
\nThen Carthage may th’ Ausonian towns destroy,
\nNor fear the race of a rejected boy.
\nWhat profits it my son to scape the fire,
\nArm’d with his gods, and loaded with his sire;
\nTo pass the perils of the seas and wind;
\nEvade the Greeks, and leave the war behind;
\nTo reach th’ Italian shores; if, after all,
\nOur second Pergamus is doom’d to fall?
\nMuch better had he curb’d his high desires,
\nAnd hover’d o’er his ill-extinguish’d fires.
\nTo Simois’ banks the fugitives restore,
\nAnd give them back to war, and all the woes before.”<\/p>\n
Deep indignation swell’d Saturnia’s heart:
\n“And must I own,” she said, “my secret smart-
\nWhat with more decence were in silence kept,
\nAnd, but for this unjust reproach, had slept?
\nDid god or man your fav’rite son advise,
\nWith war unhop’d the Latians to surprise?
\nBy fate, you boast, and by the gods’ decree,
\nHe left his native land for Italy!
\nConfess the truth; by mad Cassandra, more
\nThan Heav’n inspir’d, he sought a foreign shore!
\nDid I persuade to trust his second Troy
\nTo the raw conduct of a beardless boy,
\nWith walls unfinish’d, which himself forsakes,
\nAnd thro’ the waves a wand’ring voyage takes?
\nWhen have I urg’d him meanly to demand
\nThe Tuscan aid, and arm a quiet land?
\nDid I or Iris give this mad advice,
\nOr made the fool himself the fatal choice?
\nYou think it hard, the Latians should destroy
\nWith swords your Trojans, and with fires your Troy!
\nHard and unjust indeed, for men to draw
\nTheir native air, nor take a foreign law!
\nThat Turnus is permitted still to live,
\nTo whom his birth a god and goddess give!
\nBut yet is just and lawful for your line
\nTo drive their fields, and force with fraud to join;
\nRealms, not your own, among your clans divide,
\nAnd from the bridegroom tear the promis’d bride;
\nPetition, while you public arms prepare;
\nPretend a peace, and yet provoke a war!
\n‘T was giv’n to you, your darling son to shroud,
\nTo draw the dastard from the fighting crowd,
\nAnd, for a man, obtend an empty cloud.
\nFrom flaming fleets you turn’d the fire away,
\nAnd chang’d the ships to daughters of the sea.
\nBut is my crime- the Queen of Heav’n offends,
\nIf she presume to save her suff’ring friends!
\nYour son, not knowing what his foes decree,
\nYou say, is absent: absent let him be.
\nYours is Cythera, yours the Cyprian tow’rs,
\nThe soft recesses, and the sacred bow’rs.
\nWhy do you then these needless arms prepare,
\nAnd thus provoke a people prone to war?
\nDid I with fire the Trojan town deface,
\nOr hinder from return your exil’d race?
\nWas I the cause of mischief, or the man
\nWhose lawless lust the fatal war began?
\nThink on whose faith th’ adult’rous youth relied;
\nWho promis’d, who procur’d, the Spartan bride?
\nWhen all th’ united states of Greece combin’d,
\nTo purge the world of the perfidious kind,
\nThen was your time to fear the Trojan fate:
\nYour quarrels and complaints are now too late.”<\/p>\n
Thus Juno. Murmurs rise, with mix’d applause,
\nJust as they favor or dislike the cause.
\nSo winds, when yet unfledg’d in woods they lie,
\nIn whispers first their tender voices try,
\nThen issue on the main with bellowing rage,
\nAnd storms to trembling mariners presage.<\/p>\n
Then thus to both replied th’ imperial god,
\nWho shakes heav’n’s axles with his awful nod.
\n(When he begins, the silent senate stand
\nWith rev’rence, list’ning to the dread command:
\nThe clouds dispel; the winds their breath restrain;
\nAnd the hush’d waves lie flatted on the main.)
\n“Celestials, your attentive ears incline!
\nSince,” said the god, “the Trojans must not join
\nIn wish’d alliance with the Latian line;
\nSince endless jarrings and immortal hate
\nTend but to discompose our happy state;
\nThe war henceforward be resign’d to fate:
\nEach to his proper fortune stand or fall;
\nEqual and unconcern’d I look on all.
\nRutulians, Trojans, are the same to me;
\nAnd both shall draw the lots their fates decree.
\nLet these assault, if Fortune be their friend;
\nAnd, if she favors those, let those defend:
\nThe Fates will find their way.” The Thund’rer said,
\nAnd shook the sacred honors of his head,
\nAttesting Styx, th’ inviolable flood,
\nAnd the black regions of his brother god.
\nTrembled the poles of heav’n, and earth confess’d the nod.
\nThis end the sessions had: the senate rise,
\nAnd to his palace wait their sov’reign thro’ the skies.<\/p>\n
Meantime, intent upon their siege, the foes
\nWithin their walls the Trojan host inclose:
\nThey wound, they kill, they watch at ev’ry gate;
\nRenew the fires, and urge their happy fate.<\/p>\n
Th’ Aeneans wish in vain their wanted chief,
\nHopeless of flight, more hopeless of relief.
\nThin on the tow’rs they stand; and ev’n those few
\nA feeble, fainting, and dejected crew.
\nYet in the face of danger some there stood:
\nThe two bold brothers of Sarpedon’s blood,
\nAsius and Acmon; both th’ Assaraci;
\nYoung Haemon, and tho’ young, resolv’d to die.
\nWith these were Clarus and Thymoetes join’d;
\nTibris and Castor, both of Lycian kind.
\nFrom Acmon’s hands a rolling stone there came,
\nSo large, it half deserv’d a mountain’s name:
\nStrong-sinew’d was the youth, and big of bone;
\nHis brother Mnestheus could not more have done,
\nOr the great father of th’ intrepid son.
\nSome firebrands throw, some flights of arrows send;
\nAnd some with darts, and some with stones defend.<\/p>\n
Amid the press appears the beauteous boy,
\nThe care of Venus, and the hope of Troy.
\nHis lovely face unarm’d, his head was bare;
\nIn ringlets o’er his shoulders hung his hair.
\nHis forehead circled with a diadem;
\nDistinguish’d from the crowd, he shines a gem,
\nEnchas’d in gold, or polish’d iv’ry set,
\nAmidst the meaner foil of sable jet.<\/p>\n
Nor Ismarus was wanting to the war,
\nDirecting pointed arrows from afar,
\nAnd death with poison arm’d- in Lydia born,
\nWhere plenteous harvests the fat fields adorn;
\nWhere proud Pactolus floats the fruitful lands,
\nAnd leaves a rich manure of golden sands.
\nThere Capys, author of the Capuan name,
\nAnd there was Mnestheus too, increas’d in fame,
\nSince Turnus from the camp he cast with shame.<\/p>\n
Thus mortal war was wag’d on either side.
\nMeantime the hero cuts the nightly tide:
\nFor, anxious, from Evander when he went,
\nHe sought the Tyrrhene camp, and Tarchon’s tent;
\nExpos’d the cause of coming to the chief;
\nHis name and country told, and ask’d relief;
\nPropos’d the terms; his own small strength declar’d;
\nWhat vengeance proud Mezentius had prepar’d:
\nWhat Turnus, bold and violent, design’d;
\nThen shew’d the slipp’ry state of humankind,
\nAnd fickle fortune; warn’d him to beware,
\nAnd to his wholesome counsel added pray’r.
\nTarchon, without delay, the treaty signs,
\nAnd to the Trojan troops the Tuscan joins.<\/p>\n
They soon set sail; nor now the fates withstand;
\nTheir forces trusted with a foreign hand.
\nAeneas leads; upon his stern appear
\nTwo lions carv’d, which rising Ida bear-
\nIda, to wand’ring Trojans ever dear.
\nUnder their grateful shade Aeneas sate,
\nRevolving war’s events, and various fate.
\nHis left young Pallas kept, fix’d to his side,
\nAnd oft of winds enquir’d, and of the tide;
\nOft of the stars, and of their wat’ry way;
\nAnd what he suffer’d both by land and sea.<\/p>\n
Now, sacred sisters, open all your spring!
\nThe Tuscan leaders, and their army sing,
\nWhich follow’d great Aeneas to the war:
\nTheir arms, their numbers, and their names declare.<\/p>\n
A thousand youths brave Massicus obey,
\nBorne in the Tiger thro’ the foaming sea;
\nFrom Asium brought, and Cosa, by his care:
\nFor arms, light quivers, bows and shafts, they bear.
\nFierce Abas next: his men bright armor wore;
\nHis stern Apollo’s golden statue bore.
\nSix hundred Populonia sent along,
\nAll skill’d in martial exercise, and strong.
\nThree hundred more for battle Ilva joins,
\nAn isle renown’d for steel, and unexhausted mines.
\nAsylas on his prow the third appears,
\nWho heav’n interprets, and the wand’ring stars;
\nFrom offer’d entrails prodigies expounds,
\nAnd peals of thunder, with presaging sounds.
\nA thousand spears in warlike order stand,
\nSent by the Pisans under his command.<\/p>\n
Fair Astur follows in the wat’ry field,
\nProud of his manag’d horse and painted shield.
\nGravisca, noisome from the neighb’ring fen,
\nAnd his own Caere, sent three hundred men;
\nWith those which Minio’s fields and Pyrgi gave,
\nAll bred in arms, unanimous, and brave.<\/p>\n
Thou, Muse, the name of Cinyras renew,
\nAnd brave Cupavo follow’d but by few;
\nWhose helm confess’d the lineage of the man,
\nAnd bore, with wings display’d, a silver swan.
\nLove was the fault of his fam’d ancestry,
\nWhose forms and fortunes in his ensigns fly.
\nFor Cycnus lov’d unhappy Phaeton,
\nAnd sung his loss in poplar groves, alone,
\nBeneath the sister shades, to soothe his grief.
\nHeav’n heard his song, and hasten’d his relief,
\nAnd chang’d to snowy plumes his hoary hair,
\nAnd wing’d his flight, to chant aloft in air.
\nHis son Cupavo brush’d the briny flood:
\nUpon his stern a brawny Centaur stood,
\nWho heav’d a rock, and, threat’ning still to throw,
\nWith lifted hands alarm’d the seas below:
\nThey seem’d to fear the formidable sight,
\nAnd roll’d their billows on, to speed his flight.<\/p>\n
Ocnus was next, who led his native train
\nOf hardy warriors thro’ the wat’ry plain:
\nThe son of Manto by the Tuscan stream,
\nFrom whence the Mantuan town derives the name-
\nAn ancient city, but of mix’d descent:
\nThree sev’ral tribes compose the government;
\nFour towns are under each; but all obey
\nThe Mantuan laws, and own the Tuscan sway.<\/p>\n
Hate to Mezentius arm’d five hundred more,
\nWhom Mincius from his sire Benacus bore:
\nMincius, with wreaths of reeds his forehead cover’d o’er.
\nThese grave Auletes leads: a hundred sweep
\nWith stretching oars at once the glassy deep.
\nHim and his martial train the Triton bears;
\nHigh on his poop the sea-green god appears:
\nFrowning he seems his crooked shell to sound,
\nAnd at the blast the billows dance around.
\nA hairy man above the waist he shows;
\nA porpoise tail beneath his belly grows;
\nAnd ends a fish: his breast the waves divides,
\nAnd froth and foam augment the murm’ring tides.<\/p>\n
Full thirty ships transport the chosen train
\nFor Troy’s relief, and scour the briny main.<\/p>\n
Now was the world forsaken by the sun,
\nAnd Phoebe half her nightly race had run.
\nThe careful chief, who never clos’d his eyes,
\nHimself the rudder holds, the sails supplies.
\nA choir of Nereids meet him on the flood,
\nOnce his own galleys, hewn from Ida’s wood;
\nBut now, as many nymphs, the sea they sweep,
\nAs rode, before, tall vessels on the deep.
\nThey know him from afar; and in a ring
\nInclose the ship that bore the Trojan king.
\nCymodoce, whose voice excell’d the rest,
\nAbove the waves advanc’d her snowy breast;
\nHer right hand stops the stern; her left divides
\nThe curling ocean, and corrects the tides.
\nShe spoke for all the choir, and thus began
\nWith pleasing words to warn th’ unknowing man:
\n“Sleeps our lov’d lord? O goddess-born, awake!
\nSpread ev’ry sail, pursue your wat’ry track,
\nAnd haste your course. Your navy once were we,
\nFrom Ida’s height descending to the sea;
\nTill Turnus, as at anchor fix’d we stood,
\nPresum’d to violate our holy wood.
\nThen, loos’d from shore, we fled his fires profane
\n(Unwillingly we broke our master’s chain),
\nAnd since have sought you thro’ the Tuscan main.
\nThe mighty Mother chang’d our forms to these,
\nAnd gave us life immortal in the seas.
\nBut young Ascanius, in his camp distress’d,
\nBy your insulting foes is hardly press’d.
\nTh’ Arcadian horsemen, and Etrurian host,
\nAdvance in order on the Latian coast:
\nTo cut their way the Daunian chief designs,
\nBefore their troops can reach the Trojan lines.
\nThou, when the rosy morn restores the light,
\nFirst arm thy soldiers for th’ ensuing fight:
\nThyself the fated sword of Vulcan wield,
\nAnd bear aloft th’ impenetrable shield.
\nTo-morrow’s sun, unless my skill be vain,
\nShall see huge heaps of foes in battle slain.”
\nParting, she spoke; and with immortal force
\nPush’d on the vessel in her wat’ry course;
\nFor well she knew the way. Impell’d behind,
\nThe ship flew forward, and outstripp’d the wind.
\nThe rest make up. Unknowing of the cause,
\nThe chief admires their speed, and happy omens draws.<\/p>\n
Then thus he pray’d, and fix’d on heav’n his eyes:
\n“Hear thou, great Mother of the deities.
\nWith turrets crown’d! (on Ida’s holy hill
\nFierce tigers, rein’d and curb’d, obey thy will.)
\nFirm thy own omens; lead us on to fight;
\nAnd let thy Phrygians conquer in thy right.”<\/p>\n
He said no more. And now renewing day
\nHad chas’d the shadows of the night away.
\nHe charg’d the soldiers, with preventing care,
\nTheir flags to follow, and their arms prepare;
\nWarn’d of th’ ensuing fight, and bade ’em hope the war.
\nNow, his lofty poop, he view’d below
\nHis camp incompass’d, and th’ inclosing foe.
\nHis blazing shield, imbrac’d, he held on high;
\nThe camp receive the sign, and with loud shouts reply.
\nHope arms their courage: from their tow’rs they throw
\nTheir darts with double force, and drive the foe.
\nThus, at the signal giv’n, the cranes arise
\nBefore the stormy south, and blacken all the skies.<\/p>\n
King Turnus wonder’d at the fight renew’d,
\nTill, looking back, the Trojan fleet he view’d,
\nThe seas with swelling canvas cover’d o’er,
\nAnd the swift ships descending on the shore.
\nThe Latians saw from far, with dazzled eyes,
\nThe radiant crest that seem’d in flames to rise,
\nAnd dart diffusive fires around the field,
\nAnd the keen glitt’ring of the golden shield.
\nThus threat’ning comets, when by night they rise,
\nShoot sanguine streams, and sadden all the skies:
\nSo Sirius, flashing forth sinister lights,
\nPale humankind with plagues and with dry famine fright:<\/p>\n
Yet Turnus with undaunted mind is bent
\nTo man the shores, and hinder their descent,
\nAnd thus awakes the courage of his friends:
\n“What you so long have wish’d, kind Fortune sends;
\nIn ardent arms to meet th’ invading foe:
\nYou find, and find him at advantage now.
\nYours is the day: you need but only dare;
\nYour swords will make you masters of the war.
\nYour sires, your sons, your houses, and your lands,
\nAnd dearest wifes, are all within your hands.
\nBe mindful of the race from whence you came,
\nAnd emulate in arms your fathers’ fame.
\nNow take the time, while stagg’ring yet they stand
\nWith feet unfirm, and prepossess the strand:
\nFortune befriends the bold.” Nor more he said,
\nBut balanc’d whom to leave, and whom to lead;
\nThen these elects, the landing to prevent;
\nAnd those he leaves, to keep the city pent.<\/p>\n
Meantime the Trojan sends his troops ashore:
\nSome are by boats expos’d, by bridges more.
\nWith lab’ring oars they bear along the strand,
\nWhere the tide languishes, and leap aland.
\nTarchon observes the coast with careful eyes,
\nAnd, where no ford he finds, no water fries,
\nNor billows with unequal murmurs roar,
\nBut smoothly slide along, and swell the shore,
\nThat course he steer’d, and thus he gave command:
\n“Here ply your oars, and at all hazard land:
\nForce on the vessel, that her keel may wound
\nThis hated soil, and furrow hostile ground.
\nLet me securely land- I ask no more;
\nThen sink my ships, or shatter on the shore.”<\/p>\n
This fiery speech inflames his fearful friends:
\nThey tug at ev’ry oar, and ev’ry stretcher bends;
\nThey run their ships aground; the vessels knock,
\n(Thus forc’d ashore,) and tremble with the shock.
\nTarchon’s alone was lost, that stranded stood,
\nStuck on a bank, and beaten by the flood:
\nShe breaks her back; the loosen’d sides give way,
\nAnd plunge the Tuscan soldiers in the sea.
\nTheir broken oars and floating planks withstand
\nTheir passage, while they labor to the land,
\nAnd ebbing tides bear back upon th’ uncertain sand.<\/p>\n
Now Turnus leads his troops without delay,
\nAdvancing to the margin of the sea.
\nThe trumpets sound: Aeneas first assail’d
\nThe clowns new-rais’d and raw, and soon prevail’d.
\nGreat Theron fell, an omen of the fight;
\nGreat Theron, large of limbs, of giant height.
\nHe first in open field defied the prince:
\nBut armor scal’d with gold was no defense
\nAgainst the fated sword, which open’d wide
\nHis plated shield, and pierc’d his naked side.
\nNext, Lichas fell, who, not like others born,
\nWas from his wretched mother ripp’d and torn;
\nSacred, O Phoebus, from his birth to thee;
\nFor his beginning life from biting steel was free.
\nNot far from him was Gyas laid along,
\nOf monstrous bulk; with Cisseus fierce and strong:
\nVain bulk and strength! for, when the chief assail’d,
\nNor valor nor Herculean arms avail’d,
\nNor their fam’d father, wont in war to go
\nWith great Alcides, while he toil’d below.
\nThe noisy Pharos next receiv’d his death:
\nAeneas writh’d his dart, and stopp’d his bawling breath.
\nThen wretched Cydon had receiv’d his doom,
\nWho courted Clytius in his beardless bloom,
\nAnd sought with lust obscene polluted joys:
\nThe Trojan sword had curd his love of boys,
\nHad not his sev’n bold brethren stopp’d the course
\nOf the fierce champions, with united force.
\nSev’n darts were thrown at once; and some rebound
\nFrom his bright shield, some on his helmet sound:
\nThe rest had reach’d him; but his mother’s care
\nPrevented those, and turn’d aside in air.<\/p>\n
The prince then call’d Achates, to supply
\nThe spears that knew the way to victory-
\n“Those fatal weapons, which, inur’d to blood,
\nIn Grecian bodies under Ilium stood:
\nNot one of those my hand shall toss in vain
\nAgainst our foes, on this contended plain.”
\nHe said; then seiz’d a mighty spear, and threw;
\nWhich, wing’d with fate, thro’ Maeon’s buckler flew,
\nPierc’d all the brazen plates, and reach’d his heart:
\nHe stagger’d with intolerable smart.
\nAlcanor saw; and reach’d, but reach’d in vain,
\nHis helping hand, his brother to sustain.
\nA second spear, which kept the former course,
\nFrom the same hand, and sent with equal force,
\nHis right arm pierc’d, and holding on, bereft
\nHis use of both, and pinion’d down his left.
\nThen Numitor from his dead brother drew
\nTh’ ill-omen’d spear, and at the Trojan threw:
\nPreventing fate directs the lance awry,
\nWhich, glancing, only mark’d Achates’ thigh.<\/p>\n
In pride of youth the Sabine Clausus came,
\nAnd, from afar, at Dryops took his aim.
\nThe spear flew hissing thro’ the middle space,
\nAnd pierc’d his throat, directed at his face;
\nIt stopp’d at once the passage of his wind,
\nAnd the free soul to flitting air resign’d:
\nHis forehead was the first that struck the ground;
\nLifeblood and life rush’d mingled thro’ the wound.
\nHe slew three brothers of the Borean race,
\nAnd three, whom Ismarus, their native place,
\nHad sent to war, but all the sons of Thrace.
\nHalesus, next, the bold Aurunci leads:
\nThe son of Neptune to his aid succeeds,
\nConspicuous on his horse. On either hand,
\nThese fight to keep, and those to win, the land.
\nWith mutual blood th’ Ausonian soil is dyed,
\nWhile on its borders each their claim decide.
\nAs wintry winds, contending in the sky,
\nWith equal force of lungs their titles try:
\nThey rage, they roar; the doubtful rack of heav’n
\nStands without motion, and the tide undriv’n:
\nEach bent to conquer, neither side to yield,
\nThey long suspend the fortune of the field.
\nBoth armies thus perform what courage can;
\nFoot set to foot, and mingled man to man.<\/p>\n
But, in another part, th’ Arcadian horse
\nWith ill success ingage the Latin force:
\nFor, where th’ impetuous torrent, rushing down,
\nHuge craggy stones and rooted trees had thrown,
\nThey left their coursers, and, unus’d to fight
\nOn foot, were scatter’d in a shameful flight.
\nPallas, who with disdain and grief had view’d
\nHis foes pursuing, and his friends pursued,
\nUs’d threat’nings mix’d with pray’rs, his last resource,
\nWith these to move their minds, with those to fire their force
\n“Which way, companions? whether would you run?
\nBy you yourselves, and mighty battles won,
\nBy my great sire, by his establish’d name,
\nAnd early promise of my future fame;
\nBy my youth, emulous of equal right
\nTo share his honors- shun ignoble flight!
\nTrust not your feet: your hands must hew way
\nThro’ yon black body, and that thick array:
\n‘T is thro’ that forward path that we must come;
\nThere lies our way, and that our passage home.
\nNor pow’rs above, nor destinies below
\nOppress our arms: with equal strength we go,
\nWith mortal hands to meet a mortal foe.
\nSee on what foot we stand: a scanty shore,
\nThe sea behind, our enemies before;
\nNo passage left, unless we swim the main;
\nOr, forcing these, the Trojan trenches gain.”
\nThis said, he strode with eager haste along,
\nAnd bore amidst the thickest of the throng.
\nLagus, the first he met, with fate to foe,
\nHad heav’d a stone of mighty weight, to throw:
\nStooping, the spear descended on his chine,
\nJust where the bone distinguished either loin:
\nIt stuck so fast, so deeply buried lay,
\nThat scarce the victor forc’d the steel away.
\nHisbon came on: but, while he mov’d too slow
\nTo wish’d revenge, the prince prevents his blow;
\nFor, warding his at once, at once he press’d,
\nAnd plung’d the fatal weapon in his breast.
\nThen lewd Anchemolus he laid in dust,
\nWho stain’d his stepdam’s bed with impious lust.
\nAnd, after him, the Daucian twins were slain,
\nLaris and Thymbrus, on the Latian plain;
\nSo wondrous like in feature, shape, and size,
\nAs caus’d an error in their parents’ eyes-
\nGrateful mistake! but soon the sword decides
\nThe nice distinction, and their fate divides:
\nFor Thymbrus’ head was lopp’d; and Laris’ hand,
\nDismember’d, sought its owner on the strand:
\nThe trembling fingers yet the fauchion strain,
\nAnd threaten still th’ intended stroke in vain.<\/p>\n
Now, to renew the charge, th’ Arcadians came:
\nSight of such acts, and sense of honest shame,
\nAnd grief, with anger mix’d, their minds inflame.
\nThen, with a casual blow was Rhoeteus slain,
\nWho chanc’d, as Pallas threw, to cross the plain:
\nThe flying spear was after Ilus sent;
\nBut Rhoeteus happen’d on a death unmeant:
\nFrom Teuthras and from Tyres while he fled,
\nThe lance, athwart his body, laid him dead:
\nRoll’d from his chariot with a mortal wound,
\nAnd intercepted fate, he spurn’d the ground.
\nAs when, in summer, welcome winds arise,
\nThe watchful shepherd to the forest flies,
\nAnd fires the midmost plants; contagion spreads,
\nAnd catching flames infect the neighb’ring heads;
\nAround the forest flies the furious blast,
\nAnd all the leafy nation sinks at last,
\nAnd Vulcan rides in triumph o’er the waste;
\nThe pastor, pleas’d with his dire victory,
\nBeholds the satiate flames in sheets ascend the sky:
\nSo Pallas’ troops their scatter’d strength unite,
\nAnd, pouring on their foes, their prince delight.<\/p>\n
Halesus came, fierce with desire of blood;
\nBut first collected in his arms he stood:
\nAdvancing then, he plied the spear so well,
\nLadon, Demodocus, and Pheres fell.
\nAround his head he toss’d his glitt’ring brand,
\nAnd from Strymonius hew’d his better hand,
\nHeld up to guard his throat; then hurl’d a stone
\nAt Thoas’ ample front, and pierc’d the bone:
\nIt struck beneath the space of either eye;
\nAnd blood, and mingled brains, together fly.
\nDeep skill’d in future fates, Halesus’ sire
\nDid with the youth to lonely groves retire:
\nBut, when the father’s mortal race was run,
\nDire destiny laid hold upon the son,
\nAnd haul’d him to the war, to find, beneath
\nTh’ Evandrian spear, a memorable death.
\nPallas th’ encounter seeks, but, ere he throws,
\nTo Tuscan Tiber thus address’d his vows:
\n“O sacred stream, direct my flying dart,
\nAnd give to pass the proud Halesus’ heart!
\nHis arms and spoils thy holy oak shall bear.”
\nPleas’d with the bribe, the god receiv’d his pray’r:
\nFor, while his shield protects a friend distress’d,
\nThe dart came driving on, and pierc’d his breast.<\/p>\n
But Lausus, no small portion of the war,
\nPermits not panic fear to reign too far,
\nCaus’d by the death of so renown’d a knight;
\nBut by his own example cheers the fight.
\nFierce Abas first he slew; Abas, the stay
\nOf Trojan hopes, and hindrance of the day.
\nThe Phrygian troops escap’d the Greeks in vain:
\nThey, and their mix’d allies, now load the plain.
\nTo the rude shock of war both armies came;
\nTheir leaders equal, and their strength the same.
\nThe rear so press’d the front, they could not wield
\nTheir angry weapons, to dispute the field.
\nHere Pallas urges on, and Lausus there:
\nOf equal youth and beauty both appear,
\nBut both by fate forbid to breathe their native air.
\nTheir congress in the field great Jove withstands:
\nBoth doom’d to fall, but fall by greater hands.<\/p>\n
Meantime Juturna warns the Daunian chief
\nOf Lausus’ danger, urging swift relief.
\nWith his driv’n chariot he divides the crowd,
\nAnd, making to his friends, thus calls aloud:
\n“Let none presume his needless aid to join;
\nRetire, and clear the field; the fight is mine:
\nTo this right hand is Pallas only due;
\nO were his father here, my just revenge to view!”
\nFrom the forbidden space his men retir’d.
\nPallas their awe, and his stern words, admir’d;
\nSurvey’d him o’er and o’er with wond’ring sight,
\nStruck with his haughty mien, and tow’ring height.
\nThen to the king: “Your empty vaunts forbear;
\nSuccess I hope, and fate I cannot fear;
\nAlive or dead, I shall deserve a name;
\nJove is impartial, and to both the same.”
\nHe said, and to the void advanc’d his pace:
\nPale horror sate on each Arcadian face.
\nThen Turnus, from his chariot leaping light,
\nAddress’d himself on foot to single fight.
\nAnd, as a lion- when he spies from far
\nA bull that seems to meditate the war,
\nBending his neck, and spurning back the sand-
\nRuns roaring downward from his hilly stand:
\nImagine eager Turnus not more slow,
\nTo rush from high on his unequal foe.<\/p>\n
Young Pallas, when he saw the chief advance
\nWithin due distance of his flying lance,
\nPrepares to charge him first, resolv’d to try
\nIf fortune would his want of force supply;
\nAnd thus to Heav’n and Hercules address’d:
\n“Alcides, once on earth Evander’s guest,
\nHis son adjures you by those holy rites,
\nThat hospitable board, those genial nights;
\nAssist my great attempt to gain this prize,
\nAnd let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes,
\nHis ravish’d spoils.” ‘T was heard, the vain request;
\nAlcides mourn’d, and stifled sighs within his breast.
\nThen Jove, to soothe his sorrow, thus began:
\n“Short bounds of life are set to mortal man.
\n‘T is virtue’s work alone to stretch the narrow span.
\nSo many sons of gods, in bloody fight,
\nAround the walls of Troy, have lost the light:
\nMy own Sarpedon fell beneath his foe;
\nNor I, his mighty sire, could ward the blow.
\nEv’n Turnus shortly shall resign his breath,
\nAnd stands already on the verge of death.”
\nThis said, the god permits the fatal fight,
\nBut from the Latian fields averts his sight.<\/p>\n
Now with full force his spear young Pallas threw,
\nAnd, having thrown, his shining fauchion drew
\nThe steel just graz’d along the shoulder joint,
\nAnd mark’d it slightly with the glancing point,
\nFierce Turnus first to nearer distance drew,
\nAnd pois’d his pointed spear, before he threw:
\nThen, as the winged weapon whizz’d along,
\n“See now,” said he, “whose arm is better strung.”
\nThe spear kept on the fatal course, unstay’d
\nBy plates of ir’n, which o’er the shield were laid:
\nThro’ folded brass and tough bull hides it pass’d,
\nHis corslet pierc’d, and reach’d his heart at last.
\nIn vain the youth tugs at the broken wood;
\nThe soul comes issuing with the vital blood:
\nHe falls; his arms upon his body sound;
\nAnd with his bloody teeth he bites the ground.<\/p>\n
Turnus bestrode the corpse: “Arcadians, hear,”
\nSaid he; “my message to your master bear:
\nSuch as the sire deserv’d, the son I send;
\nIt costs him dear to be the Phrygians’ friend.
\nThe lifeless body, tell him, I bestow,
\nUnask’d, to rest his wand’ring ghost below.”
\nHe said, and trampled down with all the force
\nOf his left foot, and spurn’d the wretched corse;
\nThen snatch’d the shining belt, with gold inlaid;
\nThe belt Eurytion’s artful hands had made,
\nWhere fifty fatal brides, express’d to sight,
\nAll in the compass of one mournful night,
\nDepriv’d their bridegrooms of returning light.<\/p>\n
In an ill hour insulting Turnus tore
\nThose golden spoils, and in a worse he wore.
\nO mortals, blind in fate, who never know
\nTo bear high fortune, or endure the low!
\nThe time shall come, when Turnus, but in vain,
\nShall wish untouch’d the trophies of the slain;
\nShall wish the fatal belt were far away,
\nAnd curse the dire remembrance of the day.<\/p>\n
The sad Arcadians, from th’ unhappy field,
\nBear back the breathless body on a shield.
\nO grace and grief of war! at once restor’d,
\nWith praises, to thy sire, at once deplor’d!
\nOne day first sent thee to the fighting field,
\nBeheld whole heaps of foes in battle kill’d;
\nOne day beheld thee dead, and borne upon thy shield.
\nThis dismal news, not from uncertain fame,
\nBut sad spectators, to the hero came:
\nHis friends upon the brink of ruin stand,
\nUnless reliev’d by his victorious hand.
\nHe whirls his sword around, without delay,
\nAnd hews thro’ adverse foes an ample way,
\nTo find fierce Turnus, of his conquest proud:
\nEvander, Pallas, all that friendship ow’d
\nTo large deserts, are present to his eyes;
\nHis plighted hand, and hospitable ties.<\/p>\n
Four sons of Sulmo, four whom Ufens bred,
\nHe took in fight, and living victims led,
\nTo please the ghost of Pallas, and expire,
\nIn sacrifice, before his fun’ral fire.
\nAt Magus next he threw: he stoop’d below
\nThe flying spear, and shunn’d the promis’d blow;
\nThen, creeping, clasp’d the hero’s knees, and pray’d:
\n“By young Iulus, by thy father’s shade,
\nO spare my life, and send me back to see
\nMy longing sire, and tender progeny!
\nA lofty house I have, and wealth untold,
\nIn silver ingots, and in bars of gold:
\nAll these, and sums besides, which see no day,
\nThe ransom of this one poor life shall pay.
\nIf I survive, will Troy the less prevail?
\nA single soul’s too light to turn the scale.”
\nHe said. The hero sternly thus replied:
\n“Thy bars and ingots, and the sums beside,
\nLeave for thy children’s lot. Thy Turnus broke
\nAll rules of war by one relentless stroke,
\nWhen Pallas fell: so deems, nor deems alone
\nMy father’s shadow, but my living son.”
\nThus having said, of kind remorse bereft,
\nHe seiz’d his helm, and dragg’d him with his left;
\nThen with his right hand, while his neck he wreath’d,
\nUp to the hilts his shining fauchion sheath’d.<\/p>\n
Apollo’s priest, Emonides, was near;
\nHis holy fillets on his front appear;
\nGlitt’ring in arms, he shone amidst the crowd;
\nMuch of his god, more of his purple, proud.
\nHim the fierce Trojan follow’d thro’ the field:
\nThe holy coward fell; and, forc’d to yield,
\nThe prince stood o’er the priest, and, at one blow,
\nSent him an off’ring to the shades below.
\nHis arms Seresthus on his shoulders bears,
\nDesign’d a trophy to the God of Wars.<\/p>\n
Vulcanian Caeculus renews the fight,
\nAnd Umbro, born upon the mountains’ height.
\nThe champion cheers his troops t’ encounter those,
\nAnd seeks revenge himself on other foes.
\nAt Anxur’s shield he drove; and, at the blow,
\nBoth shield and arm to ground together go.
\nAnxur had boasted much of magic charms,
\nAnd thought he wore impenetrable arms,
\nSo made by mutter’d spells; and, from the spheres,
\nHad life secur’d, in vain, for length of years.
\nThen Tarquitus the field in triumph trod;
\nA nymph his mother, his sire a god.
\nExulting in bright arms, he braves the prince:
\nWith his protended lance he makes defense;
\nBears back his feeble foe; then, pressing on,
\nArrests his better hand, and drags him down;
\nStands o’er the prostrate wretch, and, as he lay,
\nVain tales inventing, and prepar’d to pray,
\nMows off his head: the trunk a moment stood,
\nThen sunk, and roll’d along the sand in blood.
\nThe vengeful victor thus upbraids the slain:
\n“Lie there, proud man, unpitied, on the plain;
\nLie there, inglorious, and without a tomb,
\nFar from thy mother and thy native home,
\nExposed to savage beasts, and birds of prey,
\nOr thrown for food to monsters of the sea.”<\/p>\n
On Lycas and Antaeus next he ran,
\nTwo chiefs of Turnus, and who led his van.
\nThey fled for fear; with these, he chas’d along
\nCamers the yellow-lock’d, and Numa strong;
\nBoth great in arms, and both were fair and young.
\nCamers was son to Volscens lately slain,
\nIn wealth surpassing all the Latian train,
\nAnd in Amycla fix’d his silent easy reign.
\nAnd, as Aegaeon, when with heav’n he strove,
\nStood opposite in arms to mighty Jove;
\nMov’d all his hundred hands, provok’d the war,
\nDefied the forky lightning from afar;
\nAt fifty mouths his flaming breath expires,
\nAnd flash for flash returns, and fires for fires;
\nIn his right hand as many swords he wields,
\nAnd takes the thunder on as many shields:
\nWith strength like his, the Trojan hero stood;
\nAnd soon the fields with falling corps were strow’d,
\nWhen once his fauchion found the taste of blood.
\nWith fury scarce to be conceiv’d, he flew
\nAgainst Niphaeus, whom four coursers drew.
\nThey, when they see the fiery chief advance,
\nAnd pushing at their chests his pointed lance,
\nWheel’d with so swift a motion, mad with fear,
\nThey threw their master headlong from the chair.
\nThey stare, they start, nor stop their course, before
\nThey bear the bounding chariot to the shore.<\/p>\n
Now Lucagus and Liger scour the plains,
\nWith two white steeds; but Liger holds the reins,
\nAnd Lucagus the lofty seat maintains:
\nBold brethren both. The former wav’d in air
\nHis flaming sword: Aeneas couch’d his spear,
\nUnus’d to threats, and more unus’d to fear.
\nThen Liger thus: “Thy confidence is vain
\nTo scape from hence, as from the Trojan plain:
\nNor these the steeds which Diomede bestrode,
\nNor this the chariot where Achilles rode;
\nNor Venus’ veil is here, near Neptune’s shield;
\nThy fatal hour is come, and this the field.”
\nThus Liger vainly vaunts: the Trojan peer
\nReturn’d his answer with his flying spear.
\nAs Lucagus, to lash his horses, bends,
\nProne to the wheels, and his left foot protends,
\nPrepar’d for fight; the fatal dart arrives,
\nAnd thro’ the borders of his buckler drives;
\nPass’d thro’ and pierc’d his groin: the deadly wound,
\nCast from his chariot, roll’d him on the ground.
\nWhom thus the chief upbraids with scornful spite:
\n“Blame not the slowness of your steeds in flight;
\nVain shadows did not force their swift retreat;
\nBut you yourself forsake your empty seat.”
\nHe said, and seiz’d at once the loosen’d rein;
\nFor Liger lay already on the plain,
\nBy the same shock: then, stretching out his hands,
\nThe recreant thus his wretched life demands:
\n“Now, by thyself, O more than mortal man!
\nBy her and him from whom thy breath began,
\nWho form’d thee thus divine, I beg thee, spare
\nThis forfeit life, and hear thy suppliant’s pray’r.”
\nThus much he spoke, and more he would have said;
\nBut the stern hero turn’d aside his head,
\nAnd cut him short: “I hear another man;
\nYou talk’d not thus before the fight began.
\nNow take your turn; and, as a brother should,
\nAttend your brother to the Stygian flood.”
\nThen thro’ his breast his fatal sword he sent,
\nAnd the soul issued at the gaping vent.<\/p>\n
As storms the skies, and torrents tear the ground,
\nThus rag’d the prince, and scatter’d deaths around.
\nAt length Ascanius and the Trojan train
\nBroke from the camp, so long besieg’d in vain.<\/p>\n
Meantime the King of Gods and Mortal Man
\nHeld conference with his queen, and thus began:
\n“My sister goddess, and well-pleasing wife,
\nStill think you Venus’ aid supports the strife-
\nSustains her Trojans- or themselves, alone,
\nWith inborn valor force their fortune on?
\nHow fierce in fight, with courage undecay’d!
\nJudge if such warriors want immortal aid.”
\nTo whom the goddess with the charming eyes,
\nSoft in her tone, submissively replies:
\n“Why, O my sov’reign lord, whose frown I fear,
\nAnd cannot, unconcern’d, your anger bear;
\nWhy urge you thus my grief? when, if I still
\n(As once I was) were mistress of your will,
\nFrom your almighty pow’r your pleasing wife
\nMight gain the grace of length’ning Turnus’ life,
\nSecurely snatch him from the fatal fight,
\nAnd give him to his aged father’s sight.
\nNow let him perish, since you hold it good,
\nAnd glut the Trojans with his pious blood.
\nYet from our lineage he derives his name,
\nAnd, in the fourth degree, from god Pilumnus came;
\nYet he devoutly pays you rites divine,
\nAnd offers daily incense at your shrine.”<\/p>\n
Then shortly thus the sov’reign god replied:
\n“Since in my pow’r and goodness you confide,
\nIf for a little space, a lengthen’d span,
\nYou beg reprieve for this expiring man,
\nI grant you leave to take your Turnus hence
\nFrom instant fate, and can so far dispense.
\nBut, if some secret meaning lies beneath,
\nTo save the short-liv’d youth from destin’d death,
\nOr if a farther thought you entertain,
\nTo change the fates; you feed your hopes in vain.”
\nTo whom the goddess thus, with weeping eyes:
\n“And what if that request, your tongue denies,
\nYour heart should grant; and not a short reprieve,
\nBut length of certain life, to Turnus give?
\nNow speedy death attends the guiltless youth,
\nIf my presaging soul divines with truth;
\nWhich, O! I wish, might err thro’ causeless fears,
\nAnd you (for you have pow’r) prolong his years!”<\/p>\n
Thus having said, involv’d in clouds, she flies,
\nAnd drives a storm before her thro’ the skies.
\nSwift she descends, alighting on the plain,
\nWhere the fierce foes a dubious fight maintain.
\nOf air condens’d a specter soon she made;
\nAnd, what Aeneas was, such seem’d the shade.
\nAdorn’d with Dardan arms, the phantom bore
\nHis head aloft; a plumy crest he wore;
\nThis hand appear’d a shining sword to wield,
\nAnd that sustain’d an imitated shield.
\nWith manly mien he stalk’d along the ground,
\nNor wanted voice belied, nor vaunting sound.
\n(Thus haunting ghosts appear to waking sight,
\nOr dreadful visions in our dreams by night.)
\nThe specter seems the Daunian chief to dare,
\nAnd flourishes his empty sword in air.
\nAt this, advancing, Turnus hurl’d his spear:
\nThe phantom wheel’d, and seem’d to fly for fear.
\nDeluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled,
\nAnd with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed.
\n“Whether, O coward?” (thus he calls aloud,
\nNor found he spoke to wind, and chas’d a cloud,)
\n“Why thus forsake your bride! Receive from me
\nThe fated land you sought so long by sea.”
\nHe said, and, brandishing at once his blade,
\nWith eager pace pursued the flying shade.
\nBy chance a ship was fasten’d to the shore,
\nWhich from old Clusium King Osinius bore:
\nThe plank was ready laid for safe ascent;
\nFor shelter there the trembling shadow bent,
\nAnd skipp’t and skulk’d, and under hatches went.
\nExulting Turnus, with regardless haste,
\nAscends the plank, and to the galley pass’d.
\nScarce had he reach’d the prow: Saturnia’s hand
\nThe haulsers cuts, and shoots the ship from land.
\nWith wind in poop, the vessel plows the sea,
\nAnd measures back with speed her former way.
\nMeantime Aeneas seeks his absent foe,
\nAnd sends his slaughter’d troops to shades below.<\/p>\n
The guileful phantom now forsook the shroud,
\nAnd flew sublime, and vanish’d in a cloud.
\nToo late young Turnus the delusion found,
\nFar on the sea, still making from the ground.
\nThen, thankless for a life redeem’d by shame,
\nWith sense of honor stung, and forfeit fame,
\nFearful besides of what in fight had pass’d,
\nHis hands and haggard eyes to heav’n he cast;
\n“O Jove!” he cried, “for what offense have
\nDeserv’d to bear this endless infamy?
\nWhence am I forc’d, and whether am I borne?
\nHow, and with what reproach, shall I return?
\nShall ever I behold the Latian plain,
\nOr see Laurentum’s lofty tow’rs again?
\nWhat will they say of their deserting chief
\nThe war was mine: I fly from their relief;
\nI led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave;
\nAnd ev’n from hence their dying groans receive.
\nHere, overmatch’d in fight, in heaps they lie;
\nThere, scatter’d o’er the fields, ignobly fly.
\nGape wide, O earth, and draw me down alive!
\nOr, O ye pitying winds, a wretch relieve!
\nOn sands or shelves the splitting vessel drive;
\nOr set me shipwrack’d on some desart shore,
\nWhere no Rutulian eyes may see me more,
\nUnknown to friends, or foes, or conscious Fame,
\nLest she should follow, and my flight proclaim.”<\/p>\n
Thus Turnus rav’d, and various fates revolv’d:
\nThe choice was doubtful, but the death resolv’d.
\nAnd now the sword, and now the sea took place,
\nThat to revenge, and this to purge disgrace.
\nSometimes he thought to swim the stormy main,
\nBy stretch of arms the distant shore to gain.
\nThrice he the sword assay’d, and thrice the flood;
\nBut Juno, mov’d with pity, both withstood.
\nAnd thrice repress’d his rage; strong gales supplied,
\nAnd push’d the vessel o’er the swelling tide.
\nAt length she lands him on his native shores,
\nAnd to his father’s longing arms restores.<\/p>\n
Meantime, by Jove’s impulse, Mezentius arm’d,
\nSucceeding Turnus, with his ardor warm’d
\nHis fainting friends, reproach’d their shameful flight,
\nRepell’d the victors, and renew’d the fight.
\nAgainst their king the Tuscan troops conspire;
\nSuch is their hate, and such their fierce desire
\nOf wish’d revenge: on him, and him alone,
\nAll hands employ’d, and all their darts are thrown.
\nHe, like a solid rock by seas inclos’d,
\nTo raging winds and roaring waves oppos’d,
\nFrom his proud summit looking down, disdains
\nTheir empty menace, and unmov’d remains.<\/p>\n
Beneath his feet fell haughty Hebrus dead,
\nThen Latagus, and Palmus as he fled.
\nAt Latagus a weighty stone he flung:
\nHis face was flatted, and his helmet rung.
\nBut Palmus from behind receives his wound;
\nHamstring’d he falls, and grovels on the ground:
\nHis crest and armor, from his body torn,
\nThy shoulders, Lausus, and thy head adorn.
\nEvas and Mimas, both of Troy, he slew.
\nMimas his birth from fair Theano drew,
\nBorn on that fatal night, when, big with fire,
\nThe queen produc’d young Paris to his sire:
\nBut Paris in the Phrygian fields was slain,
\nUnthinking Mimas on the Latian plain.<\/p>\n
And, as a savage boar, on mountains bred,
\nWith forest mast and fatt’ning marshes fed,
\nWhen once he sees himself in toils inclos’d,
\nBy huntsmen and their eager hounds oppos’d-
\nHe whets his tusks, and turns, and dares the war;
\nTh’ invaders dart their jav’lins from afar:
\nAll keep aloof, and safely shout around;
\nBut none presumes to give a nearer wound:
\nHe frets and froths, erects his bristled hide,
\nAnd shakes a grove of lances from his side:
\nNot otherwise the troops, with hate inspir’d,
\nAnd just revenge against the tyrant fir’d,
\nTheir darts with clamor at a distance drive,
\nAnd only keep the languish’d war alive.<\/p>\n
From Coritus came Acron to the fight,
\nWho left his spouse betroth’d, and unconsummate night.
\nMezentius sees him thro’ the squadrons ride,
\nProud of the purple favors of his bride.
\nThen, as a hungry lion, who beholds
\nA gamesome goat, who frisks about the folds,
\nOr beamy stag, that grazes on the plain-
\nHe runs, he roars, he shakes his rising mane,
\nHe grins, and opens wide his greedy jaws;
\nThe prey lies panting underneath his paws:
\nHe fills his famish’d maw; his mouth runs o’er
\nWith unchew’d morsels, while he churns the gore:
\nSo proud Mezentius rushes on his foes,
\nAnd first unhappy Acron overthrows:
\nStretch’d at his length, he spurns the swarthy ground;
\nThe lance, besmear’d with blood, lies broken in the wound.
\nThen with disdain the haughty victor view’d
\nOrodes flying, nor the wretch pursued,
\nNor thought the dastard’s back deserv’d a wound,
\nBut, running, gain’d th’ advantage of the ground:
\nThen turning short, he met him face to face,
\nTo give his victor the better grace.
\nOrodes falls, in equal fight oppress’d:
\nMezentius fix’d his foot upon his breast,
\nAnd rested lance; and thus aloud he cries:
\n“Lo! here the champion of my rebels lies!”
\nThe fields around with Io Paean! ring;
\nAnd peals of shouts applaud the conqu’ring king.
\nAt this the vanquish’d, with his dying breath,
\nThus faintly spoke, and prophesied in death:
\n“Nor thou, proud man, unpunish’d shalt remain:
\nLike death attends thee on this fatal plain.”
\nThen, sourly smiling, thus the king replied:
\n“For what belongs to me, let Jove provide;
\nBut die thou first, whatever chance ensue.”
\nHe said, and from the wound the weapon drew.
\nA hov’ring mist came swimming o’er his sight,
\nAnd seal’d his eyes in everlasting night.<\/p>\n
By Caedicus, Alcathous was slain;
\nSacrator laid Hydaspes on the plain;
\nOrses the strong to greater strength must yield;
\nHe, with Parthenius, were by Rapo kill’d.
\nThen brave Messapus Ericetes slew,
\nWho from Lycaon’s blood his lineage drew.
\nBut from his headstrong horse his fate he found,
\nWho threw his master, as he made a bound:
\nThe chief, alighting, stuck him to the ground;
\nThen Clonius, hand to hand, on foot assails:
\nThe Trojan sinks, and Neptune’s son prevails.
\nAgis the Lycian, stepping forth with pride,
\nTo single fight the boldest foe defied;
\nWhom Tuscan Valerus by force o’ercame,
\nAnd not belied his mighty father’s fame.
\nSalius to death the great Antronius sent:
\nBut the same fate the victor underwent,
\nSlain by Nealces’ hand, well-skill’d to throw
\nThe flying dart, and draw the far-deceiving bow.<\/p>\n
Thus equal deaths are dealt with equal chance;
\nBy turns they quit their ground, by turns advance:
\nVictors and vanquish’d, in the various field,
\nNor wholly overcome, nor wholly yield.
\nThe gods from heav’n survey the fatal strife,
\nAnd mourn the miseries of human life.
\nAbove the rest, two goddesses appear
\nConcern’d for each: here Venus, Juno there.
\nAmidst the crowd, infernal Ate shakes
\nHer scourge aloft, and crest of hissing snakes.<\/p>\n
Once more the proud Mezentius, with disdain,
\nBrandish’d his spear, and rush’d into the plain,
\nWhere tow’ring in the midmost rank she stood,
\nLike tall Orion stalking o’er the flood.
\n(When with his brawny breast he cuts the waves,
\nHis shoulders scarce the topmost billow laves),
\nOr like a mountain ash, whose roots are spread,
\nDeep fix’d in earth; in clouds he hides his head.<\/p>\n
The Trojan prince beheld him from afar,
\nAnd dauntless undertook the doubtful war.
\nCollected in his strength, and like a rock,
\nPois’d on his base, Mezentius stood the shock.
\nHe stood, and, measuring first with careful eyes
\nThe space his spear could reach, aloud he cries:
\n“My strong right hand, and sword, assist my stroke!
\n(Those only gods Mezentius will invoke.)
\nHis armor, from the Trojan pirate torn,
\nBy my triumphant Lausus shall be worn.”
\nHe said; and with his utmost force he threw
\nThe massy spear, which, hissing as it flew,
\nReach’d the celestial shield, that stopp’d the course;
\nBut, glancing thence, the yet unbroken force
\nTook a new bent obliquely, and betwixt
\nThe side and bowels fam’d Anthores fix’d.
\nAnthores had from Argos travel’d far,
\nAlcides’ friend, and brother of the war;
\nTill, tir’d with toils, fair Italy he chose,
\nAnd in Evander’s palace sought repose.
\nNow, falling by another’s wound, his eyes
\nHe cast to heav’n, on Argos thinks, and dies.<\/p>\n
The pious Trojan then his jav’lin sent;
\nThe shield gave way; thro’ treble plates it went
\nOf solid brass, of linen trebly roll’d,
\nAnd three bull hides which round the buckler fold.
\nAll these it pass’d, resistless in the course,
\nTranspierc’d his thigh, and spent its dying force.
\nThe gaping wound gush’d out a crimson flood.
\nThe Trojan, glad with sight of hostile blood,
\nHis faunchion drew, to closer fight address’d,
\nAnd with new force his fainting foe oppress’d.<\/p>\n
His father’s peril Lausus view’d with grief;
\nHe sigh’d, he wept, he ran to his relief.
\nAnd here, heroic youth, ‘t is here I must
\nTo thy immortal memory be just,
\nAnd sing an act so noble and so new,
\nPosterity will scarce believe ‘t is true.
\nPain’d with his wound, and useless for the fight,
\nThe father sought to save himself by flight:
\nIncumber’d, slow he dragg’d the spear along,
\nWhich pierc’d his thigh, and in his buckler hung.
\nThe pious youth, resolv’d on death, below
\nThe lifted sword springs forth to face the foe;
\nProtects his parent, and prevents the blow.
\nShouts of applause ran ringing thro’ the field,
\nTo see the son the vanquish’d father shield.
\nAll, fir’d with gen’rous indignation, strive,
\nAnd with a storm of darts to distance drive
\nThe Trojan chief, who, held at bay from far,
\nOn his Vulcanian orb sustain’d the war.<\/p>\n
As, when thick hail comes rattling in the wind,
\nThe plowman, passenger, and lab’ring hind
\nFor shelter to the neighb’ring covert fly,
\nOr hous’d, or safe in hollow caverns lie;
\nBut, that o’erblown, when heav’n above ’em smiles,
\nReturn to travel, and renew their toils:
\nAeneas thus, o’erwhelmed on ev’ry side,
\nThe storm of darts, undaunted, did abide;
\nAnd thus to Lausus loud with friendly threat’ning cried:
\n“Why wilt thou rush to certain death, and rage
\nIn rash attempts, beyond thy tender age,
\nBetray’d by pious love?” Nor, thus forborne,
\nThe youth desists, but with insulting scorn
\nProvokes the ling’ring prince, whose patience, tir’d,
\nGave place; and all his breast with fury fir’d.
\nFor now the Fates prepar’d their sharpen’d shears;
\nAnd lifted high the flaming sword appears,
\nWhich, full descending with a frightful sway,
\nThro’ shield and corslet forc’d th’ impetuous way,
\nAnd buried deep in his fair bosom lay.
\nThe purple streams thro’ the thin armor strove,
\nAnd drench’d th’ imbroider’d coat his mother wove;
\nAnd life at length forsook his heaving heart,
\nLoth from so sweet a mansion to depart.<\/p>\n
But when, with blood and paleness all o’erspread,
\nThe pious prince beheld young Lausus dead,
\nHe griev’d; he wept; the sight an image brought
\nOf his own filial love, a sadly pleasing thought:
\nThen stretch’d his hand to hold him up, and said:
\n“Poor hapless youth! what praises can be paid
\nTo love so great, to such transcendent store
\nOf early worth, and sure presage of more?
\nAccept whate’er Aeneas can afford;
\nUntouch’d thy arms, untaken be thy sword;
\nAnd all that pleas’d thee living, still remain
\nInviolate, and sacred to the slain.
\nThy body on thy parents I bestow,
\nTo rest thy soul, at least, if shadows know,
\nOr have a sense of human things below.
\nThere to thy fellow ghosts with glory tell:
\n”T was by the great Aeneas hand I fell.'”
\nWith this, his distant friends he beckons near,
\nProvokes their duty, and prevents their fear:
\nHimself assists to lift him from the ground,
\nWith clotted locks, and blood that well’d from out the wound.<\/p>\n
Meantime, his father, now no father, stood,
\nAnd wash’d his wounds by Tiber’s yellow flood:
\nOppress’d with anguish, panting, and o’erspent,
\nHis fainting limbs against an oak he leant.
\nA bough his brazen helmet did sustain;
\nHis heavier arms lay scatter’d on the plain:
\nA chosen train of youth around him stand;
\nHis drooping head was rested on his hand:
\nHis grisly beard his pensive bosom sought;
\nAnd all on Lausus ran his restless thought.
\nCareful, concern’d his danger to prevent,
\nHe much enquir’d, and many a message sent
\nTo warn him from the field- alas! in vain!
\nBehold, his mournful followers bear him slain!
\nO’er his broad shield still gush’d the yawning wound,
\nAnd drew a bloody trail along the ground.
\nFar off he heard their cries, far off divin’d
\nThe dire event, with a foreboding mind.
\nWith dust he sprinkled first his hoary head;
\nThen both his lifted hands to heav’n he spread;
\nLast, the dear corpse embracing, thus he said:
\n“What joys, alas! could this frail being give,
\nThat I have been so covetous to live?
\nTo see my son, and such a son, resign
\nHis life, a ransom for preserving mine!
\nAnd am I then preserv’d, and art thou lost?
\nHow much too dear has that redemption cost!
\n‘T is now my bitter banishment I feel:
\nThis is a wound too deep for time to heal.
\nMy guilt thy growing virtues did defame;
\nMy blackness blotted thy unblemish’d name.
\nChas’d from a throne, abandon’d, and exil’d
\nFor foul misdeeds, were punishments too mild:
\nI ow’d my people these, and, from their hate,
\nWith less resentment could have borne my fate.
\nAnd yet I live, and yet sustain the sight
\nOf hated men, and of more hated light:
\nBut will not long.” With that he rais’d from ground
\nHis fainting limbs, that stagger’d with his wound;
\nYet, with a mind resolv’d, and unappall’d
\nWith pains or perils, for his courser call’d
\nWell-mouth’d, well-manag’d, whom himself did dress
\nWith daily care, and mounted with success;
\nHis aid in arms, his ornament in peace.<\/p>\n
Soothing his courage with a gentle stroke,
\nThe steed seem’d sensible, while thus he spoke:
\n“O Rhoebus, we have liv’d too long for me-
\nIf life and long were terms that could agree!
\nThis day thou either shalt bring back the head
\nAnd bloody trophies of the Trojan dead;
\nThis day thou either shalt revenge my woe,
\nFor murther’d Lausus, on his cruel foe;
\nOr, if inexorable fate deny
\nOur conquest, with thy conquer’d master die:
\nFor, after such a lord, I rest secure,
\nThou wilt no foreign reins, or Trojan load endure.”
\nHe said; and straight th’ officious courser kneels,
\nTo take his wonted weight. His hands he fills
\nWith pointed jav’lins; on his head he lac’d
\nHis glitt’ring helm, which terribly was grac’d
\nWith waving horsehair, nodding from afar;
\nThen spurr’d his thund’ring steed amidst the war.
\nLove, anguish, wrath, and grief, to madness wrought,
\nDespair, and secret shame, and conscious thought
\nOf inborn worth, his lab’ring soul oppress’d,
\nRoll’d in his eyes, and rag’d within his breast.
\nThen loud he call’d Aeneas thrice by name:
\nThe loud repeated voice to glad Aeneas came.
\n“Great Jove,” he said, “and the far-shooting god,
\nInspire thy mind to make thy challenge good!”
\nHe spoke no more; but hasten’d, void of fear,
\nAnd threaten’d with his long protended spear.<\/p>\n
To whom Mezentius thus: “Thy vaunts are vain.
\nMy Lausus lies extended on the plain:
\nHe’s lost! thy conquest is already won;
\nThe wretched sire is murther’d in the son.
\nNor fate I fear, but all the gods defy.
\nForbear thy threats: my bus’ness is to die;
\nBut first receive this parting legacy.”
\nHe said; and straight a whirling dart he sent;
\nAnother after, and another went.
\nRound in a spacious ring he rides the field,
\nAnd vainly plies th’ impenetrable shield.
\nThrice rode he round; and thrice Aeneas wheel’d,
\nTurn’d as he turn’d: the golden orb withstood
\nThe strokes, and bore about an iron wood.
\nImpatient of delay, and weary grown,
\nStill to defend, and to defend alone,
\nTo wrench the darts which in his buckler light,
\nUrg’d and o’er-labor’d in unequal fight;
\nAt length resolv’d, he throws with all his force
\nFull at the temples of the warrior horse.
\nJust where the stroke was aim’d, th’ unerring spear
\nMade way, and stood transfix’d thro’ either ear.
\nSeiz’d with unwonted pain, surpris’d with fright,
\nThe wounded steed curvets, and, rais’d upright,
\nLights on his feet before; his hoofs behind
\nSpring up in air aloft, and lash the wind.
\nDown comes the rider headlong from his height:
\nHis horse came after with unwieldy weight,
\nAnd, flound’ring forward, pitching on his head,
\nHis lord’s incumber’d shoulder overlaid.<\/p>\n
From either host, the mingled shouts and cries
\nOf Trojans and Rutulians rend the skies.
\nAeneas, hast’ning, wav’d his fatal sword
\nHigh o’er his head, with this reproachful word:
\n“Now; where are now thy vaunts, the fierce disdain
\nOf proud Mezentius, and the lofty strain?”<\/p>\n
Struggling, and wildly staring on the skies,
\nWith scarce recover’d sight he thus replies:
\n“Why these insulting words, this waste of breath,
\nTo souls undaunted, and secure of death?
\n‘T is no dishonor for the brave to die,
\nNor came I here with hope victory;
\nNor ask I life, nor fought with that design:
\nAs I had us’d my fortune, use thou thine.
\nMy dying son contracted no such band;
\nThe gift is hateful from his murd’rer’s hand.
\nFor this, this only favor let me sue,
\nIf pity can to conquer’d foes be due:
\nRefuse it not; but let my body have
\nThe last retreat of humankind, a grave.
\nToo well I know th’ insulting people’s hate;
\nProtect me from their vengeance after fate:
\nThis refuge for my poor remains provide,
\nAnd lay my much-lov’d Lausus by my side.”
\nHe said, and to the sword his throat applied.
\nThe crimson stream distain’d his arms around,
\nAnd the disdainful soul came rushing thro’ the wound.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":19,"menu_order":10,"template":"","meta":{"_candela_citation":"[]","CANDELA_OUTCOMES_GUID":"","pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-120","chapter","type-chapter","status-web-only","hentry"],"part":110,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/120","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/19"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/120\/revisions"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/110"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/120\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=120"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=120"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=120"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/courses.lumenlearning.com\/suny-geneseo-humanities1-1\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=120"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}