The Aeneid of Virgil - Translated into English Verse by E. Fairfax Taylor
by Virgil
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LXVIII. "Advance, brave Chief of Italy and Troy! Advance; young Pallas at thy side shall fare, My hope, my solace, and my heart's best joy. With thee to teach him, he shall learn to share The war's grim work, the warrior's toil to bear; From earliest youth to marvel at thy deeds, And try to match them. Horsemen shall be there, Ten score, the choicest that Arcadia breeds; Two hundred more, his own, the gallant stripling leads."

LXIX. He spake: AEneas and Achates stood With down-fixt eyes, musing the strange event. Dark thoughts were theirs, and sorrowful their mood; When lo, to leftward Cytherea sent A sign amid the open firmament. A flash of lightning swift from ether sprang With thunder. Turmoil universal blent Earth, sea and sky; the empyrean rang With arms, and loudly pealed the Tuscan trumpet's clang.

LXX. Upward they look: again and yet again Comes the loud crash of thunder, and between A cloud that frets the firmamental plain, With bright, red flash amid the sky serene, The glitter of resounding arms is seen. All tremble; but AEneas hails the sign Long-promised. "Ask not," he exclaims, "what mean These prodigies and portents; they are mine. Me great Olympus calls; I hear the voice divine.

LXXI. "This sign my Goddess-mother vowed to send, If war should threaten; thus in armed array From heaven with aid she promised to descend. Ah, woe for thee, Laurentum, soon the prey Of foeman! What a reckoning shalt thou pay To me, ill-fated Turnus! How thy wave Shall redden, Tiber, as it rolls away Helmets, and shields and bodies of the brave! Ay, let them break the league, and bid the War-god rave."

LXXII. He spake, and, rising from his seat, renews The slumbering fires of Hercules, and tends The hearth-god's shrine of yesterday. Choice ewes They slay—Evander and his Trojan friends. Then to his comrades and the shore he wends, Arrays the crews, and takes the bravest there To follow him in fight. The rest he sends To young Ascanius down the stream, to bear News of his absent sire, and how the cause doth fare.

LXXIII. With steeds, to aid the Tuscans, they provide The Teucrians. For AEneas forth is led The choicest, with a tawny lion's hide, All glittering with gilded claws, bespread. Now rumour through the little town hath sped, Of horsemen for the Tuscan king, with spear And shield for battle. Mothers, pale with dread, Heap vows on vows. The War-god, drawing near, Looms larger, and more close to danger draws the fear.

LXXIV. Then cries Evander, clinging, and with tears Insatiate, loth to see his Pallas go, "Ah! would but Jove bring back the bygone years, As when beneath Praeneste long ago I strowed the van, and laid their mightiest low, And burned their shields, and with this hand to Hell Hurled down King Erulus, the monstrous foe, To whom Feronia, terrible to tell, Three lives had given, and thrice to battle ere he fell.

LXXV. "Twice up he rose, but thrice I slew the slain, Thrice of his life I robbed him, till he died, Thrice stripped his arms. O, were I such again, Danger, nor death, nor aught of ill beside, Sweet son, should ever tear me from thy side. Ne'er had Mezentius then, the neighbouring lord, Dared thus to flout me, nor this arm defied. Nor wrought such havoc and such crimes abhorred, Nor made a weeping town thus widowed by the sword.

LXXVI. "O Gods, and thou, who rulest earth and air, Great Jove, their mightiest, pity, I implore, Arcadia's King, and hear a father's prayer. If Fate this happiness reserve in store, To gaze upon my Pallas' face once more, If living means to meet my son again, Then let me live; how hard soe'er and sore My trials, gladly will I count them gain. Sweet will the suffering seem, and light the load of pain.

LXXVII. "But O, if Fortune, with malignant spite, Some blow past utterance for my life prepare, Now, now this moment rid me of the light, While fears are vague, nor hoping breeds despair, While, dearest boy, my late and only care, Thus—thus I fold thee in my arms to-day. Nor wound with news too sorrowful to bear A father's ears!" He spake, and swooned away; Back to his home the slaves their fainting lord convey.

LXXVIII. Forth troop the horsemen from the gates. First ride AEneas and Achates; in the rear Troy's nobles, led by Pallas, in the pride Of broidered scarf and figured arms, appear. As when bright Lucifer, to Venus dear Beyond all planets and each starry beam, High up in heaven his sacred head doth rear, Bathed in the freshness of the Ocean stream, And melts the dark, so fair the gallant youth doth seem.

LXXIX. The matrons stand upon the walls, distraught, And mark the dust-cloud and the mail-clad train. These through the brushwood, where the road lies short, Move on in arms. The war-shout peals again, The hard hoofs clattering shake the crumbling plain. And now, where, cold with crystal waves, is found Fair Caere's stream, a spreading grove they gain. Ages have spread its sanctity, and, crowned With pine-woods dark as night, the hollow hills stand round.

LXXX. This grove, 'tis said, the tribes Pelasgian—they, Who first in Latin marches dwelt of old— Kept sacred to Silvanus, and the day Vowed to the guardian of the field and fold. Hard by, brave Tarchon and his Tuscans bold Lay camped. His legions, stretching o'er the meads, The Trojans from a rising ground behold. AEneas here his toil-worn warriors leads; Food for themselves they bring, and forage for their steeds.

LXXXI. Meanwhile fair Venus through the clouds came down, Bearing her gifts. Couched in a secret glade, By a cool river, she espies her son, And hails him: "See the promised gifts displayed, Wrought by my husband's cunning for thine aid. Thy prowess now let proud Laurentum taste, Nor fear with Turnus to contend." So said Cythera's goddess, and her child embraced, And on an oak in front the radiant arms she placed.

LXXXII. Joy fills AEneas; with insatiate gaze He views the gifts, and marvels at the sight. In turn he handles, and in turn surveys The helmet tall with fiery crest bedight, The fateful sword, the breastplate's brazen might, Blood-red, and huge, and glorious to behold As some dark cloud, far-blazing with the light Of sunset; then the polished greaves of gold, The spear, the mystic shield, too wondrous to be told.

LXXXIII. There did the Fire-king, who the future cons, The tale of ancient Italy portray, Rome's triumphs, and Ascanius' distant sons, Their wars in order, and each hard-fought fray. There, in the cave of Mars all verdurous, lay The fostering she-wolf with the twins; they hung About her teats, and licked in careless play Their mother. She, with slim neck backward flung, In turn caressed them both, and shaped them with her tongue.

LXXXIV. There, later Rome, and there, the Sabine dames Amid the crowded theatre he viewed, Raped by the Romans at the Circus games; The sudden war, that from the deed ensued, With aged Tatius and his Cures rude. There stand the kings, still armed, but foes no more, Beside Jove's altar, and abjure the feud. Goblet in hand, the sacred wine they pour, And o'er the slaughtered swine the plighted peace restore.

LXXXV. Next, Mettus, by the four-horsed chariot torn. ('Twere better, perjured Alban, to be true!) Fierce Tullus dragged the traitor's limbs in scorn Through brambles, dripping with the crimson dew. Porsenna there around the city drew His 'leaguering host. But freedom fired the blood Of Romans. Idle was his rage, to view How Cocles on the battered bridge withstood, And Cloelia burst her bonds, and singly stemmed the flood.

LXXXVI. Next, Manlius guards the Capitol; see here The straw-thatched palace. Silvered in the gold, The fluttering goose proclaims the Gauls are near. They, screened by darkness, thread the woods, and hold With arms the slumbering citadel. Behold Their beards all golden, and their golden hair, Their white necks gleaming with the twisted gold, Their chequered plaids. Each hand an Alpine spear Waves, and an oblong shield their stalwart arms upbear.

LXXXVII. There danced the Salians, the Luperci reeled Half-naked. See them sculptured in array, With caps wool-tufted, and the sky-dropt shield. Chaste dames, in cushioned chariots, lead the way Through the glad city. Elsewhere, far away, Loom Dis and Tartarus, where the guilty pine, And Catiline, upon a rock for aye Hangs, shuddering at the Furies. Distant shine The just, where Cato stands, dealing the law divine.

LXXXVIII. The swelling ocean in the midst is seen, All golden, but the billow's hoary spray Foams o'er the blue. Dolphins of silvery sheen Lash the white eddies with their tails in play, Cleaving the surges. In the centre lay The brazen fleets, all panoplied for war, 'Tis Actium's fight; Leucate's headland grey Boils with the tumult of the distant jar, And golden glow the waves, effulgent from afar.

LXXXIX. Augustus his Italians leads from home, High on the stern. The Senators stand round, The people, and the guardian gods of Rome. With double flame his joyous brows are crowned; The constellation of his sire renowned Beams o'er his head. There too, his ships in line, With winds and gods to prosper him, is found Agrippa. Radiant on his head doth shine The crown of golden beaks, the battle's glorious sign.

XC. Here, late from Parthia and the Red-sea coast, With motley legions and barbaric pride, Comes Anthony. From Egypt swarms his host, From India and far Bactra. At his side Stands—shame to tell it—an Egyptian bride. See now the fight; prows churn and oar-blades lash The foam. 'Twould seem the Cyclads swim the tide, Torn from his moorings, or the mountains clash, So huge the tower-crowned ships, so terrible the crash.

XCI. Winged darts are hurled, and flaming tow; the leas Of Neptune redden. There the queen stands by, And sounds the timbrel for the fray, nor sees The asps behind. All monsters of the sky With Neptune, Venus, and Minerva vie. In vain Anubis barks; Mars raves among The combatants; the Furies frown on high. With mantle rent, glad Discord joins the throng; Behind, with bloody scourge, Bellona stalks along.

XCII. There Actian Phoebus, gazing on the scene, Bent his dread bow. Egypt, Arabia fled, And India turned in terror. There, the queen Calls to the winds; behold, the sails are spread. Her, pale with thoughts of dying, through the dead The waves and zephyrs—so the gold expressed— Bear onward. Yonder, to his sheltering bed Nile, sorrowing, calls the fugitives to rest, Unfolds his winding robes, and bares his azure breast.

XCIII. There, Caesar sacred to his gods proclaims Three hundred temples, each a stately fane. Behold his triple triumph. Shouts and games Gladden the streets; glad matrons chant the strain At every altar, and the steers are slain. He takes the offerings, and reviews the throng, Throned in the portal of Apollo's fane. Below, the captive nations march along, Diverse in arms and garb, and each of different tongue.

XCIV. Wild Nomads, Africans uncinctured came, Carians, Gelonian bowmen, and behind The Leleges, the Dahae, hard to tame, The Morini, extreme of human-kind. Last, proud Araxes, whom no bridge could bind, Euphrates humbled, and the horned Rhine. All this, by Vulcan on the shield designed, He sees, and, gladdening at the gift divine, Upbears aloft the fame and fortunes of his line.



Certified by Juno of the absence of AEneas, Turnus leads his forces against the Trojans. When they entrench themselves within their lines, he attempts to burn their ships, which are thereupon changed by Cybele into nymphs, and float away (1-144). Turnus undaunted harangues his men and beleaguers the camp (145-198). Nisus and Euryalus scheme, and petition, to sally forth to find AEneas and a rescue. Setting out with promise of rich rewards if successful, they surprise the Latin Camp but are themselves in turn surprised and slain (199-513). Their victims are buried; their heads are paraded on pikes before the Trojan Camp, to the agony of the mother of Euryalus (514-576). The allies assault the camp. Virgil invokes Calliope to describe the fray (577-603). The collapse of a tower and losses on both sides prelude Ascanius' baptism of fire. He kills his man (604-765). The brothers Pandarus and Bitias open the camp-gates in defiance. Bitias falls, and Pandarus, retreating, shuts Turnus within the camp, who kills him, but failing to let in his friends is eventually hard pressed (766-882). The Trojans rally round Mnestheus and Serestus. Turnus plunges into the river and with difficulty escapes by swimming (883-927).

I. While thus in distant quarter moves the scene, Down to the daring Turnus from the skies Comes Iris, sent by the Saturnian queen. Him seated in a hallowed vale, where lies His father's grove, Pilumnus', she espies. There straight with rosy lips the daughter fair Of Thaumas hails the hero: "Turnus, rise. Behold what none of all the Gods would dare To promise, rolling Time hath proffered without prayer.

II. "Fleet left and friends, AEneas to the court Of Palatine Evander speeds his way, Nay, the far towns of Corythus hath sought, And arms the Lydian swains to meet the fray! Now call for steel and chariot. Why delay? Surprise the camp and capture it."—She said, And straight on balanced pinions soared away, Cleaving the bow. The warrior marked, and spread His hands, and thus with prayer pursued her as she fled:

III. "O Iris, Heaven's fair glory, who hath sent Thee hither? whence this sudden light so clear? I see the firmament asunder rent, And planets wandering in the polar sphere. Blest omens, hail! I follow thee, whoe'er Thou art, that call'st to battle." He arose With joy, and stepping to the streamlet near, Scoops up the water in his palms, and bows In suppliance to the Gods, and burdens Heaven with vows.

IV. Now all the host were marching on the meads, Well-horsed, and panoplied in golden gear, With broidered raiment. Brave Messapus leads The van, the sons of Tyrrheus close the rear, And Turnus in mid column shakes his spear. Slow moves the host, as when his seven-fold head Great Ganges lifts in silence, calm and clear, Or Nile, whose flood the fruitful soil hath fed, Ebbs from the fattened fields, and hides him in his bed.

V. Far off, the Teucrians from their camp descried The gathering dust-cloud on the plains appear. Then brave Caicus from a bastion cried, "What dark mass, rolling towards us, have we here? Arm, townsmen, arm! Bring quick the sword and spear, And mount the battlements, and man the wall. The foemen, ho!" And with a mighty cheer The Teucrians, hurrying at the warning call, Pour in through all the gates, and muster on the wall.

VI. So, parting, wise AEneas gave command, Should chance surprise them, with their chief away, To shun the field, nor battle hand to hand, But safe behind their sheltering earthworks stay, And, guarding wall and rampart, stand at bay. So now, though passion and indignant hate Prompt to engage, his mandate they obey, And bar each inlet, and secure each gate, And, armed, in sheltering towers their enemies await.

VII. Turnus, with twenty horsemen, left the rest To lag behind, and near the town-gate drew All unforeseen. A Thracian steed he pressed, Dappled with white; a crest of scarlet hue High o'er his golden helmet flamed in view. Loudly he shrills in anger to his train, "Who first with me will at the foemen—who? See there!" and, rising hurls his spear amain, Sign of the fight begun, and pricks along the plain.

VIII. With shouts his comrades welcome the attack, And clamouring fiercely follow in his train. They marvel at the Teucrian hearts so slack, That none will dare to trust the open plain, And fight like men, but in the camp remain, And safe behind their sheltering rampart stay. Now here, now there, fierce Turnus in disdain Rides round the walls, and, searching for a way, Where way is none, still strives an entrance to essay.

IX. As wolf, in ambush by the fold, sore beat With winds, at midnight howls amid the rain. The lambs beneath their mothers safely bleat. He, mad with rage, and faint with famine's pain, Thirsts for their blood, and ramps at them in vain; So raves fierce Turnus, as his eyes survey The walls and camp. Grief burns in every vein, As round he looks for access and a way To shake the Teucrians out, and strew them forth to slay.

X. The fleet, as by the flanking camp it lies, Fenced by the river and the mounded sand, He marks, then loudly to the burning cries, And with a flaming pinestock fills his hand, Himself aflame. His presence cheers the band. All set to work, and strip the watchfires bare: Each warrior arms him with a murky brand: The smoking torch shoots up a pitchy glare, And clouds of mingled soot the Fire-god flings in air.

XI. Say, Muse, what god from Teucrians turned the flame, Such fiery havoc. O, the tale declare; Old is its faith, but deathless is its fame. When first AEneas did his fleet prepare 'Neath Phrygian Ida, through the seas to fare, To Jove the Berecynthian queen divine Spake thus, 'tis said, urging a suppliant's prayer: "O Lord Olympian, hearken and incline. Grant what thy mother asks, who made Olympus thine.

XII. "A wood, beloved for many a year, was mine, A grove of sacrifice, on Ida's height, Darksome with maple and the swart pitch-pine. This wood, these trees, my ever-dear delight, Gladly I gave to speed the Dardan's flight. But doubts and fears my troubled mind assail. O calm them; may a parent's prayer have might, And this their birth upon our hills avail To guide their voyage safe, and shield them from the gale."

XIII. Then spake her son, who wields the starry sphere, "Mother, what would'st thou of the Fates demand? What art thou seeking for these Teucrians here? Shall vessels, fashioned by a mortal hand, The gift of immortality command? And shall AEneas sail the uncertain main, Himself of safety certain, and his band? Did ever God such privilege attain? Nay, rather, when at length, Ausonian ports they gain,

XIV. "Their duty done, and Ocean's dangers o'er, What ships soe'er shall have escaped, to bear The Dardan chief to the Laurentian shore, Shall lose their perishable form, and wear The sea-nymphs' shape, like Galatea fair And Doto, when they breast the deep." He spake, And by his brother's Stygian river sware, Whose pitchy torrent swells the infernal lake, And with his awful nod made all Olympus shake.

XV. The day was come, the fated time complete, When Turnus' insults bade the Mother rise And ward the firebrands from her sacred fleet. A sudden light now flashed upon their eyes, A cloud from eastward ran athwart the skies, With choirs of Ida, and a voice through air Pealed forth, and filled both armies with surprise, "Trojans, be calm; your needless pains forbear, Nor arm to save these ships; their safety is my care.

XVI. "Sooner shall Turnus make the ocean blaze, Than these my pines. Go, sea-nymphs, and be free, Your mother bids you." Each at once obeys, Their cables snapt, like dolphins in their glee, They dip their beaks, and dive beneath the sea. Hence, where before along the shore had stood The brazen poops—O marvellous to see!— So many now, with maiden forms endued, Rise up, and reappear, and float upon the flood.

XVII. All stand aghast; amid the startled steeds Messapus quails, and Tiber checks his tide, And, hoarsely murmuring, from the deep recedes. Yet fails not Turnus, prompt to cheer or chide. "To Teucrians point these prodigies," he cried, "They bide not, they, Rutulian sword and brand. E'en Jove their wonted succour hath denied. Barred is the sea, and half the world is banned; Earth, too, is ours, such hosts Italia's chiefs command.

XVIII. "I fear not Fate, nor what the Gods can do. Suffice for Venus and the Fates the day When Trojans touched Ausonia. I have, too, My Fates, these robbers of my bride to slay. Not Atreus' sons alone, and only they, Have known a sorrow and a smart so keen, And armed for vengeance. But enough, ye say, Once to have fallen? One trespass then had been Enough, and made them loathe all womankind, I ween.

XIX. "Lo, these who think a paltry wall can save, A narrow ditch can thwart us,—these, so bold, With but a span betwixt them and the grave! Saw they not Troy, which Neptune reared of old, Sink down in ruin, as the flames uprolled? But ye, my chosen, who with me will scale Yon wall, and storm their trembling camp? Behold, No aid divine nor ships of thousand sail, Nor Vulcan's arms I need, o'er Trojans to prevail.

XX. "Nay; let Etrurians join them, one and all, No raid, nor robbed Palladium they shall fear, Nor sentries stabbed beneath the night's dark pall. No horse shall hide us; by the daylight clear Our flames shall ring their ramparts. Dream they here To find such Danaan striplings, weak as they Whom Hector baffled till the tenth long year? But now, since near its ending draws the day, Take rest, and bide prepared the dawning of the fray."

XXI. His outposts plants Messapus, set to guard The gates with watchfires, and the walls invest. Twice seven captains round the camp keep ward, Each with a hundred warriors of the best, With golden armour and a blood-red crest. These to and fro pace sentinels, and share The watch in turn; those, on the sward at rest, Tilt the brass wine-bowl. Bright the watch-fires flare, And games and festive mirth the wakeful night outwear.

XXII. Forth look the Trojans from their walls, and line The heights in arms, and test with hurrying fear The gates, and bridges to the bulwarks join, And bring up darts and javelins. Mnestheus here, There bold Serestus is at hand to cheer, They, whom AEneas left to rule the host, Should ill betide them, or the foe draw near. Thus all in turn, where peril pressed the most, Keep watch along the wall, dividing danger's post.

XXIII. Nisus, the bold, stood warder of the gate, The son of Hyrtacus, whom Ida fair, The huntress, on AEneas sent to wait, Quick with light arrows and the flying spear. Beside him stood Euryalus, his fere; Scarce on his cheeks the down of manhood grew, The comeliest youth that donned the Trojan gear. Love made them one; as one, to fight they flew, As one they guard the gates, companions tried and true.

XXIV. Then Nisus: "Is it that the Gods inspire, Euryalus, this fever of the breast? Or make we gods of but a wild desire? Battle I seek, or some adventurous quest, And scorn to dally with inglorious rest, See yonder the Rutulians, stretched supine, What careless confidence is theirs, oppressed With wine and slumber; how the watch-fires shine, Faint, few, and far between; what silence holds the line.

XXV. "Learn now the plan and purpose of my mind, 'AEneas should be summoned,' one and all,— Camp, council,—cry, and messengers would find To take sure tidings and our chief recall. If thee the meed I ask for shall befall,— Bare fame be mine—methink the pathway lies By yonder mound to Pallanteum's wall." Then, fired with zeal and smitten with surprise, Thus to his ardent friend Euryalus replies:

XXVI. "Me, me would Nisus from such deeds debar? Am I to send thee singly to thy fate? Not thus my sire Opheltes, bred to war, Brought up and taught me, when in evil strait Was Troy, and Argives battered at her gate. Not thus to great AEneas was I known, His trusty follower through the paths of Fate. Here dwells a soul that dares the light disown, And counteth life well sold, to purchase such renown."

XXVII. "For thee I feared not," Nisus made reply, "'Twere shame, indeed, to doubt a friend so tried. So may great Jove, or whosoe'er on high With equal eyes this exploit shall decide, Restore me soon in triumph to thy side. But if—for divers hazards underlie So bold a venture—evil chance betide, Or angry deity my hopes bely, Thee Heaven preserve, whose youth far less deserves to die.

XXVIII. "Mine be a friend to lay me, if I fall, Rescued or ransomed, in my native ground; Or, if hard fortune grudge a boon so small, To make fit honour to my shade redound, And o'er the lost one rear an empty mound. Ne'er let a childless mother owe to me A pang so keen, and such a cureless wound. She, who, alone of mothers, dared for thee Acestes' walls to leave, and braved the stormy sea."

XXIX. "My purpose holds and shifts not," he replies, "These empty pretexts cannot shake me—no. Hence, let us haste." And to the guard he cries, Who straight march up, and forth the two friends go To find the chief. All creatures else below Lay wrapt in sleep, forgetting toil and care; But sleepless still, in presence of the foe, Troy's chosen chiefs urge council, what to dare, Whom to AEneas send, the desperate news to bear.

XXX. There, in the middle of the camp and plain, Each shield in hand, and leaning on his spear, They stand; when lo! in eager haste the twain, Craving an audience instantly, appear. High matter theirs, and worth a pause to hear. Then first Iulus greets the breathless pair, And calls to Nisus. "Dardans, lend an ear," Outspake the son of Hyrtacus, "Be fair, Nor rate by youthful years the proffered aid we bear.

XXXI. "See, hushed with wine and slumber, lies the foe. Where by the sea-gate, parts the road in twain, A stealthy passage from the camp we know. Black roll the smoke-clouds, and the watch-fires wane. Leave us to try our fortune, soon again Yourselves shall see, from Pallanteum's town, AEneas, rich with trophies of the slain. Plain lies the path, for oft the chase hath shown From darksome vales the town, and all the stream is known."

XXXII. "O Gods!" exclaimed Aletes, wise and old, "Not yet ye mean to raze the Trojan race, Who give to Troy such gallant hearts and bold." So saying, he clasped them in a fond embrace, And bathed in tears his features and his face. "What gifts can match such valour? Deeds so bright Heaven and your hearts with fairest meed shall grace. The rest our good AEneas shall requite, Nor young Ascanius e'er such services shall slight."

XXXIII. "Yea, gallant Nisus," adds Ascanius there, "I, too, who count my father's safety mine, Adjure thee, by the household gods I swear Of old Assaracus and Teucer's line, And hoary Vesta's venerable shrine, Whate'er of fortune or of hopes remain, To thee and thy safe-keeping I resign. Bring back my sire in safety; care nor pain Shall ever vex me more, if he return again.

XXXIV. "Two goblets will I give thee, richly wrought Of sculptured silver, beauteous to behold, The spoils my sire from sacked Arisbe brought, With two great talents of the purest gold, Two tripods, and a bowl of antique mould, The gift at Carthage of the Tyrian queen. Nay, more, if e'er Italia's realm I hold, And share the spoils of conquest,—thou hast seen The steed that Turnus rode, his arms of golden sheen,—

XXXV. "That steed, that shield, that crest of crimson hue, I keep for thee,—thine, Nisus, from to-day. Twelve lovely matrons and male captives too, Each with his armour, shall my sire convey, With all the lands that own Latinus' sway. But thee, whose years the most with mine agree, Brave youth! my heart doth welcome. Come what may, In peace or war my comrade shalt thou be. Thine are my thoughts, my deeds; fame tempts me but for thee."

XXXVI. "No time, I ween," Euryalus replies, "Shall shame the promise of this bold design, Come weal, come woe. One boon alone I prize Beyond all gifts. A mother dear is mine, A mother, sprung from Priam's ancient line. Troy nor the walls of King Acestes e'er Stayed her from following, when I crossed the brine. Her of this risk—whate'er the risk I dare— Weetless, I left behind, nor breathed a parting prayer.

XXXVII. "Night bear me witness; by thy hand I swear, I cannot bear a parent's tears. But O! Be thou her solace, comfort her despair; This hope permit, and bolder will I go, To face all hazards and confront the foe." Grief smote the Dardans, and the tears ran down, And young Iulus, pierced with kindred woe, Outweeps them all; in filial love thus shown, Touched to the heart, he traced the likeness of his own.

XXXVIII. "All, all," he cries, "that such a deed can claim, I promise for thy guerdon. Mine shall be Thy mother,—mine, Creusa save in name; Nor small her praise to bear a son like thee. Howe'er shall Fortune the event decree, I swear—so swore my father—by my head, What gifts I pledge, if thou return, to thee, These, if thou fall, thy mother in thy stead, These shall thy kinsmen keep, the heirlooms of the dead."

XXXIX. Weeping, the gilded falchion he untied, Lycaon's work, with sheath of ivory fair. To Nisus Mnestheus gave a lion's hide, His helmet changed Aletes. Forth they fare, And round them to the gates, with vows and prayer, The band of chiefs their parting steps attend; And, manlier than his years, Iulus fair Full many a message to his sire would send. Vain wish! his fruitless words the scattering breezes rend.

XL. So past the trench, upon the shadowy plain Forth issuing, to the foemen's tents they creep, Fatal to many, ere the camp they gain. Warriors they see, who drank the wine-bowl deep, Beside their tilted chariots stretched in sleep, And reins, and wheels and wine-jars tost away, And arms and men in many a mingled heap. Then Nisus: "Up, Euryalus, and slay! Haste, for the hour is ripe, and yonder lies the way.

XLI. "Watch thou, lest hand be lifted in the rear. There, flanked with swaths of corpses, will I reap Thy pathway; broad shall be the lane and clear." So saying, he checks his voice, and, aiming steep, Drives at proud Rhamnes. On a piled-up heap Of carpets lay the warrior, and his breast Heaved with hard breathing and the sounds of sleep: Augur and king, whom Turnus loved the best. Not all his augur's craft could now his doom arrest.

XLII. Three slaves beside him, lying heedless here Amidst their arms, he numbers with the slain, Then Remus' page, and Remus' charioteer, Caught by their steeds. The weapon, urged amain, Swoops down, and cleaves their drooping necks in twain. Their master's head he severs with a blow, And leaves the trunk, still heaving, on the plain, And o'er the cushions and the ground below, Wet with the warm, black gore, the spouting streams outflow.

XLIII. Lamus and Lamyras he slew outright, And fair Serranus, as asleep he lay, Tamed by the God; for long and late that night The youth had gamed. Ah! happier, had his play Outlived the night, and lasted till the day. Like some starved lion, that on the teeming fold Springs, mad with hunger, and the feeble prey, All mute with terror, in his clutch doth hold, And rends with bloody mouth, and riots uncontrolled,

XLIV. Such havoc wrought Euryalus, so flamed His fury. Fadus and Herbesus died, And Abaris, and many a wight unnamed, Caught unaware. But Rhoetus woke, and tried In fear behind a massive bowl to hide. Full in the breast, or e'er the wretch upstood, The shining sword-blade to the hilt he plied, Then drew it back death-laden. Wine and blood Gush out, the dying lips disgorge the crimson flood.

XLV. Thence, burning, to Messapus' camp he speeds, Where faint the watch-fires flicker far away, And tethered on the herbage graze the steeds, When briefly thus speaks Nisus, fain to stay The lust of battle and mad thirst to slay: "Cease we; the light, our enemy, is near. Vengeance is glutted; we have hewn our way." Bowls, solid silver armour here and there They leave behind untouched, and arras rich and rare.

XLVI. The arms and belt of Rhamnes, bossed with gold, Which Caedicus, his friendship to attest, Sent to Tiburtine Remulus of old, Whose grandson took it, as a last bequest (Rutulians thence these spoils of war possessed)— These trophies seized Euryalus, and braced The useless trappings on his valorous breast, And on his head Messapus' helm he placed, Light and with graceful plumes; and from the camp they haste.

XLVII. Meanwhile from out Laurentum rides a train With news of Turnus, while the main array With marshalled ranks is lingering on the plain, Three hundred shieldsmen Volscens' lead obey. Now to the ramparts they have found their way, When lo, to leftward, hurrying from their raid, They mark the youths amid the twilight grey. His glittering helm Euryalus betrayed, That flashed the moonbeams back, and pierced the glimmering shade.

XLVIII. Nor passed the sight unheeded. Shrill and loud "Stand, who are ye in armour dight, and why? What make ye there?" cries Volscens from the crowd, "And whither wend ye?" Naught the youths reply, But swiftly to the bordering forest fly, And trust to darkness. Then around each way The horsemen ride, all outlet to deny; Circling, like huntsmen, closely as they may, They watch the well-known turns, and wait the expected prey.

XLIX. Shagg'd with rough brakes and sable ilex, spread The wood, and, glimmering in the twilight grey, Through broken tracks a narrow pathway led. The shadowy boughs, the cumbrous spoils delay Euryalus, and fear mistakes the way. Nisus, unheeding, through the foemen flies, And gains the place,—called Alba now—where lay Latinus' pastures; then with back-turned eyes Stands still, and seeks in vain his absent friend, and cries:

L. "Where, in what quarter, have I left thee? Where, Euryalus, shall I follow thee? What clue Shall trace the mazes of this silvan snare, The tangled path unravelling?" Back he flew, Picking his footsteps with observant view, And roamed the silent brushwood. Steeds he hears, The noise, the signs of foemen who pursue. A moment more, and, bursting on his ears, There came a shout, and lo, Euryalus appears.

LI. Him, in false ways, amid the darkness, ta'en, The gathering band with sudden rush o'erbear. Poor Nisus sees him struggling, but in vain. What should he do? By force of arms how dare His friend to rescue? Shall he face them there, And rush upon the foemen's swords, to die, And welcome wounds that win a death so fair? His spear he poises, and with upturned eye And stalwart arm drawn back, invokes the Moon on high:

LII. "Come thou, Latonia, succour my distress! Guardian of groves, bright glory of the sky, If e'er with offerings for his son's success My sire thine altars hath adorned, or I Enriched them from the chase, and hung on high Spoils in thy deep-domed temple, or arrayed Thy roof with plunder; make this troop to fly, And guide my weapons through the air." He prayed, And, winged with strength, the steel went whistling through the shade.

LIII. It struck the shield of Sulmo at his side; There broke the shaft and splintered. Down he rolled Pierced through the midriff, and his life's warm tide Poured from his bosom, and the long sobs told Its heavings, ere the stiffening limbs grew cold. All look around and tremble, when again The youth another javelin, waxing bold, Aimed from his ear-tip. Through the temples twain Of Tagus whizzed the steel, and warmed within the brain.

LIV. Fierce Volscens raves with anger, nor espies The wielder of the weapon, nor which way To rush, aflame with fury. "Thou," he cries, "Thy blood meanwhile the penalty shall pay For both," and with his falchion bared to slay Springs at Euryalus. Then, wild with fear, Poor Nisus shouts, in frenzy of dismay, Nor longer in the dark can hide, nor bear A pang of grief so keen—to lose a friend so dear,

LV. "Me—me, behold the doer! mine the deed! Kill me, Rutulians. By this hand they fell. He could not—durst not. By the skies I plead, By yon bright stars, that witnessed what befell, He only loved his hapless friend too well." Vain was his prayer; the weapon, urged amain, Pierced through his ribs and snowy breast. Out swell Dark streams of gore his lovely limbs to stain; The sinking neck weighs o'er the shoulders of the slain.

LVI. So doth the purple floweret, dying, droop, Smit by the ploughshare. So the poppy frail On stricken stalk its languid head doth stoop, And bows o'erladen with the drenching hail. But onward now, through thickest ranks of mail, Rushed Nisus. Volscens only will he slay; He waits for none but Volscens. They assail From right and left, and crowd his steps to stay. He whirls his lightning brand, and presses to his prey.

LVII. Ere long he meets him clamouring, and down His throat he drives the griding sword amain, And takes his life, ere laying down his own. Then, pierced he sinks upon his comrade slain, And death's long slumber puts an end to pain. O happy pair! if aught my verse ensure, No length of time shall make your memory wane, While, throned upon the Capitol secure, The AEneian house shall reign, and Roman rule endure.

LVIII. Weeping, the victors took the spoils and prey, And back dead Volscens to their camp they bore. Nor less the wailing in the camp that day, Brave Rhamnes found, and many a captive more, Numa, Serranus, weltering in their gore. Thick round the dead and dying, where the plain Reeks freshly with the frothing blood, they pour. Sadly they know Messapus' spoils again, The trappings saved with sweat, the helmet of the slain.

LIX. Now, rising from Tithonus' saffron couch, The Goddess of the dawn with orient ray Sprinkled the earth, and 'neath the wakening touch Of sunlight, all things stand revealed to-day. Turnus himself, accoutred for the fray, Wakes up his warriors with the morning light. At once each captain marshals in array His company, in brazen arms bedight, And rumours whet their rage, and prick them to the fight.

LX. Nay more, aloft upon the javelin's end, With shouts they bear—a miserable sight!— The heads, the heads of Nisus and his friend. On the walls' left—the river flanked their right— The sturdy Trojans stand arrayed for fight, And line the trenches and each lofty tower, Sad, while the foemen, clamorous with delight, March onward, with the heroes' heads before, Well known—alas! too well—and dropping loathly gore.

LXI. Now Fame, winged herald, through the wildered town Swift to Euryalus' mother speeds her way. Life's heat forsakes her; from her hand drops down The shuttle, and the task-work rolls away. Forth with a shriek, like women in dismay, Rending her hair, in frantic haste she flies, And seeks the ramparts and the war's array, Heedless of darts and dangers and surprise, Heedless of armed men, and fills the heaven with cries.

LXII. "Thou—is it thou, Euryalus, my own? Thou, the late solace of my age? Ah, why So cruel? Could'st thou leave me here alone, Nor let thy mother bid a last good-bye? Now left a prey on Latin soil to lie Of dogs and birds, nor I, thy mother, there To wash thy wounds, and close thy lightless eye, And shroud thee in the robe I wrought so fair, Fain with the busy loom to soothe an old wife's care!

LXIII. "Where shall I follow thee? Thy corpse defiled, Thy mangled limbs—where are they? Woe is me! Is this then all of what was once my child? Was it for this I roamed the land and sea? Pierce me, Rutulians; hurl your darts at me, Me first, if ye a mother's love can know. Great Sire of Heaven, have pity! set me free. Hurl with thy bolt to Tartarus below This hateful head, that longs to quit a world of woe!"

LXIV. So wails the mother, weeping and undone, And sorrow smites each warrior, as he hears, Each groaning, as a father for his son. Grief runs, like wildfire, through the Trojan peers, And numbs their courage, and augments their fears. Then, fain the spreading sorrow to allay, Ilioneus and Iulus, bathed in tears Call Actor and Idaeus; gently they The aged dame lift up, and to her home convey.

LXV. Now terribly the brazen trumpet pealed Its summons, and the war-shout rent the air. On press the Volscians, locking shield to shield, And fill the trenches, and the breastwork tear. These plant their ladders for assault, where'er A gap, just glimmering, shows the line less dense. Vain hope! the Teucrians with their darts are there. Stout poles they ply, and thrust them from the fence, Trained by a lingering siege, and tutored to defence.

LXVI. Stones, too, they roll, to crush the serried shields: Blithely the warriors bear the storm below, Yet not for long; for, see, the penthouse yields. Down on the midst, where thickest press the foe, The Teucrians, rolling, with a crash let go A ponderous mass, that opens to the light The jointed shields, and lays the warriors low. Nor care they longer in the dark to fight, But vie with distant darts to sweep the rampart's height.

LXVII. Pine-stock in hand, Mezentius hurls the flame; There, fierce Messapus rends the palisade,— Tamer of steeds, from Neptune's loins he came,— And shouts aloud for ladders to invade. Aid me, Calliope; ye Muses, aid To sing of Turnus and his deeds that day, The deaths he wrought, the havoc that he made, And whom each warrior singled for his prey; Roll back the war's great scroll, the mighty leaves display.

LXVIII. Built high, with lofty gangways, stood a tower, Fit post of vantage, which the Latins vied, With utmost effort and with all their power, To capture and destroy, while armed inside With stones, the Trojans through the loopholes plied Their missiles. Turnus, 'mid the foremost, cast A blazing brand, and, fastening to the side, Up went the flame; from floor to floor it passed, Clung to and licked the posts, and maddened with the blast.

LXIX. Within 'twas hurrying and tumultuous fright, As, crowding backward, they retreat before The advancing flames, and vainly long for flight. Lo! toppling suddenly, the tower went o'er, And shook the wide air with reverberant roar. Half-dead, the huge mass following amain, They come to earth, stabbed by the darts they bore, Or pierced by splinters through the breast. Scarce twain Escape—Helenor one, and Lycus—from the slain.

LXX. Of these Helenor,—whom to Lydia's lord By stealth his slave, the fair Licymnia, bore, And sent to Ilium, where a simple sword And plain, white shield, yet unrenowned, he wore,— He, when he sees, around him and before, The Latin hosts, as when in fierce disdain, Hemmed round by huntsmen, in his rage the boar O'erleaps the spears, so, where the thickest rain The foemen's darts, springs forth Helenor to be slain.

LXXI. But fleeter far, young Lycus hastes to slip Through swords, through foes, and gains the walls, and tries To climb them, and a comrade's hand to grip. With foot and spear behind him, as he flies, Comes Turnus. Scornfully the victor cries, "Mad fool! to fly, whom I have doomed to fall; Think'st thou to baffle Turnus of his prize?" Therewith he grasps him hanging, and withal Down with his victim drags huge fragments of the wall.

LXXII. E'en so some snowy swan, or timorous hare Jove's armour-bearer, swooping from the sky, Grips in his talons, and aloft doth bear. So, where apart the folded weanlings lie, Swift at some lamb the warrior-wolf doth fly, And leaves the mother, bleating in her woe. Loud rings the noise of battle. With a cry The foe press on; these fill the trench below, These to the topmost towers the blazing firebrands throw.

LXXIII. Ilioneus with a rock's huge fragment quelled Lucetius, creeping to the gate below With fire. Asylas Corynaeus felled, Liger Emathion, one skilled to throw The flying dart, one famous with the bow. Caenus—brief triumph!—made Ortygius fall, With Dioxippus, Turnus lays him low, Then Itys, Clonius, Promolus withal, Sagaris, and Idas last, the warder of the wall.

LXXIV. There, slain by Capys, poor Privernus lay, Grazed by Themilla's javelin; with a start The madman flung his trusty shield away, And clapped his left hand to the wounded part, Fain, as he thought, to ease him of the smart. Thereat, a light-winged arrow, unespied, Whirred on the wind. It missed the warrior's heart, But pierced his hand, and pinned it to his side, And, entering, clave the lung, and with a gasp he died.

LXXV. With broidered scarf of Spanish crimson, stood A comely youth, young Arcens was his name, Sent by his father, from Symaethus' flood, And nurtured in his mother's grove, he came, Where, rich and kind, Palicus' altars flame. His lance laid by, thrice whirling round his head The whistling thong, Mezentius took his aim. Clean through his temples hissed the molten lead, And prostrate in the dust, the gallant youth lay dead.

LXXVI. Then first, 'tis said, in war Ascanius drew His bow, wherewith in boyish days he plied The flying game. His hand Numanus slew, Called Remulus, to Turnus late allied, For Turnus' youngest sister was his bride. He, puffed with new-won royalty and proud, Stalked in the forefront of the fight, and cried With random clamour and big words and loud, Fain by his noise to show his grandeur to the crowd.

LXXVII. "Think ye no shame, poor cowards, thus again Behind your sheltering battlements to stand, Twice-captured Phrygians! and to plant in vain These walls, to shield you from the foemen's hand? Lo, these the varlets who our wives demand! What God, what madness blinded you, that e'er Ye thought to venture to Italia's land? No wily-worded Ithacan is near; Far other foes than he or Atreus' sons are here.

LXXVIII. "Our babes are hardened in the frost and flood, Strong is the stock and sturdy whence we came. Our boys from morn till evening scour the wood, Their joy is hunting, and the steed to tame, To bend the bow, the flying shaft to aim. Patient of toil, and used to scanty cheer, Our youths with rakes the stubborn glebe reclaim, Or storm the town. Through life we grasp the spear. In war it strikes the foe, in peace it goads the steer.

LXXIX. "Age cannot stale, nor creeping years impair Stout hearts as ours, nor make our strength decay. Our hoary heads the heavy helmet bear. Our joy is in the foray, day by day To reap fresh plunder, and to live by prey. Ye love to dance, and dally with the fair, In saffron robes with purple flounces gay. Your toil is ease, and indolence your care, And tunics hung with sleeves, and ribboned coifs ye wear.

LXXX. "Go Phrygian women, for ye are not men! Hence, to your Dindymus, and roam her heights With Corybantian eunuchs! Get ye, then, And hear the flute, harsh-grating, that invites With twy-mouthed music to her lewd delights, Where boxen pipe and timbrel from afar Shriek forth the summons to her sacred rites. Put by the sword, poor dotards as ye are, Leave arms to men, like us, nor meddle with the war."

LXXXI. Such taunts Ascanius brooked not. Stung with pride, A shaft he fitted to the horse-hair twine, And, turning, stood with outstretched arms, and cried: "Bless, Jove omnipotent, this bold design: Aid me, and yearly offerings shall be thine. A milk-white steer—I bind me to the vow— Myself will lead, the choicest, to thy shrine, Tall as his mother, and with gilded brow, And butting horns, and hoofs, that spurn the sand e'en now."

LXXXII. Jove heard, and leftward, where the sky was blue, Thundered aloud. At once the fateful bow Twanged; with a whirr the fateful arrow flew, And pierced the head of Remulus. "Now go, And teach thy proud tongue to insult a foe, And scoff at Trojan valour. This reply Twice-captured Phrygians to thy taunts bestow." Ascanius spoke; the Teucrians with a cry, Press on, their joyous hearts uplifting to the sky.

LXXXIII. Meanwhile, Apollo from his cloudy car The Ausonian host, and leaguered town descries, And calls the youthful conqueror from afar: "Hail to thy maiden prowess; yonder lies Thy path, brave boy, to glory and the skies. O sons of Gods, and sire of Gods to be, All wars shall cease beneath the race to rise From great Assaracus. Nor thine, nor thee Shall narrow Troy contain; so stands the Fate's decree."

LXXXIV. He spake, and through the breathing air shot down, And sought Ascanius, now a god no more, But shaped like aged Butes, whilom known The servant of the Dardan king, who bore Anchises' shield, and waited at his door, Then left to guard Ascanius. Such in view Apollo seemed; such clanging arms he wore; Such were his hoary tresses, voice, and hue, And these his words, as near the fiery youth he drew:

LXXXV "Enough, to live, and see Numanus bleed, Child of AEneas! This, thy valour's due, Great Phoebus grants, nor stints a rival's meed. Now cease."—He spake, and vanished from their view. His arms divine the Dardan chieftains knew, And heard the quiver rattle in his flight. So, warned by Phoebus' presence, back they drew The fiery youth, then plunged into the fight. Death seems a welcome risk, and danger a delight.

LXXXVI. Shouts fill the walls and outworks; casque and shield Clash; bows are bent, and javelins hurled amain: Fierce grows the fight, and weapons strew the field. So fierce what time the Kid-star brings the rain, The storm, from westward rising, beats the plain: So thick with hail, the clouds, asunder riven, Pour down a deluge on the darkened main, When Jove, upon his dreaded south-wind driven Stirs up the watery storm, and rends the clouds of heaven.

LXXXVII. Pandarus and Bitias, whom in Ida's grove The nymph Iaera to Alcanor bare, Tall as their mountains or the pines of Jove, Fling back the gate committed to their care, And bid the foemen enter, if they dare. With waving plumes, and armed from top to toe, In front, beside the gateway, stand the pair, Tall as twin oaks, with nodding crests, that grow Where Athesis' sweet stream or Padus' waters flow.

LXXXVIII. Up rush the foemen to the open gate, Quercens, Aquicolus, in armour bright, Brave Haemon, Tmarus, eager and elate, In troops they come, in troops they turn in flight, Or fall upon the threshold, slain outright. Now fiercer swells the discord, louder grows The noise of strife, as, hastening to unite, The sons of Troy their banded ranks oppose, And battle hand to hand and, sallying, charge the foes.

LXXXIX. Elsewhere to Turnus, as he raged, and marred The ranks, came tidings of the foe, elate With new-wrought carnage, and the gates unbarred. Forth from his work he rushes, grim with hate, To seek the brothers, and the Dardan gate. Here brave Antiphates, the first in view (The bastard offspring of Sarpedon great, Borne by a Theban) with his dart he slew; Swift through the yielding air the Italian cornel flew.

XC. Down through his throat into the chest it passed. Out from the dark pit gushed a foaming tide; The cold steel, warming in the lung, stood fast. Then Merops, Erymas, Aphidnus died, And Bitias, fierce with flaming eyes of pride. No dart for him; no dart his life had ta'en. A spear phalaric, thundering, pierced his side. Nor bulls' tough hides, nor corselet's twisted chain, Twice linked with golden scales the monstrous blow sustain.

XCI. Prone falls the giant in a heap. Earth groans, His shield above him thunders. Such the roar, When falls the solid pile of quarried stones, Sunk in the sea off Baiae's echoing shore; So vast the ruin, when the waves close o'er, And the black sands mount upward, as the block, Dashed headlong, settles on the deep-sea floor, And Prochyta and Arime's steep rock, Piled o'er Typhoeus, quake and tremble with the shock.

XCII. Now Mars armipotent the Latins lends Fresh heart and strength, but Fear and black Dismay And Flight upon the Teucrian troops he sends. From right and left they hurry to the fray, And o'er each spirit comes the War-God's sway. But when brave Pandarus saw his brother's fate, And marked the swerving fortune of the day, He set his broad-built shoulders to the gate; The groaning hinges yield, and backward rolls the weight.

XCIII. Full many a friend without the camp he leaves, Sore straitened in the combat; these, the rest, Saved like himself, he rescues and receives. Madman! who, blind to Turnus, as he pressed Among them, made the dreaded foe his guest. Fierce as a tiger in the fold, he preys. Loud ring his arms; his helmet's blood-red crest Waves wide; strange terrors from his eyes outblaze, And on his dazzling shield the living lightning plays.

XCIV. That hated form, those giant limbs too plain The Trojans see, and stand aghast with fear. Then, fired with fury for his brother slain, Forth leaping, shouts huge Pandarus with a jeer, "No Queen Amata's bridal halls are here; No Ardea this; around the camps the foe. No flight for thee." He, smiling, calm of cheer, "Come, if thou durst; full soon shall Priam know Thou too hast found a new Achilles to thy woe."

XCV. He spake. Then Pandarus a javelin threw, Cased in its bark, with hardened knots and dried. The breezes caught the missile as it flew; Saturnian Juno turned the point aside, And fixed it in the gate. "Ha! bravely tried! Not so this dart shalt thou escape; not so Send I the weapon and the wound." He cried, And, sword in hand, uprising to the blow, Between the temples clave the forehead of his foe.

XCVI. The beardless cheeks, so fearful was the gash, Gape wide. Aloud his clanging arms resound. Earth groans beneath, as prone, amid the splash Of blood and brains, he sprawls upon the ground, And right and left hangs, severed by the wound, His dying head. In terror, strewn afar, The Trojans fly. Then, then had Turnus found Time and the thought to burst the town-gate's bar, That day had seen the last of Trojans and the war.

XCVII. But lust of death, and vengeance unappeased Urged on the conqueror. Phalaris he slew, Then hamstrung Gyges, and their javelins seized, And hurled them at their comrades, as they flew, For Juno nerved and strengthened him anew. Here Halys fell, and hardy Phlegeus there, Pierced through his shield. Alcander down he threw, Prytanis, Noemon, Halius unaware, As on the walls they stood, and roused the battle's blare.

XCVIII. Slain, too, was Lynceus, as he ran for aid, Cheering his friends. Back-handed, with fierce sway, His right knee bent, he swung the sweeping blade, And head and helmet tumbled far away. Fell Clytius, Amycus expert to slay The wood-deer, and the venomed barb to wing, And Creteus, too, who loved the minstrel's lay, The Muses' friend, whose joy it was to sing Of steeds, and arms and men, and wake the lyre's sweet string.

XCIX. Then meet at length, their kinsmen's slaughter known, Brave Mnestheus, and Serestus fierce, and see Their friends in flight, and foemen in the town. Then Mnestheus cries: "Friends, whither would ye flee? What other walls, what further town have we? Shame on the thought, shall then a single foe, One man alone, O townsmen! ay, and he Cooped thus within your ramparts, work such woe, Such deaths—and unavenged? and lay your choicest low?

C. "Is yours no pity, sluggard souls? no shame For Troy's old gods, and for your native land, And for the great AEneas, and his name?" Fired by his words, they gather heart, and stand, Shoulder to shoulder, rallying in a band. Backward, but slowly he retreats, too proud To turn, and seeks the ramparts hard at hand, Girt by the stream; while, clamouring aloud, Fiercer the foe press on, and larger grows the crowd.

CI. As when an angry lion, held at bay, And pressed with galling javelins, half in fright, But grim and glaring, step by step gives way, Too wroth to turn, too valorous for flight, And fain, but impotent, to wreak his spite Against his armed assailants; even so, Slowly and wavering, Turnus quits the fight, Boiling with rage; yet twice he charged the foe, Twice round the walls in rout they fled before his blow.

CII. But now new hosts come swarming from the town, Nor Juno dares his failing force to stay, For Jove in wrath sent heavenly Iris down, Stern threats to bear, should Turnus disobey, And longer in the Trojan camp delay. No more his shield, nor strength of hand avail To ward the storm; so thick the javelins play. Loud rings his helmet with the driving hail; Rent with the volleyed stones, the solid brass-plates fail.

CIII. Reft are his plumes, and shattered by the blows The shield-boss. Faster still the darts they pour, And thundering Mnestheus towers amid his foes. Trembling with pain, exhausted, sick, and sore, He gasps for breath. Sweat streams from every pore, And, black with dust, from all his limbs descends. Headlong, at length, he plunges from the shore, Clad all in arms. The yellow river bends, And bears him, cleansed from blood, triumphant to his friends.



The gods meet in council. Venus pleads for the Trojans, Juno for the Latins. Jupiter as a compromise leaves the arbitrament to Fate (1-153). The siege of the Trojan camp continues. AEneas meanwhile is sailing with his Arcadian and Tuscan allies down the Tiber (154-207). Catalogue of the helpers of AEneas, who is presently warned by the nymphs in what peril Ascanius stands: comes in sight of the camp and with difficulty lands his men (208-369). A hard-fought battle by the river follows, of which Pallas and Lausus are the heroes (370-531). Pallas is killed by Turnus in single combat (532-603). AEneas in revenge gives no quarter, but slays and slays, until Juno, warned by Jupiter that if she would save Turnus even for a time she must act at once, goes down into the battle and fashions in the form of AEneas a phantom, which flees before Turnus and lures him into a ship, by which he is miraculously carried away to his father's city (604-838). Mezentius takes up the command, but after performing prodigies of valour is wounded by AEneas (839-954). Mezentius withdraws, and his son Lausus is killed while covering his retreat. Thereupon Mezentius gets to horse and rides back to die in a vain endeavour to avenge his son. AEneas exults over Mezentius (955-1089).

I. Meanwhile, at bidding of almighty Jove, His palace, as Olympus' gates unfold, Stands open. To his starry halls above The Sire of Gods and men, whose eyes behold The wide-wayed earth, the Dardans' leaguered hold, And Latium's peoples, from his throne of state Convokes the council. Ranged on seats of gold Around the halls, in silence they await. Himself, in measured speech, begins the grand debate.

II. "Heaven's great inhabitants, what change hath brewed Rebellious thoughts, my purpose thus to mar? 'Twixt Troy and Italy I banned the feud; My nod forbade it. Whence this impious jar? What fear hath stirred them to provoke the war? Fate in due course shall bring the destined hour,— Foredate it not—when Carthage from afar Her barbarous hordes through riven Alps shall pour, To storm the towers of Rome, to ravage and devour.

III. "Then may ye rend, and ravage and destroy, Then may ye glut your vengeance. Now forbear, And plight this peaceful covenant with joy." Thus Jove; but Venus of the golden hair, Less brief, made answer: "Lord of earth and air! O Father! Power eternal! whom beside We know none other, to approach with prayer, See the Rutulians, how they swell with pride; See Turnus, puffed with triumph, borne upon the tide.

IV. "Their very walls the Teucrians shield no more. Within the gates, amid the mounds the fray Is raging, and the trenches float with gore, While, ignorant, AEneas is away. Is theirs no rest from leaguer—not a day? Again a threatening enemy hangs o'er A new-born Troy! New foemen in array Swarm from AEtolian Arpi, and once more A son of Tydeus comes, as dreadful as before.

V. "Ay, wounds are waiting for thine offspring still, And mortal arms must vex her. List to me: If maugre thee, and careless of thy will, The Trojans sought Italia, let them be, Nor aid them; let their folly reap its fee. But if, oft called by many a warning sign From Heaven and Hell, they followed thy decree, Who then shall tamper with the doom divine, Or dare to forge new Fates, or alter words of thine?

VI. "Why tell of grievances in days forepast, The vessels burnt on Eryx' distant shore, The tempest's monarch, and the raging blast Stirred in AEolia, and the winds' uproar, And Iris, heaven-sent messenger? Nay more, From Hell's dark depths she summons her allies, The ghosts of Hades, overlooked before. Through Latin towns, sent sudden from the skies, Alecto wings her flight, and riots as she flies.

VII. "I reck not, I, of empire; once, indeed, While fortune smiled, I hoped for it; but now Theirs, whom thou choosest, be the victor's meed. But if no land thy ruthless spouse allow To Teucrian outcasts, hearken to me now: O Father! by the latest hour of Troy, By Ilion's smoking ruins, deign to show Thy pity for Ascanius; spare my boy; Safe let him cease from arms, my darling and my joy.

VIII. "Let brave AEneas follow, as he may, Where future leads, and wander on the brine. Him shield, and let me snatch him from the fray. Paphos, Cythera, Amathus are mine, And on Idalium is my home and shrine: There let him live, forgetful of renown, And, deaf to fame, these warlike weeds resign; Then let fierce Carthage press Ausonia down, For he and his no more shall vex the Tyrian town.

IX. "Ah, what availed to 'scape the fight and flame, And drain all dangers of the land and main, If Teucrians seek on Latin soil to frame Troy's towers anew? Far better to remain There, on their country's ashes, on the plain Where Troy once stood. Give, Father, I implore, To wretched men their native streams again; Their Xanthus and their Simois restore; There let them toil and faint, as Trojans toiled of yore."

X. Then, roused with rage, spake Juno: "Wherefore make My lips break silence and lay bare my woe? What God or man AEneas forced to take The sword, and make the Latin King his foe? Fate to Italia called him: be it so: Driven by the frenzied prophetess of Troy. Did we then bid him leave the camp, and throw His life to fortune, ay, and leave a boy To rule the war, and Tuscan loyalty destroy,

XI. "And harass peaceful nations? Who was there The God, and whose the tyranny to blame For fraud like that? Where then was Juno? where Was cloud-sent Iris? Sooth, ye count it shame That Latins hedge the new-born Troy with flame, And Turnus dares his native land possess, Albeit from Pilumnus' seed he came, And nymph Venilia. Is the shame then less, That Troy with foreign yoke should Latin fields oppress,

XII. "And rob their maidens of the love they vow, And lift, and burn and ravage as they list, Then plead for peace, with arms upon the prow? Thy sheltering power AEneas can assist, And cheat his foemen with an empty mist, The warrior's counterfeit. At thy command Ships change to sea-nymphs, and the flames desist. And now, that we should stretch a friendly hand, And lend Rutulians aid, an infamy ye brand.

XIII. "Thy chief is absent, absent let him be. He knows not: let him know not. Do I care? What is AEneas' ignorance to me? Thou hast thy Paphos, and Idalium fair, And bowers of high Cythera; get thee there. Why seek for towns with battle in their womb, And beard a savage foeman in his lair? Wrought we the wreck, when Ilion sank in gloom, We, or the hands that urged poor Trojans to their doom?

XIV. "Was I the robber, who the war begun, Whose theft in arms two continents arrayed, When Europe clashed with Asia? I the one, Who led the Dardan leman on his raid, To storm the chamber of the Spartan maid? Did I with lust the fatal strife sustain, And fan the feud, and lend the Dardans aid? Then had thy fears been fitting; now in vain Thy taunts are hurled; too late thou risest to complain."

XV. So pleaded Juno: the immortals all On this and that side murmured their assent, As new-born gales, that tell the coming squall, Caught in the woods, their mingled moanings vent. Then thus began the Sire omnipotent, Who rules the universe, and as he rose, Hush'd was the hall; Earth shook; the firmament Was silent; whist was every wind that blows, And o'er the calm deep spread the stillness of repose.

XVI. "Now hearken all, and to my words give heed. Since naught avails this discord to allay, And peace is hopeless, let the war proceed. Trojans, Rutulians—each alike this day Must carve his hopes and fortune as he may. Fate, blindness, crooked counsels—whatso'er Holds Troy in leaguer, equally I weigh The chance of all, nor would Rutulians spare. For each must toil and try, till Fate the doom declare."

XVII. He spake, and straightway, to confirm his word, Invoked his brother, and the Stygian flood, The pitchy whirlpool, and the banks abhorr'd, Then bent his brow, and with his awful nod Made all Olympus tremble at the god. So ceased the council. From his throne of state, All golden, he arose, and slowly trod The courts of Heaven. The powers celestial wait Around their sovereign Lord, and lead him to the gate.

XVIII. Now, fire in hand, and burning to destroy, The fierce Rutulians still the siege maintain. Pent in their ramparts stay the sons of Troy, Hopeless of flight, and line the walls in vain, A little band, but all that now remain. Thymoetes, son of Hicetaon bold, Asius, the son of Imbrasus, the twain Assaraci, Castor and Thymbris old, These, battling in the van, the desperate strife uphold.

XIX. Next stand the brethren of Sarpedon slain, Claros and Themon,—braver Lycians none. There, with a rock's huge fragment toils amain Lyrnessian Acmon, famous Clytius' son, Menestheus' brother, nor less fame he won. Hot fares the combat; from the walls these fling The stones, and those the javelins. Each one Toils to defend; these blazing firebrands bring, And fetch the flying shafts, and fit them to the string.

XX. There too, bare-headed, in the midst is seen Fair Venus' care, the Dardan youth divine, Bright as a diamond, or the lustrous sheen Of gems, that, set in yellow gold, entwine The neck, or sparkling on the temples shine. So gleams the ivory, inlaid with care In chest of terebinth, or boxwood scrine; And o'er his milk-white neck and shoulders fair, Twined with the pliant gold, streams down the warrior's hair.

XXI. There, too, brave Ismarus, the nations see, Scattering the poisoned arrows from thy hands; A gallant knight, and born of high degree In far Maeonia, where his golden sands Pactolus rolls along the fruitful lands. There he, whom yesterday the voice of fame Raised to the stars, the valiant Mnestheus stands, Who drove fierce Turnus from the camp with shame; There, Capys, he who gave the Capuan town its name.

XXII. Thus all day long both armies toiled and fought. And now, at midnight, o'er the deep sea fares AEneas. By Evander sent, he sought The Tuscan camp. To Tarchon he declares His name and race, the aid he asks and bears, The friends Mezentius gathers to the fray, And Turnus' violence; then warns, with prayers, Of Fortune's fickleness. No more delay: Brave Tarchon joins his power, and strikes a league straightway.

XXIII. So, free of Fate, Heaven's mandate they obey, And Lydians, with a foreign leader, plough The deep; AEneas' vessel leads the way. Sweet Ida forms the figure-head; below, The Phrygian lions ramp upon the prow. Here sits AEneas, thoughtful, on the stern, For war's dark chances cloud the chieftain's brow. There, on his left, sits Pallas, and in turn Now cons the stars, now seeks the wanderer's woes to learn.

XXIV. Now open Helicon; unlock the springs, Ye Goddesses. Strike up the noble stave, And sing what hosts from Tuscan shores he brings, What ships he arms, and how they cross the wave. First, Massicus with brazen Tiger clave The watery plain. With him from Clusium go, And Cosae's town, a hundred, tried and brave; Deft archers, well the deadly craft they know. Light from their shoulders hang the quiver and the bow.

XXV. With blazoned troops came Abas, gaunt and grim. Golden Apollo on the stern he bore. Six hundred Populonia gave to him, All trained to battle, and three hundred more Sent Ilva, rich in unexhausted ore. Third came Asylas, who the voice divine Expounds to man, and kens, with prescient lore, The starry sky, the hearts of slaughtered kine, The voices of the birds, the lightning's warning sign.

XXVI. A thousand from Alphaeus' Tuscan town Of Pisa, with him to the war proceed, In bristling ranks, all spearmen of renown. Next, Astur—comeliest Astur—clad in weed Of divers hues, and glorying in his steed: Three hundred men from ancient Pyrgos fare, From Caere's home, from Minio's fruitful mead, And they who breathe Gravisca's tainted air. One purpose fills them all, to follow and to dare.

XXVII. Nor would I leave thee, Cinyras, untold, Liguria's chief, nor, though a few were thine, Cupavo. Emblem of his sire of old, The swan's white feathers on his helmet shine, Thy fault, O Love. When Cycnus, left to pine For Phaethon, the poplar shades among, Soothed his sad passion with the Muse divine, Old age with hoary plumage round him clung; Starward he soared from earth and, soaring up, still sung.

XXVIII. Now comes his son, with his Ligurian bands, Oaring their bark. A Centaur from the prow Looms o'er the waves a-tiptoe, with his hands A vast rock heaving, as in act to throw; The long keel ploughs the furrowed deep below. Next, from his home the gallant Ocnus came, The son of Manto, who the Fates doth know, Brave child of Tiber. He his mother's name And walls to Mantua gave,—great Mantua, rich in fame,

XXIX. And rich in heroes, though diversely bred. Three separate stems four-fold the state compose, Herself, of Tuscan origin, the head. Five hundred warriors, all Mezentius' foes, And armed for vengeance, from her walls arose. Mincius in front, veiled in his sedges grey (Fair stream, whose birth from sire Benacus flows), Shines on the poop, and seaward points the way; Swift speeds the bark of pine, with foemen for the fray.

XXX. Last, huge Aulestes, rising with his row Of hundred oarsmen, beats the watery lea. The lashed deeps boil; big Triton from the prow Sounds his loud shell, that frights the sky-blue sea. Waist-high, a man with human face is he; All else, a fish; beneath his savage breast The white foam roars before him.—Such to see, Such, and so numerous was the host that pressed, Borne in their thirty ships, to succour Troy distrest.

XXXI. Daylight had failed; to mid Olympus' gate Bright Phoebe drove her nightly-wandering wain. Tiller in hand, the good AEneas sate And trimmed the sails, while trouble tossed his brain. When lo! around him thronged the Sea-nymphs' train, Whom kind Cybele changed from ships of wood To rule, as goddesses, the watery main. As many as late, with brazen beaks, had stood Linked to the shore, now swim in even line the flood.

XXXII. Far off, their king the goddesses beheld And danced around him joyously, and lo, Cymodocea, who in speech excelled, Clings to the stern; breast-high the nymph doth show; Her left hand oars the placid deep below. Then, "Watchest thou, AEneas, child divine? Watch on," she cries, "and let the canvas go. Behold us, sea-nymphs, once a grove of pine On Ida's sacred crest, the Trojans' ships and thine.

XXXIII. "When on us late the false Rutulian pressed With sword and flame, perforce, sweet life to save, We broke our chains, and wander in thy quest. Our shape the Mother, pitying, changed and gave Immortal life, to spend beneath the wave. Thy son, he stays in Latin leaguer pent; Arcadian horsemen, with the Tuscans brave, Hold tryst to aid. His troops hath Turnus sent, Charged, with opposing arms, their succour to prevent.

XXXIV. "Now rise, and when to-morrow's dawn shall shine, Bid forth thy followers to arms. Be bold, And take this shield, the Fire-King's gift divine, Invincible, immortal, rimm'd with gold. Next morn—so truly as the word is told— Huge heaps of dead Rutulian foes shall view." She spake; her hand, departing, loosed its hold, And pushed the vessel; well the way she knew; Swift as a dart it flies; the rest its flight pursue.

XXXV. Wondering, AEneas pauses in amaze, Yet hails the sign, and gladdens at the sight, And, gazing on the vaulted skies, he prays, "Mother of Heaven, whom Dindymus' famed height, And tower-girt towns, and lions yoked delight, Assist the Phrygians, and direct the fray. Kind Goddess, prosper us, and speed aright This augury." He ended, and the day Returning, climbed the sky, and chased the night away.

XXXVI. Forthwith he calls his comrades to arise And take fresh heart, and for the fight prepare. Now, from the stern, the Dardans he espies, Hemmed in their camp. Aloft his hands upbear The burning shield. With shouts his Dardans tear Heaven's concave. Hope with fury fires their veins. Fast fly their darts, as when through darkened air With clang and clamour the Strymonian cranes Stream forth, the signal given, from winter's winds and rains.

XXXVII. Then lost in wonderment, the foemen stand, Till, looking round, they see the watery ways A sea of ships, all crowding to the land, The flaming crest, the helmet all ablaze, The golden shield-boss, with its lightning rays. As when a comet, bright with blazing hair, Its blood-red beams athwart the night displays, Or Sirius, rising, with its baleful glare Brings pestilence and drought, and saddens all the air.

XXXVIII. Yet quails not Turnus; still his hopes are high To seize the shore, and keep them from the land. Now cheering, and now chiding, rings his cry "Lo, here—'tis here, the battle ye demand. Up, crush them; war is in the warrior's hand. Think of your fathers and their deeds of old, Your homes, your wives. Forestall them on the strand, Now, while they totter, while the foot's faint hold Slips on the shelving beach. Fair Fortune aids the bold."

XXXIX. So saying, he ponders inly, whom to choose To mind the siege, and whom the foe to meet. By planks meanwhile AEneas lands his crews. Some wait until the languid waves retreat, Then, leaping, to the shallows trust their feet; Some vault with oars. Brave Tarchon marks, quick-eyed, A sheltered spot, where neither surf doth beat, Nor breakers roar, but smooth the waters glide, And up the sloping shore unbroken swells the tide.

XL. Here suddenly he bids them turn the prow, And shouts aloud, "Now, now, my chosen band, Lean to your oars; strive lustily and row. Lift the keel onward, till it cleaves the strand, And ploughs its furrow in the foeman's land. Let the bark break, with such a haven here What harm, if once upon the shore we stand?" So Tarchon spake; his comrades, with a cheer, Rise on the smooth-shaved thwarts, and sweep the foaming mere.

XLI. So, one by one, they gain the land, and, whole And scatheless, on the Latin shore abide. All safe but Tarchon. Dashed upon a shoal, Long on a rock's unequal ridge astride, In doubtful balance swayed from side to side, His vessel hangs, and back the waves doth beat, Then breaks, and leaves them tangled in the tide 'Twixt planks and oars, while, ebbing to retreat, The shrinking waves draw back, and wash them from their feet.

XLII. Nor loiters Turnus; eager to attack, Along the shore he marshals his array, To meet the foe, and drive the Teucrians back. The trumpet sounds: the Latin churls straightway AEneas routs, first omen of the day, Huge Theron slain, their mightiest, who in pride Of strength, rushed forth and dared him to the fray. Through quilted brass the Dardan sword he plied, Through tunic stiff with gold, and pierced th' unguarded side.

XLIII. Lichas he smites, who vowed his infant life, Ripped from his mother, dying in her pain, To Phoebus, freed from perils of the knife. Huge Gyas, brawny Cisseus press the plain, As, club in hand, they strew the Tuscan train. Naught now avail those stalwart arms, that plied The weapons of Alcides; all in vain They boast their sire Melampus, comrade tried Of Hercules, while earth his toilsome tasks supplied.

XLIV. Lo, full at Pharus, in his bawling mouth He plants a dart. Thou, Cydon, too, in quest Of Clytius, blooming with the down of youth, Thy latest joy, had'st laid thy loves to rest, Slain by the Dardan; but around thee pressed Old Phorcus' sons. Seven brethren bold are there, Seven darts they throw. These helm and shield arrest, Those, turned aside by Venus' gentle care Just graze the Dardan's frame, and, grazing, glance in air.

XLV. Then cried AEneas to Achates true, "Quick, hand me store of weapons; none in vain This arm shall hurl at yon Rutulian crew, Not one of all that whilom knew the stain Of Argive blood upon the Trojan plain." So saying, he snatched, and in a moment threw His mighty spear, that, hurtling, rent in twain The brazen plates of Maeon's shield, and through The breastplate pierced the breast, nor faltered as it flew.

XLVI. Up ran, and raised his brother, as he lay, Alcanor. Shrill another javelin sung, And pierced his arm, and, reddening, held its way, And from his shoulders by the sinews hung The dying hand. Then straight, the dart outwrung, His brother Numitor the barb let fly Full at AEneas. In his face he flung, But failed to smite. The weapon, turned awry, Missed the intended mark, and grazed Achates' thigh.

XLVII. Up Clausus came, of Cures, in the pride Of youth. His stark spear, urged with forceful sway, Through Dryops' throat, beneath the chin, he plied, And voice and life forsook him, as he lay, Spewing thick gore, his forehead in the clay. Three Thracians next, three sons of Idas bleed. Ismarians these. Halaesus to the fray Brings his Auruncan bands, and Neptune's seed, Messapus, too, comes up, the tamer of the steed.

XLVIII. Each side strives hard the other's ground to win. E'en on Ausonia's threshold raves the fray. As in the broad air warring winds begin The battle, matched in strength and rage, nor they, The winds themselves, nor clouds nor sea give way, All locked in strife, and struggling as they can, And long in doubtful balance hangs the day, So meet the ranks, and mingle in the van, And foot clings close to foot, and man is massed with man.

XLIX. Where, in another quarter, stones and trees, Torn from its banks, a torrent at its height Had strewn with wide-wrought ravage, Pallas sees His brave Arcadians break the ranks of fight, And turn before their Latin foes in flight. Strange to foot-combat, from his trusty horse The rough ground lured each rider to alight. Now with entreaties—'tis his last resource— And now with bitter words he fires their flagging force.

L. "Shame on ye, comrades! whither do ye run? By your brave deeds, and by the name ye bear, And great Evander's, by the wars ye won, By these my hopes, which even now bid fair E'en with my father's honours to compare. Trust not your feet; the sword, the sword must hew A pathway through the foemen. See, 'tis there, Where foes press thickest, and our friends are few, Our noble country calls for Pallas and for you.

LI. "No gods assail us; mortals fight to-day With mortals. Lives as many as theirs have we, As many hands, to match them in the fray. Earth fails for flight, and yonder lies the sea. Seaward or Troyward—whither shall we flee?" So saying, he plunged amid the throng. First foe, Fell Lagus, doomed an evil fate to dree. Him, toiling hard a ponderous stone to throw, Between the ribs and spine a whistling dart laid low.

LII. Scarce from his marrow could the victor tear The steel, so tightly clung it to the bone. Forth Hisbo leaped, to smite him unaware. Rash hope! brave Pallas caught him, rushing on, And through the lung his sword a passage won. Then Sthenius he slew; beside him bled Anchemolus, of Rhoetus' stock the son, The lewd defiler of his stepdame's bed. Fate stopped his lewdness now, and stretched him with the dead.

LIII. Ye, too, young Thymber and Larides fair, Twin sons of Daucus, did the victor quell. So like in form and features were the pair, That e'en their doting parents failed to tell This one from that. Alas! the sword too well Divides them now. Here, tumbled on the sward, At one fierce swoop, the head of Thymber fell. Thy severed hand, Larides, seeks its lord; The fingers, half alive and quivering, clutch the sword.

LIV. Fired by his words, his deeds the Arcadians view, And shame and anger arm them to the fray. Rhoeteus, as past his two-horsed chariot flew He pierced,—'twas Ilus Pallas meant to slay, And Ilus gained that moment of delay. Rhoeteus, in flight from Teuthras and from thee, His brother Tyres, met the spear midway. Down from his chariot in the dust rolled he, And, dying, with his heels beat the Rutulian lea.

LV. As when a shepherd, on a summer's day, The wished-for winds arising, hastes to cast The flames amid the stubble: far away, The mid space seized, the line of fire runs fast From field to field, and broadens with the blast: And, sitting down, the victor from a height Surveys the triumph, as the flames rush past. So all Arcadia's chivalry unite, And round thee, Pallas, throng, and aid thee in the fight.

LVI. But lo, from out the foemen's ranks, athirst For battle, fierce Halesus charged, and drew His covering shield before him. Ladon first, Then Pheres, then Demodocus he slew. Next, at his throat as bold Strymonius flew, The glittering falchion severed at a blow The lifted hand. At Thoas' face he threw A stone, that smashed the forehead of his foe, And bones, and blood, and brains the spattered earth bestrow.

LVII. Halesus, when a boy, in woods concealed, His sire, a seer, had reared with tender care. But soon as death the old man's eyes had sealed, Fate marked the son for the Evandrian spear. Him Pallas sought; "O Tiber!" was his prayer, "True to Halesus let this javelin go. His arms and spoils thy sacred oak shall bear." 'Twas heard: Halesus, shielding from the foe Imaon, leaves his breast unguarded to the blow.

LVIII. Firm Lausus stands, bearing the battle's brunt, Nor lets Halesus' death his friends dismay. Dead falls the first who meets him front to front, Brave Abas, knot and holdfast of the fray. Down go Arcadia's chivalry that day, Down go the Etruscans, and the Teucrians, those Whom Grecian conquerors had failed to slay. Man locked with man, amid the conflict's throes, With strength and leaders matched, the rival armies close.

LIX. On press the rearmost, crowding on the van, So thick, that neither hand can stir, nor spear Be wielded; each one struggles as he can. Here Pallas, there brave Lausus, charge and cheer, Two foes, in age scarce differing by a year. Both fair of form. Stern Fate to each forbade His home return. But Jove allowed not here A meeting; he who great Olympus swayed, Awhile for mightier foes their destined doom delayed.

LX. Warned by his gracious sister, Turnus flies To take the place of Lausus. Driving through The ranks, "Stand off," he shouts to his allies, "I fight with Pallas; Pallas is my due. Would that his sire were here himself to view!" All clear the field. Then, pondering with surprise The proud command, as back the crowd withdrew, The youth, amazed at Turnus, rolls his eyes And scans his giant foe, and thus in scorn replies:

LXI. "Or kingly spoils shall make me famed to-day, Or glorious death. Whatever end remain, My sire can bear it. Put thy threats away." Then forth he stepped; cold horror chills his train. Down from his car, close combat to darrain, Leapt Turnus. As a lion, who far away Has marked a bull, that butts the sandy plain For battle, springs to grapple with his prey; So dreadful Turnus looks, advancing to the fray.

LXII. Him, deemed within his spear-throw, undismayed The youth prevents, if chance the odds should square, And aid his daring. To the skies he prayed, "O thou, my father's guest-friend, wont whilere A stranger's welcome at his board to share, Aid me, Alcides, prosper my emprise; Let Turnus fall, and, falling, see me tear His blood-stained arms, and may his swooning eyes Meet mine, and bear the victor's image, when he dies."

LXIII. Alcides heard, and, stifling in his breast A deep groan, poured his unavailing grief. Whom thus the Sire with kindly words addressed: "Each hath his day; irreparably brief Is mortal life, and fading as the leaf. 'Tis valour's part to bid it bloom anew By deeds of fame. Dead many a godlike chief, Dead lies my son Sarpedon. Turnus too His proper Fates demand; his destined hour is due."

LXIV. So saying, he turned, and shunned the scene of death. Forth Pallas hurled the spear with all his might, And snatched the glittering falchion from the sheath. Where the shield's top just matched the shoulders' height, Clean through the rim, the javelin winged its flight, And grazed the flesh. Then Turnus, poising slow His oakbeam, tipt with iron sharp and bright, Took aim, and, hurling, shouted to his foe, "See, now, if this my lance can deal a deadlier blow."

LXV. He spake, and through the midmost shield, o'erlaid With bull-hide, brass, and iron, welded hard, Whizzed the keen javelin, nor its course delayed, But pierced the broad breast through the corslet's guard. He the warm weapon, in the wound embarred, Wrenched, writhing in his agony; in vain; Out gushed the life and life-blood. O'er him jarred His clanging armour, as he rolled in pain. Dying, with bloody mouth he bites the hostile plain.

LXVI. Then Turnus, standing o'er the dead, "Go to, Arcadians, hear and let Evander know, I send back Pallas, handled as was due. If aught of honour can a tomb bestow, If earth's cold lap yield solace to his woe, I grant it. Dearly will his Dardan guest Cost him, I trow." Then, trampling on the foe, His left foot on the lifeless corpse he pressed, And tore the ponderous belt in triumph from his breast;

LXVII. The belt, whereon the tale of guilt was told,— The wedding night, the couches smeared with gore, The bridegrooms slain—which Clonus in the gold, The son of Eurytus, had grav'n of yore, And Turnus now, exulting, seized and wore. Vain mortals! triumphing past bounds to-day, Blind to to-morrow's destiny. The hour Shall come, when gold in plenty would he pay Ne'er Pallas to have touched, and curse the costly prey.

LXVIII. With tears his comrades lifted from the ground Dead Pallas; groaning, on his shield they bore Him homeward, and the bitter wail went round. "O grief! O glory! fall'n to rise no more! Thus back we bring thee, thus the son restore! One day to battle gave thee, one hath ta'en, Victor and vanquished in the self-same hour! Yet fall'n with honour, for behind thee slain, Heaps of Rutulian foes thou leavest on the plain!"

LXIX. Sure tidings to AEneas came apace,— 'Twas no mere rumour—of his friends in flight; Time pressed for help, death stared them in the face. Sweeping his foes before him, left and right He mows a passage through the ranks of fight. Thee, haughty Turnus, thee he burns to find, Hot with new blood, and glorying in thy might. The sire, the son, the welcome warm and kind, The feast, the parting grasp—all crowd upon his mind.

LXX. Eight youths alive he seizes for the pyre, Four, sons of Sulmo, four, whom Ufens bred, Poor victims, doomed to feed the funeral fire, And pour their blood in quittance for the dead. Then from afar a bitter shaft he sped At Magus. Warily he stoops below The quivering steel, that whistles o'er his head, And, like a suppliant, crouching to his foe, Clings to AEneas' knees, and cries in words of woe:

LXXI. "O by the promise of thy youthful heir, By dead Anchises, pity, I implore, My son, my father; for their sakes forbear. Rich is my house, its cellars heaped with store Of gold, and silver talents by the score. 'Tis not my doom, that shall the day decide. If Trojans win, one foeman's life the more Mars not the triumph, nor can turn the tide." Thus he, and thus in scorn the Dardan chief replied:

LXXII. "The treasures that thou vauntest, let them be. Thy gold, thy silver, and thy hoarded gain Spare for thy children, for they bribe not me. Since Pallas fell by Turnus' hand, 'twere vain To think thy pelf will traffic for the slain, So deems my son, so deems Anchises' shade." He spake, and with his left hand grasped amain His helmet. Even as the suppliant prayed, Hilt-deep, the neck bent back, he drove the shining blade.

LXXIII. Hard by, the son of Haemon there was seen, Apollo's priest and Trivia's, all aglow In robe and armour of resplendent sheen, The holy ribboned chaplet on his brow. Him, met, afield he chases, lays him low, And o'er him, like a storm-cloud, dark as night, Stands, hugely shadowing the fallen foe: And back Serestus bears his armour bright, A trophy, vowed to thee, Gradivus, lord of fight.

LXXIV. Then Caeculus, to Vulcan's race allied, And Marsian Umbro, rally 'gainst the foe The wavering ranks. The Dardan on his side Still rages. First from Anxur with a blow His sword the shield-arm and the shield laid low. Big things had Anxur boasted, empty jeers, And deemed his valour with his vaunts would grow: Perchance, with spirit lifted to the spheres, Hoar hairs he looked to see, and length of peaceful years.

LXXV. Sheathed in bright arms, proud Tarquitus in scorn, Whom Dryope the nymph, if fame be true, To Faunus, ranger of the woods, had borne, Leaped forth, and at the fiery Dardan flew. He, drawing back his javelin, aimed and threw. And through the cuirass and the ponderous shield Pinned him. Then, vainly as he strove to sue, Much pleading, even while the suppliant kneeled. Lopt off, the lifeless head went rolling on the field.

LXXVI. His reeking trunk the victor in disdain Spurns with his foot, and cries aloud, "Lie there, Proud youth, and tell thy terrors to the slain. No tender mother shall thy shroud prepare, No father's sepulchre be thine to share. Thy carrion corpse shall be the vultures' food, And birds that batten on the dead shall tear Thee piecemeal, and the fishes lick thy blood, Drowned in the deep sea-gulfs, or drifting on the flood."

LXXVII. Lucas, Antaeus in the van were slain. Here Numa, there the fair-haired Camers lay, Great Volscens' son; full many a wide domain Was his, and mute Amyclae owned his sway. As when AEgeon, hundred-armed, they say, And hundred-handed, would the Sire withstand, And fifty mouths, and fifty maws each way Shot flames against Jove's thunder, and each hand Clashed on a sounding shield, or bared a glittering brand,

LXXVIII. So raves AEneas, victor of the war, His sword now warmed, and many a foeman dies. Now at Niphaeus, in his four-horse car Breasting the battle, in hot haste he flies. Scared stand the steeds, in terror and surprise, So dire his gestures, as he strides amain, So fierce his looks, so terrible his cries; Then, turning, from his chariot on the plain Fling their ill-fated lord, and gallop to the main.

LXXIX. With two white steeds into the midmost dashed Bold Lucagus and Liger, brethren twain. Around him Lucagus his broad sword flashed His brother wheeled the horses with the rein. Fired at the sight, AEneas in disdain Rushed on them, towering with uplifted spear. "No steeds of Diomede, nor Phrygian plain," Cries Liger, "nor Achilles' car are here. This field shall end the war, thy fatal hour is near."

LXXX. So fly his words, but not in words the foe Makes answer, but his javelin hurls with might. As o'er the lash proud Lucagus bends low To prick the steeds, and planting for the fight His left foot forward, stands in act to smite, Clean through the nether margin of his shield The Dardan shaft goes whistling in its flight, And thrills his groin upon the left. He reeled, And from the chariot fell half-lifeless on the field.

LXXXI. Then bitterly AEneas mocked him: "Lo, Proud Lucagus! no lagging steeds have played Thy chariot false, nor shadows of the foe Deceived thy horses, and their hearts dismayed. 'Tis thou—thy leap has lost the car!" He said And snatched the reins. The brother in despair Slipped down, and spread his hapless hands, and prayed: "O by thyself, great son of Troy, forbear; By those who bore thee such, have pity on my prayer."

LXXXII. More would he, but AEneas: "Nay, not so Thou spak'st erewhile. Die now, and take thy way, And join thy brother, brotherlike, below." Deep in the breast he stabbed him as he lay, And bared the life's recesses to the day. Such deaths the Dardan dealt upon the plain, Like storm or torrent, full of rage to slay. And now at length Ascanius and his train Burst forth, and leave their camp, long leaguered, but in vain.

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