Aeneid

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When Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,

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Their armies broken, and their courage quell'd,

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Himself become the mark of public spite,

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His honor question'd for the promis'd fight;

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The more he was with vulgar hate oppress'd,

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The more his fury boil'd within his breast:

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He rous'd his vigor for the last debate,

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And rais'd his haughty soul to meet his fate.

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As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase,

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He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace;

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But, if the pointed jav'lin pierce his side,

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The lordly beast returns with double pride:

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He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain;

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His sides he lashes, and erects his mane:

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So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire,

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Thro' his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire.

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Trembling with rage, around the court he ran,

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At length approach'd the king, and thus began:

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"No more excuses or delays: I stand

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In arms prepar'd to combat, hand to hand,

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This base deserter of his native land.

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The Trojan, by his word, is bound to take

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The same conditions which himself did make.

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Renew the truce; the solemn rites prepare,

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And to my single virtue trust the war.

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The Latians unconcern'd shall see the fight;

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This arm unaided shall assert your right:

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Then, if my prostrate body press the plain,

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To him the crown and beauteous bride remain."

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To whom the king sedately thus replied:

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"Brave youth, the more your valor has been tried,

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The more becomes it us, with due respect,

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To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect.

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You want not wealth, or a successive throne,

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Or cities which your arms have made your own:

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My towns and treasures are at your command,

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And stor'd with blooming beauties is my land;

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Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees,

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Unmarried, fair, of noble families.

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Now let me speak, and you with patience hear,

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Things which perhaps may grate a lover's ear,

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But sound advice, proceeding from a heart

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Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art.

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The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown,

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No prince Italian born should heir my throne:

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Oft have our augurs, in prediction skill'd,

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And oft our priests, foreign son reveal'd.

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Yet, won by worth that cannot be withstood,

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Brib'd by my kindness to my kindred blood,

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Urg'd by my wife, who would not be denied,

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I promis'd my Lavinia for your bride:

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Her from her plighted lord by force I took;

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All ties of treaties, and of honor, broke:

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On your account I wag'd an impious war-

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With what success, 't is needless to declare;

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I and my subjects feel, and you have had your share.

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Twice vanquish'd while in bloody fields we strive,

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Scarce in our walls we keep our hopes alive:

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The rolling flood runs warm with human gore;

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The bones of Latians blanch the neighb'ring shore.

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Why put I not an end to this debate,

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Still unresolv'd, and still a slave to fate?

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If Turnus' death a lasting peace can give,

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Why should I not procure it whilst you live?

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Should I to doubtful arms your youth betray,

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What would my kinsmen the Rutulians say?

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And, should you fall in fight, (which Heav'n defend!)

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How curse the cause which hasten'd to his end

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The daughter's lover and the father's friend?

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Weigh in your mind the various chance of war;

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Pity your parent's age, and ease his care."

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Such balmy words he pour'd, but all in vain:

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The proffer'd med'cine but provok'd the pain.

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The wrathful youth, disdaining the relief,

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With intermitting sobs thus vents his grief:

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"The care, O best of fathers, which you take

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For my concerns, at my desire forsake.

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Permit me not to languish out my days,

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But make the best exchange of life for praise.

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This arm, this lance, can well dispute the prize;

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And the blood follows, where the weapon flies.

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His goddess mother is not near, to shroud

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The flying coward with an empty cloud."

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But now the queen, who fear'd for Turnus' life,

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And loath'd the hard conditions of the strife,

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Held him by force; and, dying in his death,

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In these sad accents gave her sorrow breath:

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"O Turnus, I adjure thee by these tears,

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And whate'er price Amata's honor bears

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Within thy breast, since thou art all my hope,

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My sickly mind's repose, my sinking age's prop;

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Since on the safety of thy life alone

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Depends Latinus, and the Latian throne:

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Refuse me not this one, this only pray'r,

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To waive the combat, and pursue the war.

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Whatever chance attends this fatal strife,

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Think it includes, in thine, Amata's life.

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I cannot live a slave, or see my throne

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Usurp'd by strangers or a Trojan son."

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At this, a flood of tears Lavinia shed;

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A crimson blush her beauteous face o'erspread,

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Varying her cheeks by turns with white and red.

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The driving colors, never at a stay,

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Run here and there, and flush, and fade away.

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Delightful change! Thus Indian iv'ry shows,

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Which with the bord'ring paint of purple glows;

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Or lilies damask'd by the neighb'ring rose.

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The lover gaz'd, and, burning with desire,

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The more he look'd, the more he fed the fire:

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Revenge, and jealous rage, and secret spite,

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Roll in his breast, and rouse him to the fight.

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Then fixing on the queen his ardent eyes,

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Firm to his first intent, he thus replies:

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"O mother, do not by your tears prepare

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Such boding omens, and prejudge the war.

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Resolv'd on fight, I am no longer free

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To shun my death, if Heav'n my death decree."

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Then turning to the herald, thus pursues:

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"Go, greet the Trojan with ungrateful news;

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Denounce from me, that, when to-morrow's light

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Shall gild the heav'ns, he need not urge the fight;

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The Trojan and Rutulian troops no more

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Shall dye, with mutual blood, the Latian shore:

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Our single swords the quarrel shall decide,

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And to the victor be the beauteous bride."

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He said, and striding on, with speedy pace,

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He sought his coursers of the Thracian race.

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At his approach they toss their heads on high,

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And, proudly neighing, promise victory.

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The sires of these Orythia sent from far,

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To grace Pilumnus, when he went to war.

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The drifts of Thracian snows were scarce so white,

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Nor northern winds in fleetness match'd their flight.

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Officious grooms stand ready by his side;

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And some with combs their flowing manes divide,

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And others stroke their chests and gently soothe their pride

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He sheath'd his limbs in arms; a temper'd mass

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Of golden metal those, and mountain brass.

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Then to his head his glitt'ring helm he tied,

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And girt his faithful fauchion to his side.

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In his Aetnaean forge, the God of Fire

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That fauchion labor'd for the hero's sire;

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Immortal keenness on the blade bestow'd,

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And plung'd it hissing in the Stygian flood.

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Propp'd on a pillar, which the ceiling bore,

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Was plac'd the lance Auruncan Actor wore;

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Which with such force he brandish'd in his hand,

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The tough ash trembled like an osier wand:

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Then cried: "O pond'rous spoil of Actor slain,

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And never yet by Turnus toss'd in vain,

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Fail not this day thy wonted force; but go,

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Sent by this hand, to pierce the Trojan foe!

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Give me to tear his corslet from his breast,

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And from that eunuch head to rend the crest;

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Dragg'd in the dust, his frizzled hair to soil,

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Hot from the vexing ir'n, and smear'd with fragrant oil!"

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Thus while he raves, from his wide nostrils flies

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A fiery steam, and sparkles from his eyes.

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So fares the bull in his lov'd female's sight:

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Proudly he bellows, and preludes the fight;

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He tries his goring horns against a tree,

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And meditates his absent enemy;

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He pushes at the winds; he digs the strand

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With his black hoofs, and spurns the yellow sand.

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Nor less the Trojan, in his Lemnian arms,

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To future fight his manly courage warms:

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He whets his fury, and with joy prepares

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To terminate at once the ling'ring wars;

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To cheer his chiefs and tender son, relates

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What Heav'n had promis'd, and expounds the fates.

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Then to the Latian king he sends, to cease

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The rage of arms, and ratify the peace.

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The morn ensuing, from the mountain's height,

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Had scarcely spread the skies with rosy light;

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Th' ethereal coursers, bounding from the sea,

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From out their flaming nostrils breath'd the day;

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When now the Trojan and Rutulian guard,

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In friendly labor join'd, the list prepar'd.

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Beneath the walls they measure out the space;

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Then sacred altars rear, on sods of grass,

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Where, with religious their common gods they place.

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In purest white the priests their heads attire;

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And living waters bear, and holy fire;

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And, o'er their linen hoods and shaded hair,

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Long twisted wreaths of sacred veryain wear,

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In order issuing from the town appears

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The Latin legion, arm'd with pointed spears;

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And from the fields, advancing on a line,

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The Trojan and the Tuscan forces join:

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Their various arms afford a pleasing sight;

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A peaceful train they seem, in peace prepar'd for fight.

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Betwixt the ranks the proud commanders ride,

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Glitt'ring with gold, and vests in purple dyed;

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Here Mnestheus, author of the Memmian line,

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And there Messapus, born of seed divine.

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The sign is giv'n; and, round the listed space,

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Each man in order fills his proper place.

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Reclining on their ample shields, they stand,

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And fix their pointed lances in the sand.

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Now, studious of the sight, a num'rous throng

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Of either sex promiscuous, old and young,

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Swarm the town: by those who rest behind,

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The gates and walls and houses' tops are lin'd.

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Meantime the Queen of Heav'n beheld the sight,

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With eyes unpleas'd, from Mount Albano's height

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(Since call'd Albano by succeeding fame,

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But then an empty hill, without a name).

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She thence survey'd the field, the Trojan pow'rs,

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The Latian squadrons, and Laurentine tow'rs.

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Then thus the goddess of the skies bespoke,

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With sighs and tears, the goddess of the lake,

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King Turnus' sister, once a lovely maid,

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Ere to the lust of lawless Jove betray'd:

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Compress'd by force, but, by the grateful god,

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Now made the Nais of the neighb'ring flood.

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"O nymph, the pride of living lakes," said she,

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"O most renown'd, and most belov'd by me,

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Long hast thou known, nor need I to record,

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The wanton sallies of my wand'ring lord.

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Of ev'ry Latian fair whom Jove misled

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To mount by stealth my violated bed,

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To thee alone I grudg'd not his embrace,

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But gave a part of heav'n, and an unenvied place.

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Now learn from me thy near approaching grief,

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Nor think my wishes want to thy relief.

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While fortune favor'd, nor Heav'n's King denied

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To lend my succor to the Latian side,

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I sav'd thy brother, and the sinking state:

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But now he struggles with unequal fate,

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And goes, with gods averse, o'ermatch'd in might,

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To meet inevitable death in fight;

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Nor must I break the truce, nor can sustain the sight.

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Thou, if thou dar'st thy present aid supply;

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It well becomes a sister's care to try."

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At this the lovely nymph, with grief oppress'd,

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Thrice tore her hair, and beat her comely breast.

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To whom Saturnia thus: "Thy tears are late:

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Haste, snatch him, if he can be snatch'd from fate:

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New tumults kindle; violate the truce:

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Who knows what changeful fortune may produce?

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'T is not a crime t' attempt what I decree;

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Or, if it were, discharge the crime on me."

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She said, and, sailing on the winged wind,

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Left the sad nymph suspended in her mind.

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And now pomp the peaceful kings appear:

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Four steeds the chariot of Latinus bear;

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Twelve golden beams around his temples play,

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To mark his lineage from the God of Day.

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Two snowy coursers Turnus' chariot yoke,

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And in his hand two massy spears he shook:

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Then issued from the camp, in arms divine,

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Aeneas, author of the Roman line;

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And by his side Ascanius took his place,

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The second hope of Rome's immortal race.

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Adorn'd in white, a rev'rend priest appears,

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And off'rings to the flaming altars bears;

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A porket, and a lamb that never suffer'd shears.

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Then to the rising sun he turns his eyes,

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And strews the beasts, design'd for sacrifice,

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With salt and meal: with like officious care

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He marks their foreheads, and he clips their hair.

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Betwixt their horns the purple wine he sheds;

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With the same gen'rous juice the flame he feeds.

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Aeneas then unsheath'd his shining sword,

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And thus with pious pray'rs the gods ador'd:

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"All-seeing sun, and thou, Ausonian soil,

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For which I have sustain'd so long a toil,

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Thou, King of Heav'n, and thou, the Queen of Air,

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Propitious now, and reconcil'd by pray'r;

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Thou, God of War, whose unresisted sway

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The labors and events of arms obey;

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Ye living fountains, and ye running floods,

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All pow'rs of ocean, all ethereal gods,

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Hear, and bear record: if I fall in field,

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Or, recreant in the fight, to Turnus yield,

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My Trojans shall encrease Evander's town;

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Ascanius shall renounce th' Ausonian crown:

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All claims, all questions of debate, shall cease;

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Nor he, nor they, with force infringe the peace.

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But, if my juster arms prevail in fight,

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(As sure they shall, if I divine aright,)

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My Trojans shall not o'er th' Italians reign:

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Both equal, both unconquer'd shall remain,

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Join'd in their laws, their lands, and their abodes;

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I ask but altars for my weary gods.

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The care of those religious rites be mine;

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The crown to King Latinus I resign:

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His be the sov'reign sway. Nor will I share

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His pow'r in peace, or his command in war.

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For me, my friends another town shall frame,

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And bless the rising tow'rs with fair Lavinia's name."

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Thus he. Then, with erected eyes and hands,

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The Latian king before his altar stands.

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"By the same heav'n," said he, "and earth, and main,

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And all the pow'rs that all the three contain;

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By hell below, and by that upper god

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Whose thunder signs the peace, who seals it with his nod;

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So let Latona's double offspring hear,

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And double-fronted Janus, what I swear:

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I touch the sacred altars, touch the flames,

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And all those pow'rs attest, and all their names;

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Whatever chance befall on either side,

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No term of time this union shall divide:

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No force, no fortune, shall my vows unbind,

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Or shake the steadfast tenor of my mind;

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Not tho' the circling seas should break their bound,

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O'erflow the shores, or sap the solid ground;

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Not tho' the lamps of heav'n their spheres forsake,

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Hurl'd down, and hissing in the nether lake:

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Ev'n as this royal scepter" (for he bore

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A scepter in his hand) "shall never more

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Shoot out in branches, or renew the birth:

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An orphan now, cut from the mother earth

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By the keen ax, dishonor'd of its hair,

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And cas'd in brass, for Latian kings to bear."

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When thus in public view the peace was tied

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With solemn vows, and sworn on either side,

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All dues perform'd which holy rites require;

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The victim beasts are slain before the fire,

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The trembling entrails from their bodies torn,

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And to the fatten'd flames in chargers borne.

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Already the Rutulians deem their man

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O'ermatch'd in arms, before the fight began.

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First rising fears are whisper'd thro' the crowd;

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Then, gath'ring sound, they murmur more aloud.

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Now, side to side, they measure with their eyes

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The champions' bulk, their sinews, and their size:

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The nearer they approach, the more is known

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Th' apparent disadvantage of their own.

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Turnus himself appears in public sight

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Conscious of fate, desponding of the fight.

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Slowly he moves, and at his altar stands

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With eyes dejected, and with trembling hands;

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And, while he mutters undistinguish'd pray'rs,

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A livid deadness in his cheeks appears.

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With anxious pleasure when Juturna view'd

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Th' increasing fright of the mad multitude,

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When their short sighs and thick'ning sobs she heard,

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And found their ready minds for change prepar'd;

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Dissembling her immortal form, she took

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Camertus' mien, his habit, and his look;

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A chief of ancient blood; in arms well known

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Was his great sire, and he his greater son.

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His shape assum'd, amid the ranks she ran,

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And humoring their first motions, thus began:

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"For shame, Rutulians, can you bear the sight

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Of one expos'd for all, in single fight?

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Can we, before the face of heav'n, confess

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Our courage colder, or our numbers less?

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View all the Trojan host, th' Arcadian band,

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And Tuscan army; count 'em as they stand:

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Undaunted to the battle if we go,

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Scarce ev'ry second man will share a foe.

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Turnus, 't is true, in this unequal strife,

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Shall lose, with honor, his devoted life,

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Or change it rather for immortal fame,

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Succeeding to the gods, from whence he came:

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But you, a servile and inglorious band,

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For foreign lords shall sow your native land,

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Those fruitful fields your fighting fathers gain'd,

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Which have so long their lazy sons sustain'd."

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With words like these, she carried her design:

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A rising murmur runs along the line.

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Then ev'n the city troops, and Latians, tir'd

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With tedious war, seem with new souls inspir'd:

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Their champion's fate with pity they lament,

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And of the league, so lately sworn, repent.

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Nor fails the goddess to foment the rage

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With lying wonders, and a false presage;

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But adds a sign, which, present to their eyes,

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Inspires new courage, and a glad surprise.

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For, sudden, in the fiery tracts above,

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Appears in pomp th' imperial bird of Jove:

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A plump of fowl he spies, that swim the lakes,

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And o'er their heads his sounding pinions shakes;

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Then, stooping on the fairest of the train,

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In his strong talons truss'd a silver swan.

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Th' Italians wonder at th' unusual sight;

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But, while he lags, and labors in his flight,

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Behold, the dastard fowl return anew,

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And with united force the foe pursue:

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Clam'rous around the royal hawk they fly,

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And, thick'ning in a cloud, o'ershade the sky.

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They cuff, they scratch, they cross his airy course;

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Nor can th' incumber'd bird sustain their force;

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But vex'd, not vanquish'd, drops the pond'rous prey,

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And, lighten'd of his burthen, wings his way.

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Th' Ausonian bands with shouts salute the sight,

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Eager of action, and demand the fight.

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Then King Tolumnius, vers'd in augurs' arts,

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Cries out, and thus his boasted skill imparts:

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"At length 't is granted, what I long desir'd!

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This, this is what my frequent vows requir'd.

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Ye gods, I take your omen, and obey.

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Advance, my friends, and charge! I lead the way.

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These are the foreign foes, whose impious band,

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Like that rapacious bird, infest our land:

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But soon, like him, they shall be forc'd to sea

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By strength united, and forego the prey.

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Your timely succor to your country bring,

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Haste to the rescue, and redeem your king."

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He said; and, pressing onward thro' the crew,

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Pois'd in his lifted arm, his lance he threw.

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The winged weapon, whistling in the wind,

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Came driving on, nor miss'd the mark design'd.

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At once the cornel rattled in the skies;

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At once tumultuous shouts and clamors rise.

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Nine brothers in a goodly band there stood,

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Born of Arcadian mix'd with Tuscan blood,

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Gylippus' sons: the fatal jav'lin flew,

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Aim'd at the midmost of the friendly crew.

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A passage thro' the jointed arms it found,

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Just where the belt was to the body bound,

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And struck the gentle youth extended on the ground.

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Then, fir'd with pious rage, the gen'rous train

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Run madly forward to revenge the slain.

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And some with eager haste their jav'lins throw;

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And some with sword in hand assault the foe.

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The wish'd insult the Latine troops embrace,

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And meet their ardor in the middle space.

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The Trojans, Tuscans, and Arcadian line,

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With equal courage obviate their design.

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Peace leaves the violated fields, and hate

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Both armies urges to their mutual fate.

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With impious haste their altars are o'erturn'd,

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The sacrifice half-broil'd, and half-unburn'd.

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Thick storms of steel from either army fly,

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And clouds of clashing darts obscure the sky;

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Brands from the fire are missive weapons made,

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With chargers, bowls, and all the priestly trade.

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Latinus, frighted, hastens from the fray,

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And bears his unregarded gods away.

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These on their horses vault; those yoke the car;

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The rest, with swords on high, run headlong to the war.

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Messapus, eager to confound the peace,

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Spurr'd his hot courser thro' the fighting prease,

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At King Aulestes, by his purple known

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A Tuscan prince, and by his regal crown;

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And, with a shock encount'ring, bore him down.

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Backward he fell; and, as his fate design'd,

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The ruins of an altar were behind:

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There, pitching on his shoulders and his head,

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Amid the scatt'ring fires he lay supinely spread.

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The beamy spear, descending from above,

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His cuirass pierc'd, and thro' his body drove.

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Then, with a scornful smile, the victor cries:

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"The gods have found a fitter sacrifice."

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Greedy of spoils, th' Italians strip the dead

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Of his rich armor, and uncrown his head.

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Priest Corynaeus, arm'd his better hand,

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From his own altar, with a blazing brand;

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And, as Ebusus with a thund'ring pace

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Advanc'd to battle, dash'd it on his face:

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His bristly beard shines out with sudden fires;

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The crackling crop a noisome scent expires.

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Following the blow, he seiz'd his curling crown

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With his left hand; his other cast him down.

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The prostrate body with his knees he press'd,

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And plung'd his holy poniard in his breast.

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While Podalirius, with his sword, pursued

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The shepherd Alsus thro' the flying crowd,

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Swiftly he turns, and aims a deadly blow

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Full on the front of his unwary foe.

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The broad ax enters with a crashing sound,

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And cleaves the chin with one continued wound;

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Warm blood, and mingled brains, besmear his arms around

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An iron sleep his stupid eyes oppress'd,

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And seal'd their heavy lids in endless rest.

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But good Aeneas rush'd amid the bands;

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Bare was his head, and naked were his hands,

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In sign of truce: then thus he cries aloud:

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"What sudden rage, what new desire of blood,

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Inflames your alter'd minds? O Trojans, cease

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From impious arms, nor violate the peace!

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By human sanctions, and by laws divine,

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The terms are all agreed; the war is mine.

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Dismiss your fears, and let the fight ensue;

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This hand alone shall right the gods and you:

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Our injur'd altars, and their broken vow,

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To this avenging sword the faithless Turnus owe."

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Thus while he spoke, unmindful of defense,

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A winged arrow struck the pious prince.

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But, whether from some human hand it came,

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Or hostile god, is left unknown by fame:

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No human hand or hostile god was found,

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To boast the triumph of so base a wound.

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When Turnus saw the Trojan quit the plain,

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His chiefs dismay'd, his troops a fainting train,

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Th' unhop'd event his heighten'd soul inspires:

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At once his arms and coursers he requires;

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Then, with a leap, his lofty chariot gains,

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And with a ready hand assumes the reins.

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He drives impetuous, and, where'er he goes,

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He leaves behind a lane of slaughter'd foes.

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These his lance reaches; over those he rolls

Primary

His rapid car, and crushes out their souls:

Primary

In vain the vanquish'd fly; the victor sends

Primary

The dead men's weapons at their living friends.

Primary

Thus, on the banks of Hebrus' freezing flood,

Primary

The God of Battles, in his angry mood,

Primary

Clashing his sword against his brazen shield,

Primary

Let loose the reins, and scours along the field:

Primary

Before the wind his fiery coursers fly;

Primary

Groans the sad earth, resounds the rattling sky.

Primary

Wrath, Terror, Treason, Tumult, and Despair

Primary

(Dire faces, and deform'd) surround the car;

Primary

Friends of the god, and followers of the war.

Primary

With fury not unlike, nor less disdain,

Primary

Exulting Turnus flies along the plain:

Primary

His smoking horses, at their utmost speed,

Primary

He lashes on, and urges o'er the dead.

Primary

Their fetlocks run with blood; and, when they bound,

Primary

The gore and gath'ring dust are dash'd around.

Primary

Thamyris and Pholus, masters of the war,

Primary

He kill'd at hand, but Sthenelus afar:

Primary

From far the sons of Imbracus he slew,

Primary

Glaucus and Lades, of the Lycian crew;

Primary

Both taught to fight on foot, in battle join'd,

Primary

Or mount the courser that outstrips the wind.

Primary

Meantime Eumedes, vaunting in the field,

Primary

New fir'd the Trojans, and their foes repell'd.

Primary

This son of Dolon bore his grandsire's name,

Primary

But emulated more his father's fame;

Primary

His guileful father, sent a nightly spy,

Primary

The Grecian camp and order to descry:

Primary

Hard enterprise! and well he might require

Primary

Achilles' car and horses, for his hire:

Primary

But, met upon the scout, th' Aetolian prince

Primary

In death bestow'd a juster recompense.

Primary

Fierce Turnus view'd the Trojan from afar,

Primary

And launch'd his jav'lin from his lofty car;

Primary

Then lightly leaping down, pursued the blow,

Primary

And, pressing with his foot his prostrate foe,

Primary

Wrench'd from his feeble hold the shining sword,

Primary

And plung'd it in the bosom of its lord.

Primary

"Possess," said he, "the fruit of all thy pains,

Primary

And measure, at thy length, our Latian plains.

Primary

Thus are my foes rewarded by my hand;

Primary

Thus may they build their town, and thus enjoy the land!"

Primary

Then Dares, Butes, Sybaris he slew,

Primary

Whom o'er his neck his flound'ring courser threw.

Primary

As when loud Boreas, with his blust'ring train,

Primary

Stoops from above, incumbent on the main;

Primary

Where'er he flies, he drives the rack before,

Primary

And rolls the billows on th' Aegaean shore:

Primary

So, where resistless Turnus takes his course,

Primary

The scatter'd squadrons bend before his force;

Primary

His crest of horses' hair is blown behind

Primary

By adverse air, and rustles in the wind.

Primary

This haughty Phegeus saw with high disdain,

Primary

And, as the chariot roll'd along the plain,

Primary

Light from the ground he leapt, and seiz'd the rein.

Primary

Thus hung in air, he still retain'd his hold,

Primary

The coursers frighted, and their course controll'd.

Primary

The lance of Turnus reach'd him as he hung,

Primary

And pierc'd his plated arms, but pass'd along,

Primary

And only raz'd the skin. He turn'd, and held

Primary

Against his threat'ning foe his ample shield;

Primary

Then call'd for aid: but, while he cried in vain,

Primary

The chariot bore him backward on the plain.

Primary

He lies revers'd; the victor king descends,

Primary

And strikes so justly where his helmet ends,

Primary

He lops the head. The Latian fields are drunk

Primary

With streams that issue from the bleeding trunk.

Primary

While he triumphs, and while the Trojans yield,

Primary

The wounded prince is forc'd to leave the field:

Primary

Strong Mnestheus, and Achates often tried,

Primary

And young Ascanius, weeping by his side,

Primary

Conduct him to his tent. Scarce can he rear

Primary

His limbs from earth, supported on his spear.

Primary

Resolv'd in mind, regardless of the smart,

Primary

He tugs with both his hands, and breaks the dart.

Primary

The steel remains. No readier way he found

Primary

To draw the weapon, than t' inlarge the wound.

Primary

Eager of fight, impatient of delay,

Primary

He begs; and his unwilling friends obey.

Primary

Iapis was at hand to prove his art,

Primary

Whose blooming youth so fir'd Apollo's heart,

Primary

That, for his love, he proffer'd to bestow

Primary

His tuneful harp and his unerring bow.

Primary

The pious youth, more studious how to save

Primary

His aged sire, now sinking to the grave,

Primary

Preferr'd the pow'r of plants, and silent praise

Primary

Of healing arts, before Phoebean bays.

Primary

Propp'd on his lance the pensive hero stood,

Primary

And heard and saw, unmov'd, the mourning crowd.

Primary

The fam'd physician tucks his robes around

Primary

With ready hands, and hastens to the wound.

Primary

With gentle touches he performs his part,

Primary

This way and that, soliciting the dart,

Primary

And exercises all his heav'nly art.

Primary

All soft'ning simples, known of sov'reign use,

Primary

He presses out, and pours their noble juice.

Primary

These first infus'd, to lenify the pain,

Primary

He tugs with pincers, but he tugs in vain.

Primary

Then to the patron of his art he pray'd:

Primary

The patron of his art refus'd his aid.

Primary

Meantime the war approaches to the tents;

Primary

Th' alarm grows hotter, and the noise augments:

Primary

The driving dust proclaims the danger near;

Primary

And first their friends, and then their foes appear:

Primary

Their friends retreat; their foes pursue the rear.

Primary

The camp is fill'd with terror and affright:

Primary

The hissing shafts within the trench alight;

Primary

An undistinguish'd noise ascends the sky,

Primary

The shouts those who kill, and groans of those who die.

Primary

But now the goddess mother, mov'd with grief,

Primary

And pierc'd with pity, hastens her relief.

Primary

A branch of healing dittany she brought,

Primary

Which in the Cretan fields with care she sought:

Primary

Rough is the stern, which woolly leafs surround;

Primary

The leafs with flow'rs, the flow'rs with purple crown'd,

Primary

Well known to wounded goats; a sure relief

Primary

To draw the pointed steel, and ease the grief.

Primary

This Venus brings, in clouds involv'd, and brews

Primary

Th' extracted liquor with ambrosian dews,

Primary

And odorous panacee. Unseen she stands,

Primary

Temp'ring the mixture with her heav'nly hands,

Primary

And pours it in a bowl, already crown'd

Primary

With juice of med'c'nal herbs prepar'd to bathe the wound.

Primary

The leech, unknowing of superior art

Primary

Which aids the cure, with this foments the part;

Primary

And in a moment ceas'd the raging smart.

Primary

Stanch'd is the blood, and in the bottom stands:

Primary

The steel, but scarcely touch'd with tender hands,

Primary

Moves up, and follows of its own accord,

Primary

And health and vigor are at once restor'd.

Primary

Iapis first perceiv'd the closing wound,

Primary

And first the footsteps of a god he found.

Primary

"Arms! arms!" he cries; "the sword and shield prepare,

Primary

And send the willing chief, renew'd, to war.

Primary

This is no mortal work, no cure of mine,

Primary

Nor art's effect, but done by hands divine.

Primary

Some god our general to the battle sends;

Primary

Some god preserves his life for greater ends."

Primary

The hero arms in haste; his hands infold

Primary

His thighs with cuishes of refulgent gold:

Primary

Inflam'd to fight, and rushing to the field,

Primary

That hand sustaining the celestial shield,

Primary

This gripes the lance, and with such vigor shakes,

Primary

That to the rest the beamy weapon quakes.

Primary

Then with a close embrace he strain'd his son,

Primary

And, kissing thro' his helmet, thus begun:

Primary

"My son, from my example learn the war,

Primary

In camps to suffer, and in fields to dare;

Primary

But happier chance than mine attend thy care!

Primary

This day my hand thy tender age shall shield,

Primary

And crown with honors of the conquer'd field:

Primary

Thou, when thy riper years shall send thee forth

Primary

To toils of war, be mindful of my worth;

Primary

Assert thy birthright, and in arms be known,

Primary

For Hector's nephew, and Aeneas' son."

Primary

He said; and, striding, issued on the plain.

Primary

Anteus and Mnestheus, and a num'rous train,

Primary

Attend his steps; the rest their weapons take,

Primary

And, crowding to the field, the camp forsake.

Primary

A cloud of blinding dust is rais'd around,

Primary

Labors beneath their feet the trembling ground.

Primary

Now Turnus, posted on a hill, from far

Primary

Beheld the progress of the moving war:

Primary

With him the Latins view'd the cover'd plains,

Primary

And the chill blood ran backward in their veins.

Primary

Juturna saw th' advancing troops appear,

Primary

And heard the hostile sound, and fled for fear.

Primary

Aeneas leads; and draws a sweeping train,

Primary

Clos'd in their ranks, and pouring on the plain.

Primary

As when a whirlwind, rushing to the shore

Primary

From the mid ocean, drives the waves before;

Primary

The painful hind with heavy heart foresees

Primary

The flatted fields, and slaughter of the trees;

Primary

With like impetuous rage the prince appears

Primary

Before his doubled front, nor less destruction bears.

Primary

And now both armies shock in open field;

Primary

Osiris is by strong Thymbraeus kill'd.

Primary

Archetius, Ufens, Epulon, are slain

Primary

(All fam'd in arms, and of the Latian train)

Primary

By Gyas', Mnestheus', and Achates' hand.

Primary

The fatal augur falls, by whose command

Primary

The truce was broken, and whose lance, embrued

Primary

With Trojan blood, th' unhappy fight renew'd.

Primary

Loud shouts and clamors rend the liquid sky,

Primary

And o'er the field the frighted Latins fly.

Primary

The prince disdains the dastards to pursue,

Primary

Nor moves to meet in arms the fighting few;

Primary

Turnus alone, amid the dusky plain,

Primary

He seeks, and to the combat calls in vain.

Primary

Juturna heard, and, seiz'd with mortal fear,

Primary

Forc'd from the beam her brother's charioteer;

Primary

Assumes his shape, his armor, and his mien,

Primary

And, like Metiscus, in his seat is seen.

Primary

As the black swallow near the palace plies;

Primary

O'er empty courts, and under arches, flies;

Primary

Now hawks aloft, now skims along the flood,

Primary

To furnish her loquacious nest with food:

Primary

So drives the rapid goddess o'er the plains;

Primary

The smoking horses run with loosen'd reins.

Primary

She steers a various course among the foes;

Primary

Now here, now there, her conqu'ring brother shows;

Primary

Now with a straight, now with a wheeling flight,

Primary

She turns, and bends, but shuns the single fight.

Primary

Aeneas, fir'd with fury, breaks the crowd,

Primary

And seeks his foe, and calls by name aloud:

Primary

He runs within a narrower ring, and tries

Primary

To stop the chariot; but the chariot flies.

Primary

If he but gain a glimpse, Juturna fears,

Primary

And far away the Daunian hero bears.

Primary

What should he do! Nor arts nor arms avail;

Primary

And various cares in vain his mind assail.

Primary

The great Messapus, thund'ring thro' the field,

Primary

In his left hand two pointed jav'lins held:

Primary

Encount'ring on the prince, one dart he drew,

Primary

And with unerring aim and utmost vigor threw.

Primary

Aeneas saw it come, and, stooping low

Primary

Beneath his buckler, shunn'd the threat'ning blow.

Primary

The weapon hiss'd above his head, and tore

Primary

The waving plume which on his helm he wore.

Primary

Forced by this hostile act, and fir'd with spite,

Primary

That flying Turnus still declin'd the fight,

Primary

The Prince, whose piety had long repell'd

Primary

His inborn ardor, now invades the field;

Primary

Invokes the pow'rs of violated peace,

Primary

Their rites and injur'd altars to redress;

Primary

Then, to his rage abandoning the rein,

Primary

With blood and slaughter'd bodies fills the plain.

Primary

What god can tell, what numbers can display,

Primary

The various labors of that fatal day;

Primary

What chiefs and champions fell on either side,

Primary

In combat slain, or by what deaths they died;

Primary

Whom Turnus, whom the Trojan hero kill'd;

Primary

Who shar'd the fame and fortune of the field!

Primary

Jove, could'st thou view, and not avert thy sight,

Primary

Two jarring nations join'd in cruel fight,

Primary

Whom leagues of lasting love so shortly shall unite!

Primary

Aeneas first Rutulian Sucro found,

Primary

Whose valor made the Trojans quit their ground;

Primary

Betwixt his ribs the jav'lin drove so just,

Primary

It reach'd his heart, nor needs a second thrust.

Primary

Now Turnus, at two blows, two brethren slew;

Primary

First from his horse fierce Amycus he threw:

Primary

Then, leaping on the ground, on foot assail'd

Primary

Diores, and in equal fight prevail'd.

Primary

Their lifeless trunks he leaves upon the place;

Primary

Their heads, distilling gore, his chariot grace.

Primary

Three cold on earth the Trojan hero threw,

Primary

Whom without respite at one charge he slew:

Primary

Cethegus, Tanais, Tagus, fell oppress'd,

Primary

And sad Onythes, added to the rest,

Primary

Of Theban blood, whom Peridia bore.

Primary

Turnus two brothers from the Lycian shore,

Primary

And from Apollo's fane to battle sent,

Primary

O'erthrew; nor Phoebus could their fate prevent.

Primary

Peaceful Menoetes after these he kill'd,

Primary

Who long had shunn'd the dangers of the field:

Primary

On Lerna's lake a silent life he led,

Primary

And with his nets and angle earn'd his bread;

Primary

Nor pompous cares, nor palaces, he knew,

Primary

But wisely from th' infectious world withdrew:

Primary

Poor was his house; his father's painful hand

Primary

Discharg'd his rent, and plow'd another's land.

Primary

As flames among the lofty woods are thrown

Primary

On diff'rent sides, and both by winds are blown;

Primary

The laurels crackle in the sputt'ring fire;

Primary

The frighted sylvans from their shades retire:

Primary

Or as two neighb'ring torrents fall from high;

Primary

Rapid they run; the foamy waters fry;

Primary

They roll to sea with unresisted force,

Primary

And down the rocks precipitate their course:

Primary

Not with less rage the rival heroes take

Primary

Their diff'rent ways, nor less destruction make.

Primary

With spears afar, with swords at hand, they strike;

Primary

And zeal of slaughter fires their souls alike.

Primary

Like them, their dauntless men maintain the field;

Primary

And hearts are pierc'd, unknowing how to yield:

Primary

They blow for blow return, and wound for wound;

Primary

And heaps of bodies raise the level ground.

Primary

Murranus, boasting of his blood, that springs

Primary

From a long royal race of Latian kings,

Primary

Is by the Trojan from his chariot thrown,

Primary

Crush'd with the weight of an unwieldy stone:

Primary

Betwixt the wheels he fell; the wheels, that bore

Primary

His living load, his dying body tore.

Primary

His starting steeds, to shun the glitt'ring sword,

Primary

Paw down his trampled limbs, forgetful of their lord.

Primary

Fierce Hyllus threaten'd high, and, face to face,

Primary

Affronted Turnus in the middle space:

Primary

The prince encounter'd him in full career,

Primary

And at his temples aim'd the deadly spear;

Primary

So fatally the flying weapon sped,

Primary

That thro' his helm it pierc'd his head.

Primary

Nor, Cisseus, couldst thou scape from Turnus' hand,

Primary

In vain the strongest of th' Arcadian band:

Primary

Nor to Cupentus could his gods afford

Primary

Availing aid against th' Aenean sword,

Primary

Which to his naked heart pursued the course;

Primary

Nor could his plated shield sustain the force.

Primary

Iolas fell, whom not the Grecian pow'rs,

Primary

Nor great subverter of the Trojan tow'rs,

Primary

Were doom'd to kill, while Heav'n prolong'd his date;

Primary

But who can pass the bounds, prefix'd by fate?

Primary

In high Lyrnessus, and in Troy, he held

Primary

Two palaces, and was from each expell'd:

Primary

Of all the mighty man, the last remains

Primary

A little spot of foreign earth contains.

Primary

And now both hosts their broken troops unite

Primary

In equal ranks, and mix in mortal fight.

Primary

Seresthus and undaunted Mnestheus join

Primary

The Trojan, Tuscan, and Arcadian line:

Primary

Sea-born Messapus, with Atinas, heads

Primary

The Latin squadrons, and to battle leads.

Primary

They strike, they push, they throng the scanty space,

Primary

Resolv'd on death, impatient of disgrace;

Primary

And, where one falls, another fills his place.

Primary

The Cyprian goddess now inspires her son

Primary

To leave th' unfinish'd fight, and storm the town:

Primary

For, while he rolls his eyes around the plain

Primary

In quest of Turnus, whom he seeks in vain,

Primary

He views th' unguarded city from afar,

Primary

In careless quiet, and secure of war.

Primary

Occasion offers, and excites his mind

Primary

To dare beyond the task he first design'd.

Primary

Resolv'd, he calls his chiefs; they leave the fight:

Primary

Attended thus, he takes a neighb'ring height;

Primary

The crowding troops about their gen'ral stand,

Primary

All under arms, and wait his high command.

Primary

Then thus the lofty prince: "Hear and obey,

Primary

Ye Trojan bands, without the least delay

Primary

Jove is with us; and what I have decreed

Primary

Requires our utmost vigor, and our speed.

Primary

Your instant arms against the town prepare,

Primary

The source of mischief, and the seat of war.

Primary

This day the Latian tow'rs, that mate the sky,

Primary

Shall level with the plain in ashes lie:

Primary

The people shall be slaves, unless in time

Primary

They kneel for pardon, and repent their crime.

Primary

Twice have our foes been vanquish'd on the plain:

Primary

Then shall I wait till Turnus will be slain?

Primary

Your force against the perjur'd city bend.

Primary

There it began, and there the war shall end.

Primary

The peace profan'd our rightful arms requires;

Primary

Cleanse the polluted place with purging fires."

Primary

He finish'd; and, one soul inspiring all,

Primary

Form'd in a wedge, the foot approach the wall.

Primary

Without the town, an unprovided train

Primary

Of gaping, gazing citizens are slain.

Primary

Some firebrands, others scaling ladders bear,

Primary

And those they toss aloft, and these they rear:

Primary

The flames now launch'd, the feather'd arrows fly,

Primary

And clouds of missive arms obscure the sky.

Primary

Advancing to the front, the hero stands,

Primary

And, stretching out to heav'n his pious hands,

Primary

Attests the gods, asserts his innocence,

Primary

Upbraids with breach of faith th' Ausonian prince;

Primary

Declares the royal honor doubly stain'd,

Primary

And twice the rites of holy peace profan'd.

Primary

Dissenting clamors in the town arise;

Primary

Each will be heard, and all at once advise.

Primary

One part for peace, and one for war contends;

Primary

Some would exclude their foes, and some admit their friends.

Primary

The helpless king is hurried in the throng,

Primary

And, whate'er tide prevails, is borne along.

Primary

Thus, when the swain, within a hollow rock,

Primary

Invades the bees with suffocating smoke,

Primary

They run around, or labor on their wings,

Primary

Disus'd to flight, and shoot their sleepy stings;

Primary

To shun the bitter fumes in vain they try;

Primary

Black vapors, issuing from the vent, involve the sky.

Primary

But fate and envious fortune now prepare

Primary

To plunge the Latins in the last despair.

Primary

The queen, who saw the foes invade the town,

Primary

And brands on tops of burning houses thrown,

Primary

Cast round her eyes, distracted with her fear-

Primary

No troops of Turnus in the field appear.

Primary

Once more she stares abroad, but still in vain,

Primary

And then concludes the royal youth is slain.

Primary

Mad with her anguish, impotent to bear

Primary

The mighty grief, she loathes the vital air.

Primary

She calls herself the cause of all this ill,

Primary

And owns the dire effects of her ungovern'd will;

Primary

She raves against the gods; she beats her breast;

Primary

She tears with both her hands her purple vest:

Primary

Then round a beam a running noose she tied,

Primary

And, fasten'd by the neck, obscenely died.

Primary

Soon as the fatal news by Fame was blown,

Primary

And to her dames and to her daughter known,

Primary

The sad Lavinia rends her yellow hair

Primary

And rosy cheeks; the rest her sorrow share:

Primary

With shrieks the palace rings, and madness of despair.

Primary

The spreading rumor fills the public place:

Primary

Confusion, fear, distraction, and disgrace,

Primary

And silent shame, are seen in ev'ry face.

Primary

Latinus tears his garments as he goes,

Primary

Both for his public and his private woes;

Primary

With filth his venerable beard besmears,

Primary

And sordid dust deforms his silver hairs.

Primary

And much he blames the softness of his mind,

Primary

Obnoxious to the charms of womankind,

Primary

And soon seduc'd to change what he so well design'd;

Primary

To break the solemn league so long desir'd,

Primary

Nor finish what his fates, and those of Troy, requir'd.

Primary

Now Turnus rolls aloof o'er empty plains,

Primary

And here and there some straggling foes he gleans.

Primary

His flying coursers please him less and less,

Primary

Asham'd of easy fight and cheap success.

Primary

Thus half-contented, anxious in his mind,

Primary

The distant cries come driving in the wind,

Primary

Shouts from the walls, but shouts in murmurs drown'd;

Primary

A jarring mixture, and a boding sound.

Primary

"Alas!" said he, "what mean these dismal cries?

Primary

What doleful clamors from the town arise?"

Primary

Confus'd, he stops, and backward pulls the reins.

Primary

She who the driver's office now sustains,

Primary

Replies: "Neglect, my lord, these new alarms;

Primary

Here fight, and urge the fortune of your arms:

Primary

There want not others to defend the wall.

Primary

If by your rival's hand th' Italians fall,

Primary

So shall your fatal sword his friends oppress,

Primary

In honor equal, equal in success."

Primary

To this, the prince: "O sister- for I knew

Primary

The peace infring'd proceeded first from you;

Primary

I knew you, when you mingled first in fight;

Primary

And now in vain you would deceive my sight-

Primary

Why, goddess, this unprofitable care?

Primary

Who sent you down from heav'n, involv'd in air,

Primary

Your share of mortal sorrows to sustain,

Primary

And see your brother bleeding on the plain?

Primary

For to what pow'r can Turnus have recourse,

Primary

Or how resist his fate's prevailing force?

Primary

These eyes beheld Murranus bite the ground:

Primary

Mighty the man, and mighty was the wound.

Primary

I heard my dearest friend, with dying breath,

Primary

My name invoking to revenge his death.

Primary

Brave Ufens fell with honor on the place,

Primary

To shun the shameful sight of my disgrace.

Primary

On earth supine, a manly corpse he lies;

Primary

His vest and armor are the victor's prize.

Primary

Then, shall I see Laurentum in a flame,

Primary

Which only wanted, to complete my shame?

Primary

How will the Latins hoot their champion's flight!

Primary

How Drances will insult and point them to the sight!

Primary

Is death so hard to bear? Ye gods below,

Primary

(Since those above so small compassion show,)

Primary

Receive a soul unsullied yet with shame,

Primary

Which not belies my great forefather's name!"

Primary

He said; and while he spoke, with flying speed

Primary

Came Sages urging on his foamy steed:

Primary

Fix'd on his wounded face a shaft he bore,

Primary

And, seeking Turnus, sent his voice before:

Primary

"Turnus, on you, on you alone, depends

Primary

Our last relief: compassionate your friends!

Primary

Like lightning, fierce Aeneas, rolling on,

Primary

With arms invests, with flames invades the town:

Primary

The brands are toss'd on high; the winds conspire

Primary

To drive along the deluge of the fire.

Primary

All eyes are fix'd on you: your foes rejoice;

Primary

Ev'n the king staggers, and suspends his choice;

Primary

Doubts to deliver or defend the town,

Primary

Whom to reject, or whom to call his son.

Primary

The queen, on whom your utmost hopes were plac'd,

Primary

Herself suborning death, has breath'd her last.

Primary

'T is true, Messapus, fearless of his fate,

Primary

With fierce Atinas' aid, defends the gate:

Primary

On ev'ry side surrounded by the foe,

Primary

The more they kill, the greater numbers grow;

Primary

An iron harvest mounts, and still remains to mow.

Primary

You, far aloof from your forsaken bands,

Primary

Your rolling chariot drive o'er empty

Primary

Stupid he sate, his eyes on earth declin'd,

Primary

And various cares revolving in his mind:

Primary

Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast,

Primary

And sorrow mix'd with shame, his soul oppress'd;

Primary

And conscious worth lay lab'ring in his thought,

Primary

And love by jealousy to madness wrought.

Primary

By slow degrees his reason drove away

Primary

The mists of passion, and resum'd her sway.

Primary

Then, rising on his car, he turn'd his look,

Primary

And saw the town involv'd in fire and smoke.

Primary

A wooden tow'r with flames already blaz'd,

Primary

Which his own hands on beams and rafters rais'd;

Primary

And bridges laid above to join the space,

Primary

And wheels below to roll from place to place.

Primary

"Sister, the Fates have vanquish'd: let us go

Primary

The way which Heav'n and my hard fortune show.

Primary

The fight is fix'd; nor shall the branded name

Primary

Of a base coward blot your brother's fame.

Primary

Death is my choice; but suffer me to try

Primary

My force, and vent my rage before I die."

Primary

He said; and, leaping down without delay,

Primary

Thro' crowds of scatter'd foes he freed his way.

Primary

Striding he pass'd, impetuous as the wind,

Primary

And left the grieving goddess far behind.

Primary

As when a fragment, from a mountain torn

Primary

By raging tempests, or by torrents borne,

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Or sapp'd by time, or loosen'd from the roots-

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Prone thro' the void the rocky ruin shoots,

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Rolling from crag to crag, from steep to steep;

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Down sink, at once, the shepherds and their sheep:

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Involv'd alike, they rush to nether ground;

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Stunn'd with the shock they fall, and stunn'd from earth rebound:

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So Turnus, hasting headlong to the town,

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Should'ring and shoving, bore the squadrons down.

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Still pressing onward, to the walls he drew,

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Where shafts, and spears, and darts promiscuous flew,

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And sanguine streams the slipp'ry ground embrue.

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First stretching out his arm, in sign of peace,

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He cries aloud, to make the combat cease:

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"Rutulians, hold; and Latin troops, retire!

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The fight is mine; and me the gods require.

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'T is just that I should vindicate alone

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The broken truce, or for the breach atone.

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This day shall free from wars th' Ausonian state,

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Or finish my misfortunes in my fate."

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Both armies from their bloody work desist,

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And, bearing backward, form a spacious list.

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The Trojan hero, who receiv'd from fame

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The welcome sound, and heard the champion's name,

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Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls,

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Greedy of war where greater glory calls.

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He springs to fight, exulting in his force

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His jointed armor rattles in the course.

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Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows,

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Or Father Apennine, when, white with snows,

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His head divine obscure in clouds he hides,

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And shakes the sounding forest on his sides.

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The nations, overaw'd, surcease the fight;

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Immovable their bodies, fix'd their sight.

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Ev'n death stands still; nor from above they throw

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Their darts, nor drive their batt'ring-rams below.

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In silent order either army stands,

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And drop their swords, unknowing, from their hands.

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Th' Ausonian king beholds, with wond'ring sight,

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Two mighty champions match'd in single fight,

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Born under climes remote, and brought by fate,

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With swords to try their titles to the state.

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Now, in clos'd field, each other from afar

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They view; and, rushing on, begin the war.

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They launch their spears; then hand to hand they meet;

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The trembling soil resounds beneath their feet:

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Their bucklers clash; thick blows descend from high,

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And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly.

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Courage conspires with chance, and both ingage

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With equal fortune yet, and mutual rage.

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As when two bulls for their fair female fight

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In Sila's shades, or on Taburnus' height;

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With horns adverse they meet; the keeper flies;

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Mute stands the herd; the heifers roll their eyes,

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And wait th' event; which victor they shall bear,

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And who shall be the lord, to rule the lusty year:

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With rage of love the jealous rivals burn,

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And push for push, and wound for wound return;

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Their dewlaps gor'd, their sides are lav'd in blood;

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Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow thro' the wood:

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Such was the combat in the listed ground;

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So clash their swords, and so their shields resound.

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Jove sets the beam; in either scale he lays

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The champions' fate, and each exactly weighs.

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On this side, life and lucky chance ascends;

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Loaded with death, that other scale descends.

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Rais'd on the stretch, young Turnus aims a blow

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Full on the helm of his unguarded foe:

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Shrill shouts and clamors ring on either side,

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As hopes and fears their panting hearts divide.

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But all in pieces flies the traitor sword,

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And, in the middle stroke, deserts his lord.

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Now is but death, or flight; disarm'd he flies,

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When in his hand an unknown hilt he spies.

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Fame says that Turnus, when his steeds he join'd,

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Hurrying to war, disorder'd in his mind,

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Snatch'd the first weapon which his haste could find.

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'T was not the fated sword his father bore,

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But that his charioteer Metiscus wore.

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This, while the Trojans fled, the toughness held;

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But, vain against the great Vulcanian shield,

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The mortal-temper'd steel deceiv'd his hand:

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The shiver'd fragments shone amid the sand.

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Surpris'd with fear, he fled along the field,

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And now forthright, and now in orbits wheel'd;

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For here the Trojan troops the list surround,

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And there the pass is clos'd with pools and marshy ground.

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Aeneas hastens, tho' with heavier pace-

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His wound, so newly knit, retards the chase,

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And oft his trembling knees their aid refuse-

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Yet, pressing foot by foot, his foe pursues.

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Thus, when a fearful stag is clos'd around

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With crimson toils, or in a river found,

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High on the bank the deep-mouth'd hound appears,

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Still opening, following still, where'er he steers;

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The persecuted creature, to and fro,

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Turns here and there, to scape his Umbrian foe:

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Steep is th' ascent, and, if he gains the land,

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The purple death is pitch'd along the strand.

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His eager foe, determin'd to the chase,

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Stretch'd at his length, gains ground at ev'ry pace;

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Now to his beamy head he makes his way,

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And now he holds, or thinks he holds, his prey:

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Just at the pinch, the stag springs out with fear;

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He bites the wind, and fills his sounding jaws with air:

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The rocks, the lakes, the meadows ring with cries;

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The mortal tumult mounts, and thunders in the skies.

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Thus flies the Daunian prince, and, flying, blames

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His tardy troops, and, calling by their names,

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Demands his trusty sword. The Trojan threats

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The realm with ruin, and their ancient seats

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To lay in ashes, if they dare supply

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With arms or aid his vanquish'd enemy:

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Thus menacing, he still pursues the course,

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With vigor, tho' diminish'd of his force.

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Ten times already round the listed place

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One chief had fled, and t' other giv'n the chase:

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No trivial prize is play'd; for on the life

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Or death of Turnus now depends the strife.

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Within the space, an olive tree had stood,

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A sacred shade, a venerable wood,

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For vows to Faunus paid, the Latins' guardian god.

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Here hung the vests, and tablets were ingrav'd,

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Of sinking mariners from shipwrack sav'd.

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With heedless hands the Trojans fell'd the tree,

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To make the ground inclos'd for combat free.

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Deep in the root, whether by fate, or chance,

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Or erring haste, the Trojan drove his lance;

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Then stoop'd, and tugg'd with force immense, to free

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Th' incumber'd spear from the tenacious tree;

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That, whom his fainting limbs pursued in vain,

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His flying weapon might from far attain.

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Confus'd with fear, bereft of human aid,

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Then Turnus to the gods, and first to Faunus pray'd:

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"O Faunus, pity! and thou Mother Earth,

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Where I thy foster son receiv'd my birth,

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Hold fast the steel! If my religious hand

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Your plant has honor'd, which your foes profan'd,

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Propitious hear my pious pray'r!" He said,

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Nor with successless vows invok'd their aid.

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Th' incumbent hero wrench'd, and pull'd, and strain'd;

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But still the stubborn earth the steel detain'd.

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Juturna took her time; and, while in vain

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He strove, assum'd Meticus' form again,

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And, in that imitated shape, restor'd

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To the despairing prince his Daunian sword.

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The Queen of Love, who, with disdain and grief,

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Saw the bold nymph afford this prompt relief,

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T' assert her offspring with a greater deed,

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From the tough root the ling'ring weapon freed.

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Once more erect, the rival chiefs advance:

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One trusts the sword, and one the pointed lance;

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And both resolv'd alike to try their fatal chance.

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Meantime imperial Jove to Juno spoke,

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Who from a shining cloud beheld the shock:

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"What new arrest, O Queen of Heav'n, is sent

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To stop the Fates now lab'ring in th' event?

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What farther hopes are left thee to pursue?

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Divine Aeneas, (and thou know'st it too,)

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Foredoom'd, to these celestial seats are due.

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What more attempts for Turnus can be made,

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That thus thou ling'rest in this lonely shade?

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Is it becoming of the due respect

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And awful honor of a god elect,

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A wound unworthy of our state to feel,

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Patient of human hands and earthly steel?

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Or seems it just, the sister should restore

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A second sword, when one was lost before,

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And arm a conquer'd wretch against his conqueror?

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For what, without thy knowledge and avow,

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Nay more, thy dictate, durst Juturna do?

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At last, in deference to my love, forbear

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To lodge within thy soul this anxious care;

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Reclin'd upon my breast, thy grief unload:

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Who should relieve the goddess, but the god?

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Now all things to their utmost issue tend,

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Push'd by the Fates to their appointed

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While leave was giv'n thee, and a lawful hour

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For vengeance, wrath, and unresisted pow'r,

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Toss'd on the seas, thou couldst thy foes distress,

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And, driv'n ashore, with hostile arms oppress;

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Deform the royal house; and, from the side

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Of the just bridegroom, tear the plighted bride:

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Now cease at my command." The Thund'rer said;

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And, with dejected eyes, this answer Juno made:

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"Because your dread decree too well I knew,

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From Turnus and from earth unwilling I withdrew.

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Else should you not behold me here, alone,

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Involv'd in empty clouds, my friends bemoan,

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But, girt with vengeful flames, in open sight

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Engag'd against my foes in mortal fight.

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'T is true, Juturna mingled in the strife

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By my command, to save her brother's life-

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At least to try; but, by the Stygian lake,

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(The most religious oath the gods can take,)

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With this restriction, not to bend the bow,

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Or toss the spear, or trembling dart to throw.

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And now, resign'd to your superior might,

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And tir'd with fruitless toils, I loathe the fight.

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This let me beg (and this no fates withstand)

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Both for myself and for your father's land,

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That, when the nuptial bed shall bind the peace,

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(Which I, since you ordain, consent to bless,)

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The laws of either nation be the same;

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But let the Latins still retain their name,

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Speak the same language which they spoke before,

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Wear the same habits which their grandsires wore.

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Call them not Trojans: perish the renown

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And name of Troy, with that detested town.

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Latium be Latium still; let Alba reign

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And Rome's immortal majesty remain."

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Then thus the founder of mankind replies

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(Unruffled was his front, serene his eyes)

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"Can Saturn's issue, and heav'n's other heir,

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Such endless anger in her bosom bear?

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Be mistress, and your full desires obtain;

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But quench the choler you foment in vain.

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From ancient blood th' Ausonian people sprung,

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Shall keep their name, their habit, and their tongue.

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The Trojans to their customs shall be tied:

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I will, myself, their common rites provide;

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The natives shall command, the foreigners subside.

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All shall be Latium; Troy without a name;

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And her lost sons forget from whence they came.

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From blood so mix'd, a pious race shall flow,

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Equal to gods, excelling all below.

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No nation more respect to you shall pay,

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Or greater off'rings on your altars lay."

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Juno consents, well pleas'd that her desires

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Had found success, and from the cloud retires.

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The peace thus made, the Thund'rer next prepares

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To force the wat'ry goddess from the wars.

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Deep in the dismal regions void of light,

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Three daughters at a birth were born to Night:

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These their brown mother, brooding on her care,

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Indued with windy wings to flit in air,

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With serpents girt alike, and crown'd with hissing hair.

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In heav'n the Dirae call'd, and still at hand,

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Before the throne of angry Jove they stand,

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His ministers of wrath, and ready still

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The minds of mortal men with fears to fill,

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Whene'er the moody sire, to wreak his hate

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On realms or towns deserving of their fate,

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Hurls down diseases, death and deadly care,

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And terrifies the guilty world with war.

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One sister plague if these from heav'n he sent,

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To fright Juturna with a dire portent.

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The pest comes whirling down: by far more slow

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Springs the swift arrow from the Parthian bow,

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Or Cydon yew, when, traversing the skies,

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And drench'd in pois'nous juice, the sure destruction flies.

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With such a sudden and unseen a flight

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Shot thro' the clouds the daughter of the night.

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Soon as the field inclos'd she had in view,

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And from afar her destin'd quarry knew,

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Contracted, to the boding bird she turns,

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Which haunts the ruin'd piles and hallow'd urns,

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And beats about the tombs with nightly wings,

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Where songs obscene on sepulchers she sings.

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Thus lessen'd in her form, with frightful cries

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The Fury round unhappy Turnus flies,

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Flaps on his shield, and flutters o'er his eyes.

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A lazy chillness crept along his blood;

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Chok'd was his voice; his hair with horror stood.

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Juturna from afar beheld her fly,

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And knew th' ill omen, by her screaming cry

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And stridor of her wings. Amaz'd with fear,

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Her beauteous breast she beat, and rent her flowing hair.

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"Ah me!" she cries, "in this unequal strife

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What can thy sister more to save thy life?

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Weak as I am, can I, alas! contend

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In arms with that inexorable fiend?

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Now, now, I quit the field! forbear to fright

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My tender soul, ye baleful birds of night;

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The lashing of your wings I know too well,

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The sounding flight, and fun'ral screams of hell!

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These are the gifts you bring from haughty Jove,

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The worthy recompense of ravish'd love!

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Did he for this exempt my life from fate?

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O hard conditions of immortal state,

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Tho' born to death, not privileg'd to die,

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But forc'd to bear impos'd eternity!

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Take back your envious bribes, and let me go

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Companion to my brother's ghost below!

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The joys are vanish'd: nothing now remains,

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Of life immortal, but immortal pains.

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What earth will open her devouring womb,

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To rest a weary goddess in the tomb!"

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She drew a length of sighs; nor more she said,

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But in her azure mantle wrapp'd her head,

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Then plung'd into her stream, with deep despair,

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And her last sobs came bubbling up in air.

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Now stern Aeneas his weighty spear

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Against his foe, and thus upbraids his fear:

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"What farther subterfuge can Turnus find?

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What empty hopes are harbor'd in his mind?

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'T is not thy swiftness can secure thy flight;

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Not with their feet, but hands, the valiant fight.

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Vary thy shape in thousand forms, and dare

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What skill and courage can attempt in war;

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Wish for the wings of winds, to mount the sky;

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Or hid, within the hollow earth to lie!"

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The champion shook his head, and made this short reply:

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"No threats of thine my manly mind can move;

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'T is hostile heav'n I dread, and partial Jove."

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He said no more, but, with a sigh, repress'd

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The mighty sorrow in his swelling breast.

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Then, as he roll'd his troubled eyes around,

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An antique stone he saw, the common bound

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Of neighb'ring fields, and barrier of the ground;

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So vast, that twelve strong men of modern days

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Th' enormous weight from earth could hardly raise.

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He heav'd it at a lift, and, pois'd on high,

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Ran stagg'ring on against his enemy,

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But so disorder'd, that he scarcely knew

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His way, or what unwieldly weight he threw.

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His knocking knees are bent beneath the load,

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And shiv'ring cold congeals his vital blood.

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The stone drops from his arms, and, falling short

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For want of vigor, mocks his vain effort.

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And as, when heavy sleep has clos'd the sight,

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The sickly fancy labors in the night;

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We seem to run; and, destitute of force,

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Our sinking limbs forsake us in the course:

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In vain we heave for breath; in vain we cry;

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The nerves, unbrac'd, their usual strength deny;

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And on the tongue the falt'ring accents die:

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So Turnus far'd; whatever means he tried,

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All force of arms and points of art employ'd,

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The Fury flew athwart, and made th' endeavor void.

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A thousand various thoughts his soul confound;

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He star'd about, nor aid nor issue found;

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His own men stop the pass, and his own walls surround.