| |
| THE GATES of heav’n unfold: Jove summons all | |
| The gods to council in the common hall. | |
| Sublimely seated, he surveys from far | |
| The fields, the camp, the fortune of the war, | |
| And all th’ inferior world. From first to last, | 5 |
| The sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d. | |
| Then thus th’ almighty sire began: “Ye gods, | |
| Natives or denizens of blest abodes, | |
| From whence these murmurs, and this change of mind, | |
| This backward fate from what was first design’d? | 10 |
| Why this protracted war, when my commands | |
| Pronounc’d a peace, and gave the Latian lands? | |
| What fear or hope on either part divides | |
| Our heav’ns, and arms our powers on diff’rent sides? | |
| A lawful time of war at length will come, | 15 |
| (Nor need your haste anticipate the doom), | |
| When Carthage shall contend the world with Rome, | |
| Shall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains, | |
| And, like a flood, come pouring on the plains. | |
| Then is your time for faction and debate, | 20 |
| For partial favor, and permitted hate. | |
| Let now your immature dissension cease; | |
| Sit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.” | |
| Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge; | |
| But lovely Venus thus replies at large: | 25 |
| “O pow’r immense, eternal energy, | |
| (For to what else protection can we fly?) | |
| Seest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare | |
| In fields, unpunish’d, and insult my care? | |
| How lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train, | 30 |
| In shining arms, triumphant on the plain? | |
| Ev’n in their lines and trenches they contend, | |
| And scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend: | |
| The town is fill’d with slaughter, and o’erfloats, | |
| With a red deluge, their increasing moats. | 35 |
| Æneas, ignorant, and far from thence, | |
| Has left a camp expos’d, without defense. | |
| This endless outrage shall they still sustain? | |
| Shall Troy renew’d be forc’d and fir’d again? | |
| A second siege my banish’d issue fears, | 40 |
| And a new Diomede in arms appears. | |
| One more audacious mortal will be found; | |
| And I, thy daughter, wait another wound. | |
| Yet, if with fates averse, without thy leave, | |
| The Latian lands my progeny receive, | 45 |
| Bear they the pains of violated law, | |
| And thy protection from their aid withdraw. | |
| But, if the gods their sure success foretell; | |
| If those of heav’n consent with those of hell, | |
| To promise Italy; who dare debate | 50 |
| The pow’r of Jove, or fix another fate? | |
| What should I tell of tempests on the main, | |
| Of Æolus usurping Neptune’s reign? | |
| Of Iris sent, with Bacchanalian heat | |
| T’ inspire the matrons, and destroy the fleet? | 55 |
| Now Juno to the Stygian sky descends, | |
| Solicits hell for aid, and arms the fiends. | |
| That new example wanted yet above: | |
| An act that well became the wife of Jove! | |
| Alecto, rais’d by her, with rage inflames | 60 |
| The peaceful bosoms of the Latian dames. | |
| Imperial sway no more exalts my mind; | |
| (Such hopes I had indeed, while Heav’n was kind;) | |
| Now let my happier foes possess my place, | |
| Whom Jove prefers before the Trojan race; | 65 |
| And conquer they, whom you with conquest grace. | |
| Since you can spare, from all your wide command, | |
| No spot of earth, no hospitable land, | |
| Which may my wand’ring fugitives receive; | |
| (Since haughty Juno will not give you leave;) | 70 |
| Then, father, (if I still may use that name,) | |
| By ruin’d Troy, yet smoking from the flame, | |
| I beg you, let Ascanius, by my care, | |
| Be freed from danger, and dismiss’d the war: | |
| Inglorious let him live, without a crown. | 75 |
| The father may be cast on coasts unknown, | |
| Struggling with fate; but let me save the son. | |
| Mine is Cythera, mine the Cyprian tow’rs: | |
| In those recesses, and those sacred bow’rs, | |
| Obscurely let him rest; his right resign | 80 |
| To promis’d empire, and his Julian line. | |
| Then Carthage may th’ Ausonian towns destroy, | |
| Nor fear the race of a rejected boy. | |
| What profits it my son to scape the fire, | |
| Arm’d with his gods, and loaded with his sire; | 85 |
| To pass the perils of the seas and wind; | |
| Evade the Greeks, and leave the war behind; | |
| To reach th’ Italian shores; if, after all, | |
| Our second Pergamus is doom’d to fall? | |
| Much better had he curb’d his high desires, | 90 |
| And hover’d o’er his ill-extinguish’d fires. | |
| To Simois’ banks the fugitives restore, | |
| And give them back to war, and all the woes before.” | |
| Deep indignation swell’d Saturnia’s heart: | |
| “And must I own,” she said, “my secret smart— | 95 |
| What with more decence were in silence kept, | |
| And, but for this unjust reproach, had slept? | |
| Did god or man your fav’rite son advise, | |
| With war unhop’d the Latians to surprise? | |
| By fate, you boast, and by the gods’ decree, | 100 |
| He left his native land for Italy! | |
| Confess the truth; by mad Cassandra, more | |
| Than Heav’n inspir’d, he sought a foreign shore! | |
| Did I persuade to trust his second Troy | |
| To the raw conduct of a beardless boy, | 105 |
| With walls unfinish’d, which himself forsakes, | |
| And thro’ the waves a wand’ring voyage takes? | |
| When have I urg’d him meanly to demand | |
| The Tuscan aid, and arm a quiet land? | |
| Did I or Iris give this mad advice, | 110 |
| Or made the fool himself the fatal choice? | |
| You think it hard, the Latians should destroy | |
| With swords your Trojans, and with fires your Troy! | |
| Hard and unjust indeed, for men to draw | |
| Their native air, nor take a foreign law! | 115 |
| That Turnus is permitted still to live, | |
| To whom his birth a god and goddess give! | |
| But yet ’t is just and lawful for your line | |
| To drive their fields, and force with fraud to join; | |
| Realms, not your own, among your clans divide, | 120 |
| And from the bridegroom tear the promis’d bride; | |
| Petition, while you public arms prepare; | |
| Pretend a peace, and yet provoke a war! | |
| ’T was giv’n to you, your darling son to shroud, | |
| To draw the dastard from the fighting crowd, | 125 |
| And, for a man, obtend an empty cloud. | |
| From flaming fleets you turn’d the fire away, | |
| And chang’d the ships to daughters of the sea. | |
| But ’t is my crime—the Queen of Heav’n offends, | |
| If she presume to save her suff’ring friends! | 130 |
| Your son, not knowing what his foes decree, | |
| You say, is absent: absent let him be. | |
| Yours is Cythera, yours the Cyprian tow’rs, | |
| The soft recesses, and the sacred bow’rs. | |
| Why do you then these needless arms prepare, | 135 |
| And thus provoke a people prone to war? | |
| Did I with fire the Trojan town deface, | |
| Or hinder from return your exil’d race? | |
| Was I the cause of mischief, or the man | |
| Whose lawless lust the fatal war began? | 140 |
| Think on whose faith th’ adult’rous youth relied; | |
| Who promis’d, who procur’d, the Spartan bride? | |
| When all th’ united states of Greece combin’d, | |
| To purge the world of the perfidious kind, | |
| Then was your time to fear the Trojan fate: | 145 |
| Your quarrels and complaints are now too late.” | |
| Thus Juno. Murmurs rise, with mix’d applause, | |
| Just as they favor or dislike the cause. | |
| So winds, when yet unfledg’d in woods they lie, | |
| In whispers first their tender voices try, | 150 |
| Then issue on the main with bellowing rage, | |
| And storms to trembling mariners presage. | |
| Then thus to both replied th’ imperial god, | |
| Who shakes heav’n’s axles with his awful nod. | |
| (When he begins, the silent senate stand | 155 |
| With rev’rence, list’ning to the dread command: | |
| The clouds dispel; the winds their breath restrain; | |
| And the hush’d waves lie flatted on the main.) | |
| “Celestials, your attentive ears incline! | |
| Since,” said the god, “the Trojans must not join | 160 |
| In wish’d alliance with the Latian line; | |
| Since endless jarrings and immortal hate | |
| Tend but to discompose our happy state; | |
| The war henceforward be resign’d to fate: | |
| Each to his proper fortune stand or fall; | 165 |
| Equal and unconcern’d I look on all. | |
| Rutulians, Trojans, are the same to me; | |
| And both shall draw the lots their fates decree. | |
| Let these assault, if Fortune be their friend; | |
| And, if she favors those, let those defend: | 170 |
| The Fates will find their way.” The Thund’rer said, | |
| And shook the sacred honors of his head, | |
| Attesting Styx, th’ inviolable flood, | |
| And the black regions of his brother god. | |
| Trembled the poles of heav’n, and earth confess’d the nod. | 175 |
| This end the sessions had: the senate rise, | |
| And to his palace wait their sov’reign thro’ the skies. | |
| Meantime, intent upon their siege, the foes | |
| Within their walls the Trojan host inclose: | |
| They wound, they kill, they watch at ev’ry gate; | 180 |
| Renew the fires, and urge their happy fate. | |
| Th’ Æneans wish in vain their wanted chief, | |
| Hopeless of flight, more hopeless of relief. | |
| Thin on the tow’rs they stand; and ev’n those few | |
| A feeble, fainting, and dejected crew. | 185 |
| Yet in the face of danger some there stood: | |
| The two bold brothers of Sarpedon’s blood, | |
| Asius and Acmon; both th’ Assaraci; | |
| Young Haemon, and tho’ young, resolv’d to die. | |
| With these were Clarus and Thymoetes join’d; | 190 |
| Tibris and Castor, both of Lycian kind. | |
| From Acmon’s hands a rolling stone there came, | |
| So large, it half deserv’d a mountain’s name: | |
| Strong-sinew’d was the youth, and big of bone; | |
| His brother Mnestheus could not more have done, | 195 |
| Or the great father of th’ intrepid son. | |
| Some firebrands throw, some flights of arrows send; | |
| And some with darts, and some with stones defend. | |
| Amid the press appears the beauteous boy, | |
| The care of Venus, and the hope of Troy. | 200 |
| His lovely face unarm’d, his head was bare; | |
| In ringlets o’er his shoulders hung his hair. | |
| His forehead circled with a diadem; | |
| Distinguish’d from the crowd, he shines a gem, | |
| Enchas’d in gold, or polish’d iv’ry set, | 205 |
| Amidst the meaner foil of sable jet. | |
| Nor Ismarus was wanting to the war, | |
| Directing pointed arrows from afar, | |
| And death with poison arm’d—in Lydia born, | |
| Where plenteous harvests the fat fields adorn; | 210 |
| Where proud Pactolus floats the fruitful lands, | |
| And leaves a rich manure of golden sands. | |
| There Capys, author of the Capuan name, | |
| And there was Mnestheus too, increas’d in fame, | |
| Since Turnus from the camp he cast with shame. | 215 |
| Thus mortal war was wag’d on either side. | |
| Meantime the hero cuts the nightly tide: | |
| For, anxious, from Evander when he went, | |
| He sought the Tyrrhene camp, and Tarchon’s tent; | |
| Expos’d the cause of coming to the chief; | 220 |
| His name and country told, and ask’d relief; | |
| Propos’d the terms; his own small strength declar’d; | |
| What vengeance proud Mezentius had prepar’d: | |
| What Turnus, bold and violent, design’d; | |
| Then shew’d the slipp’ry state of humankind, | 225 |
| And fickle fortune; warn’d him to beware, | |
| And to his wholesome counsel added pray’r. | |
| Tarchon, without delay, the treaty signs, | |
| And to the Trojan troops the Tuscan joins. | |
| They soon set sail; nor now the fates withstand; | 230 |
| Their forces trusted with a foreign hand. | |
| Æneas leads; upon his stern appear | |
| Two lions carv’d, which rising Ida bear— | |
| Ida, to wand’ring Trojans ever dear. | |
| Under their grateful shade Æneas sate, | 235 |
| Revolving war’s events, and various fate. | |
| His left young Pallas kept, fix’d to his side, | |
| And oft of winds enquir’d, and of the tide; | |
| Oft of the stars, and of their wat’ry way; | |
| And what he suffer’d both by land and sea. | 240 |
| Now, sacred sisters, open all your spring! | |
| The Tuscan leaders, and their army sing, | |
| Which follow’d great Æneas to the war: | |
| Their arms, their numbers, and their names declare. | |
| A thousand youths brave Massicus obey, | 245 |
| Borne in the Tiger thro’ the foaming sea; | |
| From Asium brought, and Cosa, by his care: | |
| For arms, light quivers, bows and shafts, they bear. | |
| Fierce Abas next: his men bright armor wore; | |
| His stern Apollo’s golden statue bore. | 250 |
| Six hundred Populonia sent along, | |
| All skill’d in martial exercise, and strong. | |
| Three hundred more for battle Ilva joins, | |
| An isle renown’d for steel, and unexhausted mines. | |
| Asylas on his prow the third appears, | 255 |
| Who heav’n interprets, and the wand’ring stars; | |
| From offer’d entrails prodigies expounds, | |
| And peals of thunder, with presaging sounds. | |
| A thousand spears in warlike order stand, | |
| Sent by the Pisans under his command. | 260 |
| Fair Astur follows in the wat’ry field, | |
| Proud of his manag’d horse and painted shield. | |
| Gravisca, noisome from the neighb’ring fen, | |
| And his own Cære, sent three hundred men; | |
| With those which Minio’s fields and Pyrgi gave, | 265 |
| All bred in arms, unanimous, and brave. | |
| Thou, Muse, the name of Cinyras renew, | |
| And brave Cupavo follow’d but by few; | |
| Whose helm confess’d the lineage of the man, | |
| And bore, with wings display’d, a silver swan. | 270 |
| Love was the fault of his fam’d ancestry, | |
| Whose forms and fortunes in his ensigns fly. | |
| For Cycnus lov’d unhappy Phæton, | |
| And sung his loss in poplar groves, alone, | |
| Beneath the sister shades, to soothe his grief. | 275 |
| Heav’n heard his song, and hasten’d his relief, | |
| And chang’d to snowy plumes his hoary hair, | |
| And wing’d his flight, to chant aloft in air. | |
| His son Cupavo brush’d the briny flood: | |
| Upon his stern a brawny Centaur stood, | 280 |
| Who heav’d a rock, and, threat’ning still to throw, | |
| With lifted hands alarm’d the seas below: | |
| They seem’d to fear the formidable sight, | |
| And roll’d their billows on, to speed his flight. | |
| Ocnus was next, who led his native train | 285 |
| Of hardy warriors thro’ the wat’ry plain: | |
| The son of Manto by the Tuscan stream, | |
| From whence the Mantuan town derives the name— | |
| An ancient city, but of mix’d descent: | |
| Three sev’ral tribes compose the government; | 290 |
| Four towns are under each; but all obey | |
| The Mantuan laws, and own the Tuscan sway. | |
| Hate to Mezentius arm’d five hundred more, | |
| Whom Mincius from his sire Benacus bore: | |
| Mincius, with wreaths of reeds his forehead cover’d o’er. | 295 |
| These grave Auletes leads: a hundred sweep | |
| With stretching oars at once the glassy deep. | |
| Him and his martial train the Triton bears; | |
| High on his poop the sea-green god appears: | |
| Frowning he seems his crooked shell to sound, | 300 |
| And at the blast the billows dance around. | |
| A hairy man above the waist he shows; | |
| A porpoise tail beneath his belly grows; | |
| And ends a fish: his breast the waves divides, | |
| And froth and foam augment the murm’ring tides. | 305 |
| Full thirty ships transport the chosen train | |
| For Troy’s relief, and scour the briny main. | |
| Now was the world forsaken by the sun, | |
| And Phœbe half her nightly race had run. | |
| The careful chief, who never clos’d his eyes, | 310 |
| Himself the rudder holds, the sails supplies. | |
| A choir of Nereids meet him on the flood, | |
| Once his own galleys, hewn from Ida’s wood; | |
| But now, as many nymphs, the sea they sweep, | |
| As rode, before, tall vessels on the deep. | 315 |
| They know him from afar; and in a ring | |
| Inclose the ship that bore the Trojan king. | |
| Cymodoce, whose voice excell’d the rest, | |
| Above the waves advanc’d her snowy breast; | |
| Her right hand stops the stern; her left divides | 320 |
| The curling ocean, and corrects the tides. | |
| She spoke for all the choir, and thus began | |
| With pleasing words to warn th’ unknowing man: | |
| “Sleeps our lov’d lord? O goddess-born, awake! | |
| Spread ev’ry sail, pursue your wat’ry track, | 325 |
| And haste your course. Your navy once were we, | |
| From Ida’s height descending to the sea; | |
| Till Turnus, as at anchor fix’d we stood, | |
| Presum’d to violate our holy wood. | |
| Then, loos’d from shore, we fled his fires profane | 330 |
| (Unwillingly we broke our master’s chain), | |
| And since have sought you thro’ the Tuscan main. | |
| The mighty Mother chang’d our forms to these, | |
| And gave us life immortal in the seas. | |
| But young Ascanius, in his camp distress’d, | 335 |
| By your insulting foes is hardly press’d. | |
| Th’ Arcadian horsemen, and Etrurian host, | |
| Advance in order on the Latian coast: | |
| To cut their way the Daunian chief designs, | |
| Before their troops can reach the Trojan lines. | 340 |
| Thou, when the rosy morn restores the light, | |
| First arm thy soldiers for th’ ensuing fight: | |
| Thyself the fated sword of Vulcan wield, | |
| And bear aloft th’ impenetrable shield. | |
| To-morrow’s sun, unless my skill be vain, | 345 |
| Shall see huge heaps of foes in battle slain.” | |
| Parting, she spoke; and with immortal force | |
| Push’d on the vessel in her wat’ry course; | |
| For well she knew the way. Impell’d behind, | |
| The ship flew forward, and outstripp’d the wind. | 350 |
| The rest make up. Unknowing of the cause, | |
| The chief admires their speed, and happy omens draws. | |
| Then thus he pray’d, and fix’d on heav’n his eyes: | |
| “Hear thou, great Mother of the deities. | |
| With turrets crown’d! (on Ida’s holy hill | 355 |
| Fierce tigers, rein’d and curb’d, obey thy will.) | |
| Firm thy own omens; lead us on to fight; | |
| And let thy Phrygians conquer in thy right.” | |
| He said no more. And now renewing day | |
| Had chas’d the shadows of the night away. | 360 |
| He charg’d the soldiers, with preventing care, | |
| Their flags to follow, and their arms prepare; | |
| Warn’d of th’ ensuing fight, and bade ’em hope the war. | |
| Now, from his lofty poop, he view’d below | |
| His camp incompass’d, and th’ inclosing foe. | 365 |
| His blazing shield, imbrac’d, he held on high; | |
| The camp receive the sign, and with loud shouts reply. | |
| Hope arms their courage: from their tow’rs they throw | |
| Their darts with double force, and drive the foe. | |
| Thus, at the signal giv’n, the cranes arise | 370 |
| Before the stormy south, and blacken all the skies. | |
| King Turnus wonder’d at the fight renew’d, | |
| Till, looking back, the Trojan fleet he view’d, | |
| The seas with swelling canvas cover’d o’er, | |
| And the swift ships descending on the shore. | 375 |
| The Latians saw from far, with dazzled eyes, | |
| The radiant crest that seem’d in flames to rise, | |
| And dart diffusive fires around the field, | |
| And the keen glitt’ring of the golden shield. | |
| Thus threat’ning comets, when by night they rise, | 380 |
| Shoot sanguine streams, and sadden all the skies: | |
| So Sirius, flashing forth sinister lights, | |
| Pale humankind with plagues and with dry famine frights. | |
| Yet Turnus with undaunted mind is bent | |
| To man the shores, and hinder their descent, | 385 |
| And thus awakes the courage of his friends: | |
| “What you so long have wish’d, kind Fortune sends; | |
| In ardent arms to meet th’ invading foe: | |
| You find, and find him at advantage now. | |
| Yours is the day: you need but only dare; | 390 |
| Your swords will make you masters of the war. | |
| Your sires, your sons, your houses, and your lands, | |
| And dearest wifes, are all within your hands. | |
| Be mindful of the race from whence you came, | |
| And emulate in arms your fathers’ fame. | 395 |
| Now take the time, while stagg’ring yet they stand | |
| With feet unfirm, and prepossess the strand: | |
| Fortune befriends the bold.” Nor more he said, | |
| But balanc’d whom to leave, and whom to lead; | |
| Then these elects, the landing to prevent; | 400 |
| And those he leaves, to keep the city pent. | |
| Meantime the Trojan sends his troops ashore: | |
| Some are by boats expos’d, by bridges more. | |
| With lab’ring oars they bear along the strand, | |
| Where the tide languishes, and leap aland. | 405 |
| Tarchon observes the coast with careful eyes, | |
| And, where no ford he finds, no water fries, | |
| Nor billows with unequal murmurs roar, | |
| But smoothly slide along, and swell the shore, | |
| That course he steer’d, and thus he gave command: | 410 |
| ‘Here ply your oars, and at all hazard land: | |
| Force on the vessel, that her keel may wound | |
| This hated soil, and furrow hostile ground. | |
| Let me securely land—I ask no more; | |
| Then sink my ships, or shatter on the shore.” | 415 |
| This fiery speech inflames his fearful friends: | |
| They tug at ev’ry oar, and ev’ry stretcher bends; | |
| They run their ships aground; the vessels knock, | |
| (Thus forc’d ashore,) and tremble with the shock. | |
| Tarchon’s alone was lost, that stranded stood, | 420 |
| Stuck on a bank, and beaten by the flood: | |
| She breaks her back; the loosen’d sides give way, | |
| And plunge the Tuscan soldiers in the sea. | |
| Their broken oars and floating planks withstand | |
| Their passage, while they labor to the land, | 425 |
| And ebbing tides bear back upon th’ uncertain sand. | |
| Now Turnus leads his troops without delay, | |
| Advancing to the margin of the sea. | |
| The trumpets sound: Æneas first assail’d | |
| The clowns new-rais’d and raw, and soon prevail’d. | 430 |
| Great Theron fell, an omen of the fight; | |
| Great Theron, large of limbs, of giant height. | |
| He first in open field defied the prince: | |
| But armor scal’d with gold was no defense | |
| Against the fated sword, which open’d wide | 435 |
| His plated shield, and pierc’d his naked side. | |
| Next, Lichas fell, who, not like others born, | |
| Was from his wretched mother ripp’d and torn; | |
| Sacred, O Phœbus, from his birth to thee; | |
| For his beginning life from biting steel was free. | 440 |
| Not far from him was Gyas laid along, | |
| Of monstrous bulk; with Cisseus fierce and strong: | |
| Vain bulk and strength! for, when the chief assail’d, | |
| Nor valor nor Herculean arms avail’d, | |
| Nor their fam’d father, wont in war to go | 445 |
| With great Alcides, while he toil’d below. | |
| The noisy Pharos next receiv’d his death: | |
| Æneas writh’d his dart, and stopp’d his bawling breath. | |
| Then wretched Cydon had receiv’d his doom, | |
| Who courted Clytius in his beardless bloom, | 450 |
| And sought with lust obscene polluted joys: | |
| The Trojan sword had cur’d his love of boys, | |
| Had not his sev’n bold brethren stopp’d the course | |
| Of the fierce champions, with united force. | |
| Sev’n darts were thrown at once; and some rebound | 455 |
| From his bright shield, some on his helmet sound: | |
| The rest had reach’d him; but his mother’s care | |
| Prevented those, and turn’d aside in air. | |
| The prince then call’d Achates, to supply | |
| The spears that knew the way to victory— | 460 |
| “Those fatal weapons, which, inur’d to blood, | |
| In Grecian bodies under Ilium stood: | |
| Not one of those my hand shall toss in vain | |
| Against our foes, on this contended plain.” | |
| He said; then seiz’d a mighty spear, and threw; | 465 |
| Which, wing’d with fate, thro’ Mæon’s buckler flew, | |
| Pierc’d all the brazen plates, and reach’d his heart: | |
| He stagger’d with intolerable smart. | |
| Alcanor saw; and reach’d, but reach’d in vain, | |
| His helping hand, his brother to sustain. | 470 |
| A second spear, which kept the former course, | |
| From the same hand, and sent with equal force, | |
| His right arm pierc’d, and holding on, bereft | |
| His use of both, and pinion’d down his left. | |
| Then Numitor from his dead brother drew | 475 |
| Th’ ill-omen’d spear, and at the Trojan threw: | |
| Preventing fate directs the lance awry, | |
| Which, glancing, only mark’d Achates’ thigh. | |
| In pride of youth the Sabine Clausus came, | |
| And, from afar, at Dryops took his aim. | 480 |
| The spear flew hissing thro’ the middle space, | |
| And pierc’d his throat, directed at his face; | |
| It stopp’d at once the passage of his wind, | |
| And the free soul to flitting air resign’d: | |
| His forehead was the first that struck the ground; | 485 |
| Lifeblood and life rush’d mingled thro’ the wound. | |
| He slew three brothers of the Borean race, | |
| And three, whom Ismarus, their native place, | |
| Had sent to war, but all the sons of Thrace. | |
| Halesus, next, the bold Aurunci leads: | 490 |
| The son of Neptune to his aid succeeds, | |
| Conspicuous on his horse. On either hand, | |
| These fight to keep, and those to win, the land. | |
| With mutual blood th’ Ausonian soil is dyed, | |
| While on its borders each their claim decide. | 495 |
| As wintry winds, contending in the sky, | |
| With equal force of lungs their titles try: | |
| They rage, they roar; the doubtful rack of heav’n | |
| Stands without motion, and the tide undriv’n: | |
| Each bent to conquer, neither side to yield, | 500 |
| They long suspend the fortune of the field. | |
| Both armies thus perform what courage can; | |
| Foot set to foot, and mingled man to man. | |
| But, in another part, th’ Arcadian horse | |
| With ill success ingage the Latin force: | 505 |
| For, where th’ impetuous torrent, rushing down, | |
| Huge craggy stones and rooted trees had thrown, | |
| They left their coursers, and, unus’d to fight | |
| On foot, were scatter’d in a shameful flight. | |
| Pallas, who with disdain and grief had view’d | 510 |
| His foes pursuing, and his friends pursued, | |
| Us’d threat’nings mix’d with pray’rs, his last resource, | |
| With these to move their minds, with those to fire their force. | |
| “Which way, companions? whether would you run? | |
| By you yourselves, and mighty battles won, | 515 |
| By my great sire, by his establish’d name, | |
| And early promise of my future fame; | |
| By my youth, emulous of equal right | |
| To share his honors—shun ignoble flight! | |
| Trust not your feet: your hands must hew your way | 520 |
| Thro’ yon black body, and that thick array: | |
| ’T is thro’ that forward path that we must come; | |
| There lies our way, and that our passage home. | |
| Nor pow’rs above, nor destinies below | |
| Oppress our arms: with equal strength we go, | 525 |
| With mortal hands to meet a mortal foe. | |
| See on what foot we stand: a scanty shore, | |
| The sea behind, our enemies before; | |
| No passage left, unless we swim the main; | |
| Or, forcing these, the Trojan trenches gain.” | 530 |
| This said, he strode with eager haste along, | |
| And bore amidst the thickest of the throng. | |
| Lagus, the first he met, with fate to foe, | |
| Had heav’d a stone of mighty weight, to throw: | |
| Stooping, the spear descended on his chine, | 535 |
| Just where the bone distinguished either loin: | |
| It stuck so fast, so deeply buried lay, | |
| That scarce the victor forc’d the steel away. | |
| Hisbon came on: but, while he mov’d too slow | |
| To wish’d revenge, the prince prevents his blow; | 540 |
| For, warding his at once, at once he press’d, | |
| And plung’d the fatal weapon in his breast. | |
| Then lewd Anchemolus he laid in dust, | |
| Who stain’d his stepdam’s bed with impious lust. | |
| And, after him, the Daucian twins were slain, | 545 |
| Laris and Thymbrus, on the Latian plain; | |
| So wondrous like in feature, shape, and size, | |
| As caus’d an error in their parents’ eyes— | |
| Grateful mistake! but soon the sword decides | |
| The nice distinction, and their fate divides: | 550 |
| For Thymbrus’ head was lopp’d; and Laris’ hand, | |
| Dismember’d, sought its owner on the strand: | |
| The trembling fingers yet the fauchion strain, | |
| And threaten still th’ intended stroke in vain. | |
| Now, to renew the charge, th’ Arcadians came: | 555 |
| Sight of such acts, and sense of honest shame, | |
| And grief, with anger mix’d, their minds inflame. | |
| Then, with a casual blow was Rhoeteus slain, | |
| Who chanc’d, as Pallas threw, to cross the plain: | |
| The flying spear was after Ilus sent; | 560 |
| But Rhoeteus happen’d on a death unmeant: | |
| From Teuthras and from Tyres while he fled, | |
| The lance, athwart his body, laid him dead: | |
| Roll’d from his chariot with a mortal wound, | |
| And intercepted fate, he spurn’d the ground. | 565 |
| As when, in summer, welcome winds arise, | |
| The watchful shepherd to the forest flies, | |
| And fires the midmost plants; contagion spreads, | |
| And catching flames infect the neighb’ring heads; | |
| Around the forest flies the furious blast, | 570 |
| And all the leafy nation sinks at last, | |
| And Vulcan rides in triumph o’er the waste; | |
| The pastor, pleas’d with his dire victory, | |
| Beholds the satiate flames in sheets ascend the sky: | |
| So Pallas’ troops their scatter’d strength unite, | 575 |
| And, pouring on their foes, their prince delight. | |
| Halesus came, fierce with desire of blood; | |
| But first collected in his arms he stood: | |
| Advancing then, he plied the spear so well, | |
| Ladon, Demodocus, and Pheres fell. | 580 |
| Around his head he toss’d his glitt’ring brand, | |
| And from Strymonius hew’d his better hand, | |
| Held up to guard his throat; then hurl’d a stoneAt Thoas’ ample front, and pierc’d the bone: | |
| It struck beneath the space of either eye; | |
| And blood, and mingled brains, together fly. | 585 |
| Deep skill’d in future fates, Halesus’ sire | |
| Did with the youth to lonely groves retire: | |
| But, when the father’s mortal race was run, | |
| Dire destiny laid hold upon the son, | |
| And haul’d him to the war, to find, beneath | 590 |
| Th’ Evandrian spear, a memorable death. | |
| Pallas th’ encounter seeks, but, ere he throws, | |
| To Tuscan Tiber thus address’d his vows: | |
| “O sacred stream, direct my flying dart, | |
| And give to pass the proud Halesus’ heart! | 595 |
| His arms and spoils thy holy oak shall bear.” | |
| Pleas’d with the bribe, the god receiv’d his pray’r: | |
| For, while his shield protects a friend distress’d, | |
| The dart came driving on, and pierc’d his breast. | |
| But Lausus, no small portion of the war, | 600 |
| Permits not panic fear to reign too far, | |
| Caus’d by the death of so renown’d a knight; | |
| But by his own example cheers the fight. | |
| Fierce Abas first he slew; Abas, the stay | |
| Of Trojan hopes, and hind’rance of the day. | 605 |
| The Phrygian troops escap’d the Greeks in vain: | |
| They, and their mix’d allies, now load the plain. | |
| To the rude shock of war both armies came; | |
| Their leaders equal, and their strength the same. | |
| The rear so press’d the front, they could not wield | 610 |
| Their angry weapons, to dispute the field. | |
| Here Pallas urges on, and Lausus there: | |
| Of equal youth and beauty both appear, | |
| But both by fate forbid to breathe their native air. | |
| Their congress in the field great Jove withstands: | 615 |
| Both doom’d to fall, but fall by greater hands. | |
| Meantime Juturna warns the Daunian chief | |
| Of Lausus’ danger, urging swift relief. | |
| With his driv’n chariot he divides the crowd, | |
| And, making to his friends, thus calls aloud: | 620 |
| “Let none presume his needless aid to join; | |
| Retire, and clear the field; the fight is mine: | |
| To this right hand is Pallas only due; | |
| O were his father here, my just revenge to view!” | |
| From the forbidden space his men retir’d. | 625 |
| Pallas their awe, and his stern words, admir’d; | |
| Survey’d him o’er and o’er with wond’ring sight, | |
| Struck with his haughty mien, and tow’ring height. | |
| Then to the king: “Your empty vaunts forbear; | |
| Success I hope, and fate I cannot fear; | 630 |
| Alive or dead, I shall deserve a name; | |
| Jove is impartial, and to both the same.” | |
| He said, and to the void advanc’d his pace: | |
| Pale horror sate on each Arcadian face. | |
| Then Turnus, from his chariot leaping light, | 635 |
| Address’d himself on foot to single fight. | |
| And, as a lion—when he spies from far | |
| A bull that seems to meditate the war, | |
| Bending his neck, and spurning back the sand— | |
| Runs roaring downward from his hilly stand: | 640 |
| Imagine eager Turnus not more slow, | |
| To rush from high on his unequal foe. | |
| Young Pallas, when he saw the chief advance | |
| Within due distance of his flying lance, | |
| Prepares to charge him first, resolv’d to try | 645 |
| If fortune would his want of force supply; | |
| And thus to Heav’n and Hercules address’d: | |
| “Alcides, once on earth Evander’s guest, | |
| His son adjures you by those holy rites, | |
| That hospitable board, those genial nights; | 650 |
| Assist my great attempt to gain this prize, | |
| And let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes, | |
| His ravish’d spoils.” ’T was heard, the vain request; | |
| Alcides mourn’d, and stifled sighs within his breast. | |
| Then Jove, to soothe his sorrow, thus began: | 655 |
| “Short bounds of life are set to mortal man. | |
| ’T is virtue’s work alone to stretch the narrow span. | |
| So many sons of gods, in bloody fight, | |
| Around the walls of Troy, have lost the light: | |
| My own Sarpedon fell beneath his foe; | 660 |
| Nor I, his mighty sire, could ward the blow. | |
| Ev’n Turnus shortly shall resign his breath, | |
| And stands already on the verge of death.” | |
| This said, the god permits the fatal fight, | |
| But from the Latian fields averts his sight. | 665 |
| Now with full force his spear young Pallas threw, | |
| And, having thrown, his shining fauchion drew | |
| The steel just graz’d along the shoulder joint, | |
| And mark’d it slightly with the glancing point, | |
| Fierce Turnus first to nearer distance drew, | 670 |
| And pois’d his pointed spear, before he threw: | |
| Then, as the winged weapon whizz’d along, | |
| “See now,” said he, “whose arm is better strung.” | |
| The spear kept on the fatal course, unstay’d | |
| By plates of ir’n, which o’er the shield were laid: | 675 |
| Thro’ folded brass and tough bull hides it pass’d, | |
| His corslet pierc’d, and reach’d his heart at last. | |
| In vain the youth tugs at the broken wood; | |
| The soul comes issuing with the vital blood: | |
| He falls; his arms upon his body sound; | 680 |
| And with his bloody teeth he bites the ground. | |
| Turnus bestrode the corpse: “Arcadians, hear,” | |
| Said he; “my message to your master bear: | |
| Such as the sire deserv’d, the son I send; | |
| It costs him dear to be the Phrygians’ friend. | 685 |
| The lifeless body, tell him, I bestow, | |
| Unask’d, to rest his wand’ring ghost below.” | |
| He said, and trampled down with all the force | |
| Of his left foot, and spurn’d the wretched corse; | |
| Then snatch’d the shining belt, with gold inlaid; | 690 |
| The belt Eurytion’s artful hands had made, | |
| Where fifty fatal brides, express’d to sight, | |
| All in the compass of one mournful night, | |
| Depriv’d their bridegrooms of returning light. | |
| In an ill hour insulting Turnus tore | 695 |
| Those golden spoils, and in a worse he wore. | |
| O mortals, blind in fate, who never know | |
| To bear high fortune, or endure the low! | |
| The time shall come, when Turnus, but in vain, | |
| Shall wish untouch’d the trophies of the slain; | 700 |
| Shall wish the fatal belt were far away, | |
| And curse the dire remembrance of the day. | |
| The sad Arcadians, from th’ unhappy field, | |
| Bear back the breathless body on a shield. | |
| O grace and grief of war! at once restor’d, | 705 |
| With praises, to thy sire, at once deplor’d! | |
| One day first sent thee to the fighting field, | |
| Beheld whole heaps of foes in battle kill’d; | |
| One day beheld thee dead, and borne upon thy shield. | |
| This dismal news, not from uncertain fame, | 710 |
| But sad spectators, to the hero came: | |
| His friends upon the brink of ruin stand, | |
| Unless reliev’d by his victorious hand. | |
| He whirls his sword around, without delay, | |
| And hews thro’ adverse foes an ample way, | 715 |
| To find fierce Turnus, of his conquest proud: | |
| Evander, Pallas, all that friendship ow’d | |
| To large deserts, are present to his eyes; | |
| His plighted hand, and hospitable ties. | |
| Four sons of Sulmo, four whom Ufens bred, | 720 |
| He took in fight, and living victims led, | |
| To please the ghost of Pallas, and expire, | |
| In sacrifice, before his fun’ral fire. | |
| At Magus next he threw: he stoop’d below | |
| The flying spear, and shunn’d the promis’d blow; | 725 |
| Then, creeping, clasp’d the hero’s knees, and pray’d: | |
| “By young Iulus, by thy father’s shade, | |
| O spare my life, and send me back to see | |
| My longing sire, and tender progeny! | |
| A lofty house I have, and wealth untold, | 730 |
| In silver ingots, and in bars of gold: | |
| All these, and sums besides, which see no day, | |
| The ransom of this one poor life shall pay. | |
| If I survive, will Troy the less prevail? | |
| A single soul’s too light to turn the scale.” | 735 |
| He said. The hero sternly thus replied: | |
| “Thy bars and ingots, and the sums beside, | |
| Leave for thy children’s lot. Thy Turnus broke | |
| All rules of war by one relentless stroke, | |
| When Pallas fell: so deems, nor deems alone | 740 |
| My father’s shadow, but my living son.” | |
| Thus having said, of kind remorse bereft, | |
| He seiz’d his helm, and dragg’d him with his left; | |
| Then with his right hand, while his neck he wreath’d, | |
| Up to the hilts his shining fauchion sheath’d. | 745 |
| Apollo’s priest, Emonides, was near; | |
| His holy fillets on his front appear; | |
| Glitt’ring in arms, he shone amidst the crowd; | |
| Much of his god, more of his purple, proud. | |
| Him the fierce Trojan follow’d thro’ the field: | 750 |
| The holy coward fell; and, forc’d to yield, | |
| The prince stood o’er the priest, and, at one blow, | |
| Sent him an off’ring to the shades below. | |
| His arms Seresthus on his shoulders bears, | |
| Design’d a trophy to the God of Wars. | 755 |
| Vulcanian Cæculus renews the fight, | |
| And Umbro, born upon the mountains’ height. | |
| The champion cheers his troops t’ encounter those, | |
| And seeks revenge himself on other foes. | |
| At Anxur’s shield he drove; and, at the blow, | 760 |
| Both shield and arm to ground together go. | |
| Anxur had boasted much of magic charms, | |
| And thought he wore impenetrable arms, | |
| So made by mutter’d spells; and, from the spheres, | |
| Had life secur’d, in vain, for length of years. | 765 |
| Then Tarquitus the field in triumph trod; | |
| A nymph his mother, and his sire a god. | |
| Exulting in bright arms, he braves the prince: | |
| With his protended lance he makes defense; | |
| Bears back his feeble foe; then, pressing on, | 770 |
| Arrests his better hand, and drags him down; | |
| Stands o’er the prostrate wretch, and, as he lay, | |
| Vain tales inventing, and prepar’d to pray, | |
| Mows off his head: the trunk a moment stood, | |
| Then sunk, and roll’d along the sand in blood. | 775 |
| The vengeful victor thus upbraids the slain: | |
| “Lie there, proud man, unpitied, on the plain; | |
| Lie there, inglorious, and without a tomb, | |
| Far from thy mother and thy native home, | |
| Expos’d to savage beasts, and birds of prey, | 780 |
| Or thrown for food to monsters of the sea.” | |
| On Lycas and Antæus next he ran, | |
| Two chiefs of Turnus, and who led his van. | |
| They fled for fear; with these, he chas’d along | |
| Camers the yellow-lock’d, and Numa strong; | 785 |
| Both great in arms, and both were fair and young. | |
| Camers was son to Volscens lately slain, | |
| In wealth surpassing all the Latian train, | |
| And in Amycla fix’d his silent easy reign. | |
| And, as Ægæon, when with heav’n he strove, | 790 |
| Stood opposite in arms to mighty Jove; | |
| Mov’d all his hundred hands, provok’d the war, | |
| Defied the forky lightning from afar; | |
| At fifty mouths his flaming breath expires, | |
| And flash for flash returns, and fires for fires; | 795 |
| In his right hand as many swords he wields, | |
| And takes the thunder on as many shields: | |
| With strength like his, the Trojan hero stood; | |
| And soon the fields with falling corps were strow’d, | |
| When once his fauchion found the taste of blood. | 800 |
| With fury scarce to be conceiv’d, he flew | |
| Against Niphæus, whom four coursers drew. | |
| They, when they see the fiery chief advance, | |
| And pushing at their chests his pointed lance, | |
| Wheel’d with so swift a motion, mad with fear, | 805 |
| They threw their master headlong from the chair. | |
| They stare, they start, nor stop their course, before | |
| They bear the bounding chariot to the shore. | |
| Now Lucagus and Liger scour the plains, | |
| With two white steeds; but Liger holds the reins, | 810 |
| And Lucagus the lofty seat maintains: | |
| Bold brethren both. The former wav’d in air | |
| His flaming sword: Æneas couch’d his spear, | |
| Unus’d to threats, and more unus’d to fear. | |
| Then Liger thus: “Thy confidence is vain | 815 |
| To scape from hence, as from the Trojan plain: | |
| Nor these the steeds which Diomede bestrode, | |
| Nor this the chariot where Achilles rode; | |
| Nor Venus’ veil is here, near Neptune’s shield; | |
| Thy fatal hour is come, and this the field.” | 820 |
| Thus Liger vainly vaunts: the Trojan peer | |
| Return’d his answer with his flying spear. | |
| As Lucagus, to lash his horses, bends, | |
| Prone to the wheels, and his left foot protends, | |
| Prepar’d for fight; the fatal dart arrives, | 825 |
| And thro’ the borders of his buckler drives; | |
| Pass’d thro’ and pierc’d his groin: the deadly wound, | |
| Cast from his chariot, roll’d him on the ground. | |
| Whom thus the chief upbraids with scornful spite: | |
| “Blame not the slowness of your steeds in flight; | 830 |
| Vain shadows did not force their swift retreat; | |
| But you yourself forsake your empty seat.” | |
| He said, and seiz’d at once the loosen’d rein; | |
| For Liger lay already on the plain, | |
| By the same shock: then, stretching out his hands, | 835 |
| The recreant thus his wretched life demands: | |
| “Now, by thyself, O more than mortal man! | |
| By her and him from whom thy breath began, | |
| Who form’d thee thus divine, I beg thee, spare | |
| This forfeit life, and hear thy suppliant’s pray’r.” | 840 |
| Thus much he spoke, and more he would have said; | |
| But the stern hero turn’d aside his head, | |
| And cut him short: “I hear another man; | |
| You talk’d not thus before the fight began. | |
| Now take your turn; and, as a brother should, | 845 |
| Attend your brother to the Stygian flood.” | |
| Then thro’ his breast his fatal sword he sent, | |
| And the soul issued at the gaping vent. | |
| As storms the skies, and torrents tear the ground, | |
| Thus rag’d the prince, and scatter’d deaths around. | 850 |
| At length Ascanius and the Trojan train | |
| Broke from the camp, so long besieg’d in vain. | |
| Meantime the King of Gods and Mortal Man | |
| Held conference with his queen, and thus began: | |
| “My sister goddess, and well-pleasing wife, | 855 |
| Still think you Venus’ aid supports the strife— | |
| Sustains her Trojans—or themselves, alone, | |
| With inborn valor force their fortune on? | |
| How fierce in fight, with courage undecay’d! | |
| Judge if such warriors want immortal aid.” | 860 |
| To whom the goddess with the charming eyes, | |
| Soft in her tone, submissively replies: | |
| “Why, O my sov’reign lord, whose frown I fear, | |
| And cannot, unconcern’d, your anger bear; | |
| Why urge you thus my grief? when, if I still | 865 |
| (As once I was) were mistress of your will, | |
| From your almighty pow’r your pleasing wife | |
| Might gain the grace of length’ning Turnus’ life, | |
| Securely snatch him from the fatal fight, | |
| And give him to his aged father’s sight. | 870 |
| Now let him perish, since you hold it good, | |
| And glut the Trojans with his pious blood. | |
| Yet from our lineage he derives his name, | |
| And, in the fourth degree, from god Pilumnus came; | |
| Yet he devoutly pays you rites divine, | 875 |
| And offers daily incense at your shrine.” | |
| Then shortly thus the sov’reign god replied: | |
| “Since in my pow’r and goodness you confide, | |
| If for a little space, a lengthen’d span, | |
| You beg reprieve for this expiring man, | 880 |
| I grant you leave to take your Turnus hence | |
| From instant fate, and can so far dispense. | |
| But, if some secret meaning lies beneath, | |
| To save the short-liv’d youth from destin’d death, | |
| Or if a farther thought you entertain, | 885 |
| To change the fates; you feed your hopes in vain.” | |
| To whom the goddess thus, with weeping eyes: | |
| “And what if that request, your tongue denies, | |
| Your heart should grant; and not a short reprieve, | |
| But length of certain life, to Turnus give? | 890 |
| Now speedy death attends the guiltless youth, | |
| If my presaging soul divines with truth; | |
| Which, O! I wish, might err thro’ causeless fears, | |
| And you (for you have pow’r) prolong his years!” | |
| Thus having said, involv’d in clouds, she flies, | 895 |
| And drives a storm before her thro’ the skies. | |
| Swift she descends, alighting on the plain, | |
| Where the fierce foes a dubious fight maintain. | |
| Of air condens’d a specter soon she made; | |
| And, what Æneas was, such seem’d the shade. | 900 |
| Adorn’d with Dardan arms, the phantom bore | |
| His head aloft; a plumy crest he wore; | |
| This hand appear’d a shining sword to wield, | |
| And that sustain’d an imitated shield. | |
| With manly mien he stalk’d along the ground, | 905 |
| Nor wanted voice belied, nor vaunting sound. | |
| (Thus haunting ghosts appear to waking sight, | |
| Or dreadful visions in our dreams by night.) | |
| The specter seems the Daunian chief to dare, | |
| And flourishes his empty sword in air. | 910 |
| At this, advancing, Turnus hurl’d his spear: | |
| The phantom wheel’d, and seem’d to fly for fear. | |
| Deluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled, | |
| And with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed. | |
| “Whether, O coward?” (thus he calls aloud, | 915 |
| Nor found he spoke to wind, and chas’d a cloud,) | |
| “Why thus forsake your bride! Receive from me | |
| The fated land you sought so long by sea.” | |
| He said, and, brandishing at once his blade, | |
| With eager pace pursued the flying shade. | 920 |
| By chance a ship was fasten’d to the shore, | |
| Which from old Clusium King Osinius bore: | |
| The plank was ready laid for safe ascent; | |
| For shelter there the trembling shadow bent, | |
| And skipp’t and skulk’d, and under hatches went. | 925 |
| Exulting Turnus, with regardless haste, | |
| Ascends the plank, and to the galley pass’d. | |
| Scarce had he reach’d the prow: Saturnia’s hand | |
| The haulsers cuts, and shoots the ship from land. | |
| With wind in poop, the vessel plows the sea, | 930 |
| And measures back with speed her former way. | |
| Meantime Æneas seeks his absent foe, | |
| And sends his slaughter’d troops to shades below. | |
| The guileful phantom now forsook the shroud, | |
| And flew sublime, and vanish’d in a cloud. | 935 |
| Too late young Turnus the delusion found, | |
| Far on the sea, still making from the ground. | |
| Then, thankless for a life redeem’d by shame, | |
| With sense of honor stung, and forfeit fame, | |
| Fearful besides of what in fight had pass’d, | 940 |
| His hands and haggard eyes to heav’n he cast; | |
| “O Jove!” he cried, “for what offense have I | |
| Deserv’d to bear this endless infamy? | |
| Whence am I forc’d, and whether am I borne? | |
| How, and with what reproach, shall I return? | 945 |
| Shall ever I behold the Latian plain, | |
| Or see Laurentum’s lofty tow’rs again? | |
| What will they say of their deserting chief? | |
| The war was mine: I fly from their relief; | |
| I led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave; | 950 |
| And ev’n from hence their dying groans receive. | |
| Here, overmatch’d in fight, in heaps they lie; | |
| There, scatter’d o’er the fields, ignobly fly. | |
| Gape wide, O earth, and draw me down alive! | |
| Or, O ye pitying winds, a wretch relieve! | 955 |
| On sands or shelves the splitting vessel drive; | |
| Or set me shipwrack’d on some desart shore, | |
| Where no Rutulian eyes may see me more, | |
| Unknown to friends, or foes, or conscious Fame, | |
| Lest she should follow, and my flight proclaim.” | 960 |
| Thus Turnus rav’d, and various fates revolv’d: | |
| The choice was doubtful, but the death resolv’d. | |
| And now the sword, and now the sea took place, | |
| That to revenge, and this to purge disgrace. | |
| Sometimes he thought to swim the stormy main, | 965 |
| By stretch of arms the distant shore to gain. | |
| Thrice he the sword assay’d, and thrice the flood; | |
| But Juno, mov’d with pity, both withstood. | |
| And thrice repress’d his rage; strong gales supplied, | |
| And push’d the vessel o’er the swelling tide. | 970 |
| At length she lands him on his native shores, | |
| And to his father’s longing arms restores. | |
| Meantime, by Jove’s impulse, Mezentius arm’d, | |
| Succeeding Turnus, with his ardor warm’d | |
| His fainting friends, reproach’d their shameful flight, | 975 |
| Repell’d the victors, and renew’d the fight. | |
| Against their king the Tuscan troops conspire; | |
| Such is their hate, and such their fierce desire | |
| Of wish’d revenge: on him, and him alone, | |
| All hands employ’d, and all their darts are thrown. | 980 |
| He, like a solid rock by seas inclos’d, | |
| To raging winds and roaring waves oppos’d, | |
| From his proud summit looking down, disdains | |
| Their empty menace, and unmov’d remains. | |
| Beneath his feet fell haughty Hebrus dead, | 985 |
| Then Latagus, and Palmus as he fled. | |
| At Latagus a weighty stone he flung: | |
| His face was flatted, and his helmet rung. | |
| But Palmus from behind receives his wound; | |
| Hamstring’d he falls, and grovels on the ground: | 990 |
| His crest and armor, from his body torn, | |
| Thy shoulders, Lausus, and thy head adorn. | |
| Evas and Mimas, both of Troy, he slew. | |
| Mimas his birth from fair Theano drew, | |
| Born on that fatal night, when, big with fire, | 995 |
| The queen produc’d young Paris to his sire: | |
| But Paris in the Phrygian fields was slain, | |
| Unthinking Mimas on the Latian plain. | |
| And, as a savage boar, on mountains bred, | |
| With forest mast and fatt’ning marshes fed, | 1000 |
| When once he sees himself in toils inclos’d, | |
| By huntsmen and their eager hounds appos’d— | |
| He whets his tusks, and turns, and dares the war; | |
| Th’ invaders dart their jav’lins from afar: | |
| All keep aloof, and safely shout around; | 1005 |
| But none presumes to give a nearer wound: | |
| He frets and froths, erects his bristled hide, | |
| And shakes a grove of lances from his side: | |
| Not otherwise the troops, with hate inspir’d, | |
| And just revenge against the tyrant fir’d, | 1010 |
| Their darts with clamor at a distance drive, | |
| And only keep the languish’d war alive. | |
| From Coritus came Acron to the fight, | |
| Who left his spouse betroth’d, and unconsummate night. | |
| Mezentius sees him thro’ the squadrons ride, | 1015 |
| Proud of the purple favors of his bride. | |
| Then, as a hungry lion, who beholds | |
| A gamesome goat, who frisks about the folds, | |
| Or beamy stag, that grazes on the plain— | |
| He runs, he roars, he shakes his rising mane, | 1020 |
| He grins, and opens wide his greedy jaws; | |
| The prey lies panting underneath his paws: | |
| He fills his famish’d maw; his mouth runs o’er | |
| With unchew’d morsels, while he churns the gore: | |
| So proud Mezentius rushes on his foes, | 1025 |
| And first unhappy Acron overthrows: | |
| Stretch’d at his length, he spurns the swarthy ground; | |
| The lance, besmear’d with blood, lies broken in the wound. | |
| Then with disdain the haughty victor view’d | |
| Orodes flying, nor the wretch pursued, | 1030 |
| Nor thought the dastard’s back deserv’d a wound, | |
| But, running, gain’d th’ advantage of the ground: | |