| |
| SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais’d her head | |
| Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed; | |
| The pious chief, whom double cares attend | |
| For his unburied soldiers and his friend, | |
| Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows: | 5 |
| He bar’d an ancient oak of all her boughs; | |
| Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac’d, | |
| Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac’d. | |
| The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn, | |
| Now on a naked snag in triumph borne, | 10 |
| Was hung on high, and glitter’d from afar, | |
| A trophy sacred to the God of War. | |
| Above his arms, fix’d on the leafless wood, | |
| Appear’d his plumy crest, besmear’d with blood: | |
| His brazen buckler on the left was seen; | 15 |
| Truncheons of shiver’d lances hung between; | |
| And on the right was placed his corslet, bor’d; | |
| And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword. | |
| A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man, | |
| Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began: | 20 |
| “Our toils, my friends, are crown’d with sure success; | |
| The greater part perform’d, achieve the less. | |
| Now follow cheerful to the trembling town; | |
| Press but an entrance, and presume it won. | |
| Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies, | 25 |
| As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice. | |
| Turnus shall fall extended on the plain, | |
| And, in this omen, is already slain. | |
| Prepar’d in arms, pursue your happy chance; | |
| That none unwarn’d may plead his ignorance, | 30 |
| And I, at Heav’n’s appointed hour, may find | |
| Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind. | |
| Meantime the rites and fun’ral pomps prepare, | |
| Due to your dead companions of the war: | |
| The last respect the living can bestow, | 35 |
| To shield their shadows from contempt below. | |
| That conquer’d earth be theirs, for which they fought, | |
| And which for us with their own blood they bought; | |
| But first the corpse of our unhappy friend | |
| To the sad city of Evander send, | 40 |
| Who, not inglorious, in his age’s bloom, | |
| Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.” | |
| Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way, | |
| Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay. | |
| Acoetes watch’d the corpse; whose youth deserv’d | 45 |
| The father’s trust; and now the son he serv’d | |
| With equal faith, but less auspicious care. | |
| Th’ attendants of the slain his sorrow share. | |
| A troop of Trojans mix’d with these appear, | |
| And mourning matrons with dishevel’d hair. | 50 |
| Soon as the prince appears, they raise a cry; | |
| All beat their breasts, and echoes rend the sky. | |
| They rear his drooping forehead from the ground; | |
| But, when Æneas view’d the grisly wound | |
| Which Pallas in his manly bosom bore, | 55 |
| And the fair flesh distain’d with purple gore; | |
| First, melting into tears, the pious man | |
| Deplor’d so sad a sight, then thus began: | |
| “Unhappy youth! when Fortune gave the rest | |
| Of my full wishes, she refus’d the best! | 60 |
| She came; but brought not thee along, to bless | |
| My longing eyes, and share in my success: | |
| She grudg’d thy safe return, the triumphs due | |
| To prosp’rous valor, in the public view. | |
| Not thus I promis’d, when thy father lent | 65 |
| Thy needless succor with a sad consent; | |
| Embrac’d me, parting for th’ Etrurian land, | |
| And sent me to possess a large command. | |
| He warn’d, and from his own experience told, | |
| Our foes were warlike, disciplin’d, and bold. | 70 |
| And now perhaps, in hopes of thy return, | |
| Rich odors on his loaded altars burn, | |
| While we, with vain officious pomp, prepare | |
| To send him back his portion of the war, | |
| A bloody breathless body, which can owe | 75 |
| No farther debt, but to the pow’rs below. | |
| The wretched father, ere his race is run, | |
| Shall view the fun’ral honors of his son. | |
| These are my triumphs of the Latian war, | |
| Fruits of my plighted faith and boasted care! | 80 |
| And yet, unhappy sire, thou shalt not see | |
| A son whose death disgrac’d his ancestry; | |
| Thou shalt not blush, old man, however griev’d: | |
| Thy Pallas no dishonest wound receiv’d. | |
| He died no death to make thee wish, too late, | 85 |
| Thou hadst not liv’d to see his shameful fate: | |
| But what a champion has th’ Ausonian coast, | |
| And what a friend hast thou, Ascanius, lost!” | |
| Thus having mourn’d, he gave the word around, | |
| To raise the breathless body from the ground; | 90 |
| And chose a thousand horse, the flow’r of all | |
| His warlike troops, to wait the funeral, | |
| To bear him back and share Evander’s grief: | |
| A well-becoming, but a weak relief. | |
| Of oaken twigs they twist an easy bier, | 95 |
| Then on their shoulders the sad burden rear. | |
| The body on this rural hearse is borne: | |
| Strew’d leaves and funeral greens the bier adorn. | |
| All pale he lies, and looks a lovely flow’r, | |
| New cropp’d by virgin hands, to dress the bow’r: | 100 |
| Unfaded yet, but yet unfed below, | |
| No more to mother earth or the green stem shall owe. | |
| Then two fair vests, of wondrous work and cost, | |
| Of purple woven, and with gold emboss’d, | |
| For ornament the Trojan hero brought, | 105 |
| Which with her hands Sidonian Dido wrought. | |
| One vest array’d the corpse; and one they spread | |
| O’er his clos’d eyes, and wrapp’d around his head, | |
| That, when the yellow hair in flame should fall, | |
| The catching fire might burn the golden caul. | 110 |
| Besides, the spoils of foes in battle slain, | |
| When he descended on the Latian plain; | |
| Arms, trappings, horses, by the hearse are led | |
| In long array—th’ achievements of the dead. | |
| Then, pinion’d with their hands behind, appear | 115 |
| Th’ unhappy captives, marching in the rear, | |
| Appointed off’rings in the victor’s name, | |
| To sprinkle with their blood the fun’ral flame. | |
| Inferior trophies by the chiefs are borne; | |
| Gauntlets and helms their loaded hands adorn; | 120 |
| And fair inscriptions fix’d, and titles read | |
| Of Latian leaders conquer’d by the dead. | |
| Acoetes on his pupil’s corpse attends, | |
| With feeble steps, supported by his friends. | |
| Pausing at ev’ry pace, in sorrow drown’d, | 125 |
| Betwixt their arms he sinks upon the ground; | |
| Where grov’ling while he lies in deep despair, | |
| He beats his breast, and rends his hoary hair. | |
| The champion’s chariot next is seen to roll, | |
| Besmear’d with hostile blood, and honorably foul. | 130 |
| To close the pomp, Æthon, the steed of state, | |
| Is led, the fun’rals of his lord to wait. | |
| Stripp’d of his trappings, with a sullen pace | |
| He walks; and the big tears run rolling down his face. | |
| The lance of Pallas, and the crimson crest, | 135 |
| Are borne behind: the victor seiz’d the rest. | |
| The march begins: the trumpets hoarsely sound; | |
| The pikes and lances trail along the ground. | |
| Thus while the Trojan and Arcadian horse | |
| To Pallantean tow’rs direct their course, | 140 |
| In long procession rank’d, the pious chief | |
| Stopp’d in the rear, and gave a vent to grief: | |
| “The public care,” he said, “which war attends, | |
| Diverts our present woes, at least suspends. | |
| Peace with the manes of great Pallas dwell! | 145 |
| Hail, holy relics! and a last farewell!” | |
| He said no more, but, inly thro’ he mourn’d, | |
| Restrain’d his tears, and to the camp return’d. | |
| Now suppliants, from Laurentum sent, demand | |
| A truce, with olive branches in their hand; | 150 |
| Obtest his clemency, and from the plain | |
| Beg leave to draw the bodies of their slain. | |
| They plead, that none those common rites deny | |
| To conquer’d foes that in fair battle die. | |
| All cause of hate was ended in their death; | 155 |
| Nor could he war with bodies void of breath. | |
| A king, they hop’d, would hear a king’s request, | |
| Whose son he once was call’d, and once his guest. | |
| Their suit, which was too just to be denied, | |
| The hero grants, and farther thus replied: | 160 |
| “O Latian princes, how severe a fate | |
| In causeless quarrels has involv’d your state, | |
| And arm’d against an unoffending man, | |
| Who sought your friendship ere the war began! | |
| You beg a truce, which I would gladly give, | 165 |
| Not only for the slain, but those who live. | |
| I came not hither but by Heav’n’s command, | |
| And sent by fate to share the Latian land. | |
| Nor wage I wars unjust: your king denied | |
| My proffer’d friendship, and my promis’d bride; | 170 |
| Left me for Turnus. Turnus then should try | |
| His cause in arms, to conquer or to die. | |
| My right and his are in dispute: the slain | |
| Fell without fault, our quarrel to maintain. | |
| In equal arms let us alone contend; | 175 |
| And let him vanquish, whom his fates befriend. | |
| This is the way (so tell him) to possess | |
| The royal virgin, and restore the peace. | |
| Bear this message back, with ample leave, | |
| That your slain friends may fun’ral rites receive.” | 180 |
| Thus having said—th’ embassadors, amaz’d, | |
| Stood mute a while, and on each other gaz’d. | |
| Drances, their chief, who harbor’d in his breast | |
| Long hate to Turnus, as his foe profess’d, | |
| Broke silence first, and to the godlike man, | 185 |
| With graceful action bowing, thus began: | |
| “Auspicious prince, in arms a mighty name, | |
| But yet whose actions far transcend your fame; | |
| Would I your justice or your force express, | |
| Thought can but equal; and all words are less. | 190 |
| Your answer we shall thankfully relate, | |
| And favors granted to the Latian state. | |
| If wish’d success our labor shall attend, | |
| Think peace concluded, and the king your friend: | |
| Let Turnus leave the realm to your command, | 195 |
| And seek alliance in some other land: | |
| Build you the city which your fates assign; | |
| We shall be proud in the great work to join.” | |
| Thus Drances; and his words so well persuade | |
| The rest impower’d, that soon a truce is made. | 200 |
| Twelve days the term allow’d: and, during those, | |
| Latians and Trojans, now no longer foes, | |
| Mix’d in the woods, for fun’ral piles prepare | |
| To fell the timber, and forget the war. | |
| Loud axes thro’ the groaning groves resound; | 205 |
| Oak, mountain ash, and poplar spread the ground; | |
| First fall from high; and some the trunks receive | |
| In loaden wains; with wedges some they cleave. | |
| And now the fatal news by Fame is blown | |
| Thro’ the short circuit of th’ Arcadian town, | 210 |
| Of Pallas slain—by Fame, which just before | |
| His triumphs on distended pinions bore. | |
| Rushing from out the gate, the people stand, | |
| Each with a fun’ral flambeau in his hand. | |
| Wildly they stare, distracted with amaze: | 215 |
| The fields are lighten’d with a fiery blaze, | |
| That cast a sullen splendor on their friends, | |
| The marching troop which their dead prince attends. | |
| Both parties meet: they raise a doleful cry; | |
| The matrons from the walls with shrieks reply, | 220 |
| And their mix’d mourning rends the vaulted sky. | |
| The town is fill’d with tumult and with tears, | |
| Till the loud clamors reach Evander’s ears: | |
| Forgetful of his state, he runs along, | |
| With a disorder’d pace, and cleaves the throng; | 225 |
| Falls on the corpse; and groaning there he lies, | |
| With silent grief, that speaks but at his eyes. | |
| Short sighs and sobs succeed; till sorrow breaks | |
| A passage, and at once he weeps and speaks: | |
| “O Pallas! thou hast fail’d thy plighted word, | 230 |
| To fight with caution, not to tempt the sword! | |
| I warn’d thee, but in vain; for well I knew | |
| What perils youthful ardor would pursue, | |
| That boiling blood would carry thee too far, | |
| Young as thou wert in dangers, raw to war! | 235 |
| O curst essay of arms, disastrous doom, | |
| Prelude of bloody fields, and fights to come! | |
| Hard elements of unauspicious war, | |
| Vain vows to Heav’n, and unavailing care! | |
| Thrice happy thou, dear partner of my bed, | 240 |
| Whose holy soul the stroke of Fortune fled, | |
| Præscious of ills, and leaving me behind, | |
| To drink the dregs of life by fate assign’d! | |
| Beyond the goal of nature I have gone: | |
| My Pallas late set out, but reach’d too soon. | 245 |
| If, for my league against th’ Ausonian state, | |
| Amidst their weapons I had found my fate, | |
| (Deserv’d from them,) then I had been return’d | |
| A breathless victor, and my son had mourn’d. | |
| Yet will I not my Trojan friend upbraid, | 250 |
| Nor grudge th’ alliance I so gladly made. | |
| ’T was not his fault, my Pallas fell so young, | |
| But my own crime, for having liv’d too long. | |
| Yet, since the gods had destin’d him to die, | |
| At least he led the way to victory: | 255 |
| First for his friends he won the fatal shore, | |
| And sent whole herds of slaughter’d foes before; | |
| A death too great, too glorious to deplore. | |
| Nor will I add new honors to thy grave, | |
| Content with those the Trojan hero gave: | 260 |
| That funeral pomp thy Phrygian friends design’d, | |
| In which the Tuscan chiefs and army join’d. | |
| Great spoils and trophies, gain’d by thee, they bear: | |
| Then let thy own achievements be thy share. | |
| Even thou, O Turnus, hadst a trophy stood, | 265 |
| Whose mighty trunk had better grac’d the wood, | |
| If Pallas had arriv’d, with equal length | |
| Of years, to match thy bulk with equal strength. | |
| But why, unhappy man, dost thou detain | |
| These troops, to view the tears thou shedd’st in vain? | 270 |
| Go, friends, this message to your lord relate: | |
| Tell him, that, if I bear my bitter fate, | |
| And, after Pallas’ death, live ling’ring on, | |
| ’T is to behold his vengeance for my son. | |
| I stay for Turnus, whose devoted head | 275 |
| Is owing to the living and the dead. | |
| My son and I expect it from his hand; | |
| ’T is all that he can give, or we demand. | |
| Joy is no more; but I would gladly go, | |
| To greet my Pallas with such news below.” | 280 |
| The morn had now dispell’d the shades of night, | |
| Restoring toils, when she restor’d the light. | |
| The Trojan king and Tuscan chief command | |
| To raise the piles along the winding strand. | |
| Their friends convey the dead to fun’ral fires; | 285 |
| Black smold’ring smoke from the green wood expires; | |
| The light of heav’n is chok’d, and the new day retires. | |
| Then thrice around the kindled piles they go | |
| (For ancient custom had ordain’d it so); | |
| Thrice horse and foot about the fires are led; | 290 |
| And thrice, with loud laments, they hail the dead. | |
| Tears, trickling down their breasts, bedew the ground, | |
| And drums and trumpets mix their mournful sound. | |
| Amid the blaze, their pious brethren throw | |
| The spoils, in battle taken from the foe: | 295 |
| Helms, bits emboss’d, and swords of shining steel; | |
| One casts a target, one a chariot wheel; | |
| Some to their fellows their own arms restore: | |
| The fauchions which in luckless fight they bore, | |
| Their bucklers pierc’d, their darts bestow’d in vain, | 300 |
| And shiver’d lances gather’d from the plain. | |
| Whole herds of offer’d bulls, about the fire, | |
| And bristled boars, and woolly sheep expire. | |
| Around the piles a careful troop attends, | |
| To watch the wasting flames, and weep their burning friends; | 305 |
| Ling’ring along the shore, till dewy night | |
| New decks the face of heav’n with starry light. | |
| The conquer’d Latians, with like pious care, | |
| Piles without number for their dead prepare. | |
| Part in the places where they fell are laid; | 310 |
| And part are to the neighb’ring fields convey’d. | |
| The corps of kings, and captains of renown, | |
| Borne off in state, are buried in the town; | |
| The rest, unhonor’d, and without a name, | |
| Are cast a common heap to feed the flame. | 315 |
| Trojans and Latians vie with like desires | |
| To make the field of battle shine with fires, | |
| And the promiscuous blaze to heav’n aspires. | |
| Now had the morning thrice renew’d the light, | |
| And thrice dispell’d the shadows of the night, | 320 |
| When those who round the wasted fires remain, | |
| Perform the last sad office to the slain. | |
| They rake the yet warm ashes from below; | |
| These, and the bones unburn’d, in earth bestow; | |
| These relics with their country rites they grace, | 325 |
| And raise a mount of turf to mark the place. | |
| But, in the palace of the king, appears | |
| A scene more solemn, and a pomp of tears. | |
| Maids, matrons, widows, mix their common moans; | |
| Orphans their sires, and sires lament their sons. | 330 |
| All in that universal sorrow share, | |
| And curse the cause of this unhappy war: | |
| A broken league, a bride unjustly sought, | |
| A crown usurp’d, which with their blood is bought! | |
| These are the crimes with which they load the name | 335 |
| Of Turnus, and on him alone exclaim: | |
| “Let him who lords it o’er th’ Ausonian land | |
| Engage the Trojan hero hand to hand: | |
| His is the gain; our lot is but to serve; | |
| ’T is just, the sway he seeks, he should deserve.” | 340 |
| This Drances aggravates; and adds, with spite: | |
| “His foe expects, and dares him to the fight.” | |
| Nor Turnus wants a party, to support | |
| His cause and credit in the Latian court. | |
| His former acts secure his present fame, | 345 |
| And the queen shades him with her mighty name. | |
| While thus their factious minds with fury burn, | |
| The legates from th’ Ætolian prince return: | |
| Sad news they bring, that, after all the cost | |
| And care employ’d, their embassy is lost; | 350 |
| That Diomedes refus’d his aid in war, | |
| Unmov’d with presents, and as deaf to pray’r. | |
| Some new alliance must elsewhere be sought, | |
| Or peace with Troy on hard conditions bought. | |
| Latinus, sunk in sorrow, finds too late, | 355 |
| A foreign son is pointed out by fate; | |
| And, till Æneas shall Lavinia wed, | |
| The wrath of Heav’n is hov’ring o’er his head. | |
| The gods, he saw, espous’d the juster side, | |
| When late their titles in the field were tried: | 360 |
| Witness the fresh laments, and fun’ral tears undried. | |
| Thus, full of anxious thought, he summons all | |
| The Latian senate to the council hall. | |
| The princes come, commanded by their head, | |
| And crowd the paths that to the palace lead. | 365 |
| Supreme in pow’r, and reverenc’d for his years, | |
| He takes the throne, and in the midst appears. | |
| Majestically sad, he sits in state, | |
| And bids his envoys their success relate. | |
| When Venulus began, the murmuring sound | 370 |
| Was hush’d, and sacred silence reign’d around. | |
| “We have,” said he, “perform’d your high command, | |
| And pass’d with peril a long tract of land: | |
| We reach’d the place desir’d; with wonder fill’d, | |
| The Grecian tents and rising tow’rs beheld. | 375 |
| Great Diomede has compass’d round with walls | |
| The city, which Argyripa he calls, | |
| From his own Argos nam’d. We touch’d, with joy, | |
| The royal hand that raz’d unhappy Troy. | |
| When introduc’d, our presents first we bring, | 380 |
| Then crave an instant audience from the king. | |
| His leave obtain’d, our native soil we name, | |
| And tell th’ important cause for which we came. | |
| Attentively he heard us, while we spoke; | |
| Then, with soft accents, and a pleasing look, | 385 |
| Made this return: ‘Ausonian race, of old | |
| Renown’d for peace, and for an age of gold, | |
| What madness has your alter’d minds possess’d, | |
| To change for war hereditary rest, | |
| Solicit arms unknown, and tempt the sword, | 390 |
| A needless ill your ancestors abhorr’d? | |
| We—for myself I speak, and all the name | |
| Of Grecians, who to Troy’s destruction came, | |
| Omitting those who were in battle slain, | |
| Or borne by rolling Simois to the main— | 395 |
| Not one but suffer’d, and too dearly bought | |
| The prize of honor which in arms he sought; | |
| Some doom’d to death, and some in exile driv’n, | |
| Outcasts, abandon’d by the care of Heav’n; | |
| So worn, so wretched, so despis’d a crew, | 400 |
| As ev’n old Priam might with pity view. | |
| Witness the vessels by Minerva toss’d | |
| In storms; the vengeful Capharean coast; | |
| Th’ Euboean rocks! the prince, whose brother led | |
| Our armies to revenge his injur’d bed, | 405 |
| In Egypt lost! Ulysses with his men | |
| Have seen Charybdis and the Cyclops’ den. | |
| Why should I name Idomeneus, in vain | |
| Restor’d to scepters, and expell’d again? | |
| Or young Achilles, by his rival slain? | 410 |
| Ev’n he, the King of Men, the foremost name | |
| Of all the Greeks, and most renown’d by fame, | |
| The proud revenger of another’s wife, | |
| Yet by his own adult’ress lost his life; | |
| Fell at his threshold; and the spoils of Troy | 415 |
| The foul polluters of his bed enjoy. | |
| The gods have envied me the sweets of life, | |
| My much lov’d country, and my more lov’d wife: | |
| Banish’d from both, I mourn; while in the sky, | |
| Transform’d to birds, my lost companions fly: | 420 |
| Hov’ring about the coasts, they make their moan, | |
| And cuff the cliffs with pinions not their own. | |
| What squalid specters, in the dead of night, | |
| Break my short sleep, and skim before my sight! | |
| I might have promis’d to myself those harms, | 425 |
| Mad as I was, when I, with mortal arms, | |
| Presum’d against immortal pow’rs to move, | |
| And violate with wounds the Queen of Love. | |
| Such arms this hand shall never more employ; | |
| No hate remains with me to ruin’d Troy. | 430 |
| I war not with its dust; nor am I glad | |
| To think of past events, or good or bad. | |
| Your presents I return: whate’er you bring | |
| To buy my friendship, send the Trojan king. | |
| We met in fight; I know him, to my cost: | 435 |
| With what a whirling force his lance he toss’d! | |
| Heav’ns! what a spring was in his arm, to throw! | |
| How high he held his shield, and rose at ev’ry blow! | |
| Had Troy produc’d two more his match in might, | |
| They would have chang’d the fortune of the fight: | 440 |
| Th’ invasion of the Greeks had been return’d, | |
| Our empire wasted, and our cities burn’d. | |
| The long defense the Trojan people made, | |
| The war protracted, and the siege delay’d, | |
| Were due to Hector’s and this hero’s hand: | 445 |
| Both brave alike, and equal in command; | |
| Æneas, not inferior in the field, | |
| In pious reverence to the gods excell’d. | |
| Make peace, ye Latians, and avoid with care | |
| Th’ impending dangers of a fatal war.’ | 450 |
| He said no more; but, with this cold excuse, | |
| Refus’d th’ alliance, and advis’d a truce.” | |
| Thus Venulus concluded his report. | |
| A jarring murmur fill’d the factious court: | |
| As, when a torrent rolls with rapid force, | 455 |
| And dashes o’er the stones that stop the course, | |
| The flood, constrain’d within a scanty space, | |
| Roars horrible along th’ uneasy race; | |
| White foam in gath’ring eddies floats around; | |
| The rocky shores rebellow to the sound. | 460 |
| The murmur ceas’d: then from his lofty throne | |
| The king invok’d the gods, and thus begun: | |
| “I wish, ye Latins, what we now debate | |
| Had been resolv’d before it was too late. | |
| Much better had it been for you and me, | 465 |
| Unforc’d by this our last necessity, | |
| To have been earlier wise, than now to call | |
| A council, when the foe surrounds the wall. | |
| O citizens, we wage unequal war, | |
| With men not only Heav’n’s peculiar care, | 470 |
| But Heav’n’s own race; unconquer’d in the field, | |
| Or, conquer’d, yet unknowing how to yield. | |
| What hopes you had in Diomedes, lay down: | |
| Our hopes must center on ourselves alone. | |
| Yet those how feeble, and, indeed, how vain, | 475 |
| You see too well; nor need my words explain. | |
| Vanquish’d without resource; laid flat by fate; | |
| Factions within, a foe without the gate! | |
| Not but I grant that all perform’d their parts | |
| With manly force, and with undaunted hearts: | 480 |
| With our united strength the war we wag’d; | |
| With equal numbers, equal arms, engag’d. | |
| You see th’ event.—Now hear what I propose, | |
| To save our friends, and satisfy our foes. | |
| A tract of land the Latins have possess’d | 485 |
| Along the Tiber, stretching to the west, | |
| Which now Rutulians and Auruncans till, | |
| And their mix’d cattle graze the fruitful hill. | |
| Those mountains fill’d with firs, that lower land, | |
| If you consent, the Trojan shall command, | 490 |
| Call’d into part of what is ours; and there, | |
| On terms agreed, the common country share. | |
| There let ’em build and settle, if they please; | |
| Unless they choose once more to cross the seas, | |
| In search of seats remote from Italy, | 495 |
| And from unwelcome inmates set us free. | |
| Then twice ten galleys let us build with speed, | |
| Or twice as many more, if more they need. | |
| Materials are at hand; a well-grown wood | |
| Runs equal with the margin of the flood: | 500 |
| Let them the number and the form assign; | |
| The care and cost of all the stores be mine. | |
| To treat the peace, a hundred senators | |
| Shall be commission’d hence with ample pow’rs, | |
| With olive crown’d: the presents they shall bear, | 505 |
| A purple robe, a royal iv’ry chair, | |
| And all the marks of sway that Latian monarchs wear, | |
| And sums of gold. Among yourselves debate | |
| This great affair, and save the sinking state.” | |
| Then Drances took the word, who grudg’d, long since, | 510 |
| The rising glories of the Daunian prince. | |
| Factious and rich, bold at the council board, | |
| But cautious in the field, he shunn’d the sword; | |
| A close caballer, and tongue-valiant lord. | |
| Noble his mother was, and near the throne; | 515 |
| But, what his father’s parentage, unknown. | |
| He rose, and took th’ advantage of the times, | |
| To load young Turnus with invidious crimes. | |
| “Such truths, O king,” said he, “your words contain, | |
| As strike the sense, and all replies are vain; | 520 |
| Nor are your loyal subjects now to seek | |
| What common needs require, but fear to speak. | |
| Let him give leave of speech, that haughty man, | |
| Whose pride this unauspicious war began; | |
| For whose ambition (let me dare to say, | 525 |
| Fear set apart, tho’ death is in my way) | |
| The plains of Latium run with blood around. | |
| So many valiant heroes bite the ground; | |
| Dejected grief in ev’ry face appears; | |
| A town in mourning, and a land in tears; | 530 |
| While he, th’ undoubted author of our harms, | |
| The man who menaces the gods with arms, | |
| Yet, after all his boasts, forsook the fight, | |
| And sought his safety in ignoble flight. | |
| Now, best of kings, since you propose to send | 535 |
| Such bounteous presents to your Trojan friend; | |
| Add yet a greater at our joint request, | |
| One which he values more than all the rest: | |
| Give him the fair Lavinia for his bride; | |
| With that alliance let the league be tied, | 540 |
| And for the bleeding land a lasting peace provide. | |
| Let insolence no longer awe the throne; | |
| But, with a father’s right, bestow your own. | |
| For this maligner of the general good, | |
| If still we fear his force, he must be woo’d; | 545 |
| His haughty godhead we with pray’rs implore, | |
| Your scepter to release, and our just rights restore. | |
| O cursed cause of all our ills, must we | |
| Wage wars unjust, and fall in fight, for thee! | |
| What right hast thou to rule the Latian state, | 550 |
| And send us out to meet our certain fate? | |
| ’T is a destructive war: from Turnus’ hand | |
| Our peace and public safety we demand. | |
| Let the fair bride to the brave chief remain; | |
| If not, the peace, without the pledge, is vain. | 555 |
| Turnus, I know you think me not your friend, | |
| Nor will I much with your belief contend: | |
| I beg your greatness not to give the law | |
| In others’ realms, but, beaten, to withdraw. | |
| Pity your own, or pity our estate; | 560 |
| Nor twist our fortunes with your sinking fate. | |
| Your interest is, the war should never cease; | |
| But we have felt enough to wish the peace: | |
| A land exhausted to the last remains, | |
| Depopulated towns, and driven plains. | 565 |
| Yet, if desire of fame, and thirst of pow’r, | |
| A beauteous princess, with a crown in dow’r, | |
| So fire your mind, in arms assert your right, | |
| And meet your foe, who dares you to the fight. | |
| Mankind, it seems, is made for you alone; | 570 |
| We, but the slaves who mount you to the throne: | |
| A base ignoble crowd, without a name, | |
| Unwept, unworthy, of the fun’ral flame, | |
| By duty bound to forfeit each his life, | |
| That Turnus may possess a royal wife. | 575 |
| Permit not, mighty man, so mean a crew | |
| Should share such triumphs, and detain from you | |
| The post of honor, your undoubted due. | |
| Rather alone your matchless force employ, | |
| To merit what alone you must enjoy.” | 580 |
| These words, so full of malice mix’d with art, | |
| Inflam’d with rage the youthful hero’s heart. | |
| Then, groaning from the bottom of his breast, | |
| He heav’d for wind, and thus his wrath express’d: | |
| “You, Drances, never want a stream of words, | 585 |
| Then, when the public need requires our swords. | |
| First in the council hall to steer the state, | |
| And ever foremost in a tongue-debate, | |
| While our strong walls secure us from the foe, | |
| Ere yet with blood our ditches overflow: | 590 |
| But let the potent orator declaim, | |
| And with the brand of coward blot my name; | |
| Free leave is giv’n him, when his fatal hand | |
| Has cover’d with more corps the sanguine strand, | |
| And high as mine his tow’ring trophies stand. | 595 |
| If any doubt remains, who dares the most, | |
| Let us decide it at the Trojan’s cost, | |
| And issue both abreast, where honor calls— | |
| Foes are not far to seek without the walls— | |
| Unless his noisy tongue can only fight, | 600 |
| And feet were giv’n him but to speed his flight. | |
| I beaten from the field? I forc’d away? | |
| Who, but so known a dastard, dares to say? | |
| Had he but ev’n beheld the fight, his eyes | |
| Had witness’d for me what his tongue denies: | 605 |
| What heaps of Trojans by this hand were slain, | |
| And how the bloody Tiber swell’d the main. | |
| All saw, but he, th’ Arcadian troops retire | |
| In scatter’d squadrons, and their prince expire. | |
| The giant brothers, in their camp, have found, | 610 |
| I was not forc’d with ease to quit my ground. | |
| Not such the Trojans tried me, when, inclos’d, | |
| I singly their united arms oppos’d: | |
| First forc’d an entrance thro’ their thick array; | |
| Then, glutted with their slaughter, freed my way. | 615 |
| ’T is a destructive war? So let it be, | |
| But to the Phrygian pirate, and to thee! | |
| Meantime proceed to fill the people’s ears | |
| With false reports, their minds with panic fears: | |
| Extol the strength of a twice-conquer’d race; | 620 |
| Our foes encourage, and our friends debase. | |
| Believe thy fables, and the Trojan town | |
| Triumphant stands; the Grecians are o’erthrown; | |
| Suppliant at Hector’s feet Achilles lies, | |
| And Diomede from fierce Æneas flies. | 625 |
| Say rapid Aufidus with awful dread | |
| Runs backward from the sea, and hides his head, | |
| When the great Trojan on his bank appears; | |
| For that’s as true as thy dissembled fears | |
| Of my revenge. Dismiss that vanity: | 630 |
| Thou, Drances, art below a death from me. | |
| Let that vile soul in that vile body rest; | |
| The lodging is well worthy of the guest. | |
| “Now, royal father, to the present state | |
| Of our affairs, and of this high debate: | 635 |
| If in your arms thus early you diffide, | |
| And think your fortune is already tried; | |
| If one defeat has brought us down so low, | |
| As never more in fields to meet the foe; | |
| Then I conclude for peace: ’t is time to treat, | 640 |
| And lie like vassals at the victor’s feet. | |
| But, O! if any ancient blood remains, | |
| One drop of all our fathers’, in our veins, | |
| That man would I prefer before the rest, | |
| Who dar’d his death with an undaunted breast; | 645 |
| Who comely fell, by no dishonest wound, | |
| To shun that sight, and, dying, gnaw’d the ground. | |
| But, if we still have fresh recruits in store, | |
| If our confederates can afford us more; | |
| If the contended field we bravely fought, | 650 |
| And not a bloodless victory was bought; | |
| Their losses equal’d ours; and, for their slain, | |
| With equal fires they fill’d the shining plain; | |
| Why thus, unforc’d, should we so tamely yield, | |
| And, ere the trumpet sounds, resign the field? | 655 |
| Good unexpected, evils unforeseen, | |
| Appear by turns, as fortune shifts the scene: | |
| Some, rais’d aloft, come tumbling down amain; | |
| Then fall so hard, they bound and rise again. | |
| If Diomede refuse his aid to lend, | 660 |
| The great Messapus yet remains our friend: | |
| Tolumnius, who foretells events, is ours; | |
| Th’ Italian chiefs and princes join their pow’rs: | |
| Nor least in number, nor in name the last, | |
| Your own brave subjects have your cause embrac’d | 665 |
| Above the rest, the Volscian Amazon | |
| Contains an army in herself alone, | |
| And heads a squadron, terrible to sight, | |
| With glitt’ring shields, in brazen armor bright. | |
| Yet, if the foe a single fight demand, | 670 |
| And I alone the public peace withstand; | |
| If you consent, he shall not be refus’d, | |
| Nor find a hand to victory unus’d. | |
| This new Achilles, let him take the field, | |
| With fated armor, and Vulcanian shield! | 675 |
| For you, my royal father, and my fame, | |
| I, Turnus, not the least of all my name, | |
| Devote my soul. He calls me hand to hand, | |
| And I alone will answer his demand. | |
| Drances shall rest secure, and neither share | 680 |
| The danger, nor divide the prize of war.” | |
| While they debate, nor these nor those will yield, | |
| Æneas draws his forces to the field, | |
| And moves his camp. The scouts with flying speed | |
| Return, and thro’ the frighted city spread | 685 |
| Th’ unpleasing news, the Trojans are descried, | |
| In battle marching by the river side, | |
| And bending to the town. They take th’ alarm: | |
| Some tremble, some are bold; all in confusion arm. | |
| Th’ impetuous youth press forward to the field; | 690 |
| They clash the sword, and clatter on the shield: | |
| The fearful matrons raise a screaming cry; | |
| Old feeble men with fainter groans reply; | |
| A jarring sound results, and mingles in the sky, | |
| Like that of swans remurm’ring to the floods, | 695 |
| Or birds of diff’ring kinds in hollow woods. | |
| Turnus th’ occasion takes, and cries aloud: | |
| “Talk on, ye quaint haranguers of the crowd: | |
| Declaim in praise of peace, when danger calls, | |
| And the fierce foes in arms approach the walls.” | 700 |
| He said, and, turning short, with speedy pace, | |
| Casts back a scornful glance, and quits the place: | |
| “Thou, Volusus, the Volscian troops command | |
| To mount; and lead thyself our Ardean band. | |
| Messapus and Catillus, post your force | 705 |
| Along the fields, to charge the Trojan horse. | |
| Some guard the passes, others man the wall; | |
| Drawn up in arms, the rest attend my call.” | |
| They swarm from ev’ry quarter of the town, | |
| And with disorder’d haste the rampires crown. | 710 |
| Good old Latinus, when he saw, too late, | |
| The gath’ring storm just breaking on the state, | |
| Dismiss’d the council till a fitter time, | |
| And own’d his easy temper as his crime, | |
| Who, forc’d against his reason, had complied | 715 |
| To break the treaty for the promis’d bride. | |
| Some help to sink new trenches; others aid | |
| To ram the stones, or raise the palisade. | |
| Hoarse trumpets sound th’ alarm; around the walls | |
| Runs a distracted crew, whom their last labor calls. | 720 |
| A sad procession in the streets is seen, | |
| Of matrons, that attend the mother queen: | |
| High in her chair she sits, and, at her side, | |
| With downcast eyes, appears the fatal bride. | |
| They mount the cliff, where Pallas’ temple stands; | 725 |
| Pray’rs in their mouths, and presents in their hands, | |
| With censers first they fume the sacred shrine, | |
| Then in this common supplication join: | |
| “O patroness of arms, unspotted maid, | |
| Propitious hear, and lend thy Latins aid! | 730 |
| Break short the pirate’s lance; pronounce his fate, | |
| And lay the Phrygian low before the gate.” | |
| Now Turnus arms for fight. His back and breast | |
| Well-temper’d steel and scaly brass invest: | |
| The cuishes which his brawny thighs infold | 735 |
| Are mingled metal damask’d o’er with gold. | |
| His faithful fauchion sits upon his side; | |
| Nor casque, nor crest, his manly features hide: | |
| But, bare to view, amid surrounding friends, | |
| With godlike grace, he from the tow’r descends. | 740 |
| Exulting in his strength, he seems to dare | |
| His absent rival, and to promise war. | |
| Freed from his keepers, thus, with broken reins, | |
| The wanton courser prances o’er the plains, | |
| Or in the pride of youth o’erleaps the mounds, | 745 |
| And snuffs the females in forbidden grounds. | |
| Or seeks his wat’ring in the well-known flood, | |
| To quench his thirst, and cool his fiery blood: | |
| He swims luxuriant in the liquid plain, | |
| And o’er his shoulder flows his waving mane: | 750 |
| He neighs, he snorts, he bears his head on high; | |
| Before his ample chest the frothy waters fly. | |
| Soon as the prince appears without the gate, | |
| The Volscians, with their virgin leader, wait | |
| His last commands. Then, with a graceful mien, | 755 |
| Lights from her lofty steed the warrior queen: | |
| Her squadron imitates, and each descends; | |
| Whose common suit Camilla thus commends: | |
| “If sense of honor, if a soul secure | |
| Of inborn worth, that can all tests endure, | 760 |
| Can promise aught, or on itself rely | |
| Greatly to dare, to conquer or to die; | |
| Then, I alone, sustain’d by these, will meet | |
| The Tyrrhene troops, and promise their defeat. | |
| Ours be the danger, ours the sole renown: | 765 |
| You, gen’ral, stay behind, and guard the town:” | |
| Turnus a while stood mute, with glad surprise, | |
| And on the fierce virago fix’d his eyes; | |
| Then thus return’d: “O grace of Italy, | |
| With what becoming thanks can I reply? | 770 |
| Not only words lie lab’ring in my breast, | |
| But thought itself is by thy praise oppress’d. | |
| Yet rob me not of all; but let me join | |
| My toils, my hazard, and my fame, with thine. | |
| The Trojan, not in stratagem unskill’d, | 775 |
| Sends his light horse before to scour the field: | |
| Himself, thro’ steep ascents and thorny brakes, | |
| A larger compass to the city takes. | |
| This news my scouts confirm, and I prepare | |
| To foil his cunning, and his force to dare; | 780 |
| With chosen foot his passage to forelay, | |
| And place an ambush in the winding way. | |
| Thou, with thy Volscians, face the Tuscan horse; | |
| The brave Messapus shall thy troops inforce | |
| With those of Tibur, and the Latian band, | 785 |
| Subjected all to thy supreme command.” | |
| This said, he warns Messapus to the war, | |
| Then ev’ry chief exhorts with equal care. | |
| All thus encourag’d, his own troops he joins, | |
| And hastes to prosecute his deep designs. | 790 |
| Inclos’d with hills, a winding valley lies, | |
| By nature form’d for fraud, and fitted for surprise. | |
| A narrow track, by human steps untrode, | |
| Leads, thro’ perplexing thorns, to this obscure abode. | |
| High o’er the vale a steepy mountain stands, | 795 |
| Whence the surveying sight the nether ground commands. | |
| The top is level, an offensive seat | |
| Of war; and from the war a safe retreat: | |
| For, on the right and left, is room to press | |
| The foes at hand, or from afar distress; | 800 |
| To drive ’em headlong downward, and to pour | |
| On their descending backs a stony show’r. | |
| Thither young Turnus took the well-known way, | |
| Possess’d the pass, and in blind ambush lay. | |
| Meantime Latonian Phœbe, from the skies, | 805 |
| Beheld th’ approaching war with hateful eyes, | |
| And call’d the light-foot Opis to her aid, | |
| Her most belov’d and ever-trusty maid; | |
| Then with a sigh began: “Camilla goes | |
| To meet her death amidst her fatal foes: | 810 |
| The nymphs I lov’d of all my mortal train, | |
| Invested with Diana’s arms, in vain. | |
| Nor is my kindness for the virgin new: | |
| ’T was born with her; and with her years it grew. | |
| Her father Metabus, when forc’d away | 815 |
| From old Privernum, for tyrannic sway, | |
| Snatch’d up, and sav’d from his prevailing foes, | |
| This tender babe, companion of his woes. | |
| Casmilla was her mother; but he drown’d | |
| One hissing letter in a softer sound, | 820 |
| And call’d Camilla. Thro’ the woods he flies; | |
| Wrapp’d in his robe the royal infant lies. | |
| His foes in sight, he mends his weary pace; | |
| With shouts and clamors they pursue the chase. | |
| The banks of Amasene at length he gains: | 825 |
| The raging flood his farther flight restrains, | |
| Rais’d o’er the borders with unusual rains. | |
| Prepar’d to plunge into the stream, he fears, | |
| Not for himself, but for the charge he bears. | |
| Anxious, he stops a while, and thinks in haste; | 830 |
| Then, desp’rate in distress, resolves at last. | |
| A knotty lance of well-boil’d oak he bore; | |
| The middle part with cork he cover’d o’er: | |
| He clos’d the child within the hollow space; | |
| With twigs of bending osier bound the case; | 835 |
| Then pois’d the spear, heavy with human weight, | |
| And thus invok’d my favor for the freight: | |
| ‘Accept, great goddess of the woods,’ he said, | |
| ‘Sent by her sire, this dedicated maid! | |
| Thro’ air she flies a suppliant to thy shrine; | 840 |
| And the first weapons that she knows, are thine.’ | |
| He said; and with full force the spear he threw: | |
| Above the sounding waves Camilla flew. | |
| Then, press’d by foes, he stemm’d the stormy tide, | |
| And gain’d, by stress of arms, the farther side. | 845 |
| His fasten’d spear he pull’d from out the ground, | |
| And, victor of his vows, his infant nymph unbound; | |
| Nor, after that, in towns which walls inclose, | |
| Would trust his hunted life amidst his foes; | |
| But, rough, in open air he chose to lie; | 850 |
| Earth was his couch, his cov’ring was the sky. | |
| On hills unshorn, or in a desart den, | |
| He shunn’d the dire society of men. | |
| A shepherd’s solitary life he led; | |
| His daughter with the milk of mares he fed. | 855 |
| The dugs of bears, and ev’ry salvage beast, | |
| He drew, and thro’ her lips the liquor press’d. | |
| The little Amazon could scarcely go: | |
| He loads her with a quiver and a bow; | |
| And, that she might her stagg’ring steps command, | 860 |
| He with a slender jav’lin fills her hand. | |
| Her flowing hair no golden fillet bound; | |
| Nor swept her trailing robe the dusty ground. | |
| Instead of these, a tiger’s hide o’erspread | |
| Her back and shoulders, fasten’d to her head. | 865 |
| The flying dart she first attempts to fling, | |
| And round her tender temples toss’d the sling; | |
| Then, as her strength with years increas’d, began | |
| To pierce aloft in air the soaring swan, | |
| And from the clouds to fetch the heron and the crane. | 870 |
| The Tuscan matrons with each other vied, | |
| To bless their rival sons with such a bride; | |
| But she disdains their love, to share with me | |
| The sylvan shades and vow’d virginity. | |
| And, O! I wish, contented with my cares | 875 |
| Of salvage spoils, she had not sought the wars! | |
| Then had she been of my celestial train, | |
| And shunn’d the fate that dooms her to be slain. | |
| But since, opposing Heav’n’s decree, she goes | |
| To find her death among forbidden foes, | 880 |
| Haste with these arms, and take thy steepy flight, | |
| Where, with the gods, averse, the Latins fight. | |
| This bow to thee, this quiver I bequeath, | |
| This chosen arrow, to revenge her death: | |
| By whate’er hand Camilla shall be slain, | 885 |
| Or of the Trojan or Italian train, | |
| Let him not pass unpunish’d from the plain. | |
| Then, in a hollow cloud, myself will aid | |
| To bear the breathless body of my maid: | |
| Unspoil’d shall be her arms, and unprofan’d | 890 |
| Her holy limbs with any human hand, | |
| And in a marble tomb laid in her native land.” | |
| She said. The faithful nymph descends from high | |
| With rapid flight, and cuts the sounding sky: | |
| Black clouds and stormy winds around her body fly. | 895 |
| By this, the Trojan and the Tuscan horse, | |
| Drawn up in squadrons, with united force, | |
| Approach the walls: the sprightly coursers bound, | |
| Press forward on their bits, and shift their ground. | |
| Shields, arms, and spears flash horribly from far; | 900 |
| And the fields glitter with a waving war. | |
| Oppos’d to these, come on with furious force | |
| Messapus, Coras, and the Latian horse; | |
| These in the body plac’d, on either hand | |
| Sustain’d and clos’d by fair Camilla’s band. | 905 |
| Advancing in a line, they couch their spears; | |
| And less and less the middle space appears. | |
| Thick smoke obscures the field; and scarce are seen | |
| The neighing coursers, and the shouting men. | |
| In distance of their darts they stop their course; | 910 |
| Then man to man they rush, and horse to horse. | |
| The face of heav’n their flying jav’lins hide, | |
| And deaths unseen are dealt on either side. | |
| Tyrrhenus, and Aconteus, void of fear, | |
| By mettled coursers borne in full career, | 915 |
| Meet first oppos’d; and, with a mighty shock, | |
| Their horses’ heads against each other knock. | |
| Far from his steed is fierce Aconteus cast, | |
| As with an engine’s force, or lightning’s blast: | |
| He rolls along in blood, and breathes his last. | 920 |
| The Latin squadrons take a sudden fright, | |
| And sling their shields behind, to save their backs in flight. | |
| Spurring at speed to their own walls they drew; | |
| Close in the rear the Tuscan troops pursue, | |
| And urge their flight: Asylas leads the chase; | 925 |
| Till, seiz’d, with shame, they wheel about and face, | |
| Receive their foes, and raise a threat’ning cry. | |
| The Tuscans take their turn to fear and fly. | |
| So swelling surges, with a thund’ring roar, | |
| Driv’n on each other’s backs, insult the shore, | 930 |
| Bound o’er the rocks, incroach upon the land, | |
| And far upon the beach eject the sand; | |
| Then backward, with a swing, they take their way, | |
| Repuls’d from upper ground, and seek their mother sea; | |
| With equal hurry quit th’ invaded shore, | 935 |
| And swallow back the sand and stones they spew’d before. | |
| Twice were the Tuscans masters of the field, | |
| Twice by the Latins, in their turn, repell’d. | |
| Asham’d at length, to the third charge they ran; | |
| Both hosts resolv’d, and mingled man to man. | 940 |
| Now dying groans are heard; the fields are strow’d | |
| With falling bodies, and are drunk with blood. | |
| Arms, horses, men, on heaps together lie: | |
| Confus’d the fight, and more confus’d the cry. | |
| Orsilochus, who durst not press too near | 945 |
| Strong Remulus, at distance drove his spear, | |
| And stuck the steel beneath his horse’s ear. | |
| The fiery steed, impatient of the wound, | |
| Curvets, and, springing upward with a bound, | |
| His helpless lord cast backward on the ground. | 950 |
| Catillus pierc’d Iolas first; then drew | |
| His reeking lance, and at Herminius threw, | |
| The mighty champion of the Tuscan crew. | |
| His neck and throat unarm’d, his head was bare, | |
| But shaded with a length of yellow hair: | 955 |
| Secure, he fought, expos’d on ev’ry part, | |
| A spacious mark for swords, and for the flying dart. | |
| Across the shoulders came the feather’d wound; | |
| Transfix’d he fell, and doubled to the ground. | |
| The sands with streaming blood are sanguine dyed, | 960 |
| And death with honor sought on either side. | |
| Resistless thro’ the war Camilla rode, | |
| In danger unappall’d, and pleas’d with blood. | |
| One side was bare for her exerted breast; | |
| One shoulder with her painted quiver press’d. | 965 |
| Now from afar her fatal jav’lins play; | |
| Now with her ax’s edge she hews her way: | |
| Diana’s arms upon her shoulder sound; | |
| And when, too closely press’d, she quits the ground, | |
| From her bent bow she sends a backward wound. | 970 |
| Her maids, in martial pomp, on either side, | |
| Larina, Tulla, fierce Tarpeia, ride: | |
| Italians all; in peace, their queen’s delight; | |
| In war, the bold companions of the fight. | |
| So march’d the Tracian Amazons of old, | 975 |
| When Thermodon with bloody billows roll’d: | |
| Such troops as these in shining arms were seen, | |
| When Theseus met in fight their maiden queen: | |
| Such to the field Penthisilea led, | |
| From the fierce virgin when the Grecians fled; | 980 |
| With such, return’d triumphant from the war, | |
| Her maids with cries attend the lofty car; | |
| They clash with manly force their moony shields; | |
| With female shouts resound the Phrygian fields. | |
| Who foremost, and who last, heroic maid, | 985 |
| On the cold earth were by thy courage laid? | |
| Thy spear, of mountain ash, Eumenius first, | |
| With fury driv’n, from side to side transpierc’d: | |
| A purple stream came spouting from the wound; | |
| Bath’d in his blood he lies, and bites the ground. | 990 |
| Liris and Pagasus at once she slew: | |
| The former, as the slacken’d reins he drew | |
| Of his faint steed; the latter, as he stretch’d | |
| His arm to prop his friend, the jav’lin reach’d. | |
| By the same weapon, sent from the same hand, | 995 |
| Both fall together, and both spurn the sand. | |
| Amastrus next is added to the slain: | |
| The rest in rout she follows o’er the plain: | |
| Tereus, Harpalycus, Demophoon, | |
| And Chromis, at full speed her fury shun. | 1000 |
| Of all her deadly darts, not one she lost; | |
| Each was attended with a Trojan ghost. | |
| Young Ornithus bestrode a hunter steed, | |
| Swift for the chase, and of Apulian breed. | |
| Him from afar she spied, in arms unknown: | 1005 |
| O’er his broad back an ox’s hide was thrown; | |
| His helm a wolf, whose gaping jaws were spread | |
| A cov’ring for his cheeks, and grinn’d around his head, | |
| He clench’d within his hand an iron prong, | |
| And tower’d above the rest, conspicuous in the throng. | 1010 |
| Him soon she singled from the flying train, | |
| And slew with ease; then thus insults the slain: | |
| “Vain hunter, didst thou think thro’ woods to chase | |
| The savage herd, a vile and trembling race? | |
| Here cease thy vaunts, and own my victory: | 1015 |
| A woman warrior was too strong for thee. | |
| Yet, if the ghosts demand the conqu’ror’s name. | |
| Confessing great Camilla, save thy shame.” | |
| Then Butes and Orsilochus she slew, | |
| The bulkiest bodies of the Trojan crew; | 1020 |
| But Butes breast to breast: the spear descends | |
| Above the gorget, where his helmet ends, | |
| And o’er the shield which his left side defends. | |
| Orsilochus and she their courses ply: | |
| He seems to follow, and she seems to fly; | 1025 |
| But in a narrower ring she makes the race; | |
| And then he flies, and she pursues the chase. | |
| Gath’ring at length on her deluded foe, | |
| She swings her ax, and rises to the blow; | |
| Full on the helm behind, with such a sway | 1030 |
| The weapon falls, the riven steel gives way: | |
| He groans, he roars, he sues in vain for grace; | |
| Brains, mingled with his blood, besmear his face. | |
| Astonish’d Aunus just arrives by chance, | |
| To see his fall; nor farther dares advance; | 1035 |
| But, fixing on the horrid maid his eye, | |
| He stares, and shakes, and finds it vain to fly; | |
| Yet, like a true Ligurian, born to cheat, | |
| (At least while fortune favor’d his deceit,) | |
| Cries out aloud: “What courage have you shown, | &nbs |