# Aeneid (Conington 1866)/Book 9

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BOOK IX.
While elsewhere thus the war proceeds, Saturnian Juno swiftly speeds Her Iris from above To valiant Turnus: Turnus then Was sitting in a hallowed glen, His sire Pilumnus' grove: And thus the child of Thaumas speaks, Heaven's beauty flushing in her cheeks: 'Turnus, what never god would dare To promise to his suppliant's prayer, Lo here, the lapse of time has brought E'en to your hands, unasked, unsought. Æneas camp and fleet forsakes And journey to Evander takes, Nor thus content, his way has found To far Cortona's utmost bound, The Lydian people calls to arms, And musters all the rustic swarms. Why longer wait? the moment flies: Call horse and car: the camp surprise.' E'en as she spoke, her wings she spread, And skyward on her rainbow fled. The ardent youth the goddess knew: His hands to heaven he rears, And thus pursues her, as from view Aloft she disappears: ​'Fair Iris, glory of the sky, Who sent thee hither from on high? What means this sudden light? I see the heavens dispart in twain, And round the pole the starry train Is swimming in my sight. Enough: I follow this thy sign, Whoe'er thou art, O power divine!' So speaking, to the wave he hied, Scooped in his palms the brimming tide, In suppliance to the immortals bows, And burdens heaven with uttered vows.
And now the host is on the plain, With steeds, and gold, and broidered grain: Messapus the front rank arrays: The hinder Tyrrheus' sons obeys: The midmost are by Turnus led: So rising in serene repose Great Ganges rears his seven-fold head: So Nile from off the champaign flows And sinks into his bed. Troy's sons look forth, and see revealed Black dust-clouds, moving o'er the field: And first from off the fronting mole Aloud Caicus calls: 'What murky clouds are these that roll? Fetch weapons, man the walls! See there, the foe!' And one and all Pour through the gates and fill the wall. For such Æneas' last command, What time he stood to go, Should chance meanwhile surprise his band, To wage no conflict hand to hand. But safe behind the rampart stand And thence direct the blow. ​So now, though shame and scornful rage, Quick blending, prompt them to engage, They act his bidding, close the gate, And armed, in sheltering towers await The coming of the foe. Turnus with twice ten chosen horse Outstrips his column's tardy course, And nears them unforeseen: A Thracian steed he rides, white-flecked, With auburn crest his helm is decked, Itself of golden sheen. And 'Gallants, who with me will dare The first assault?' he cries 'look there!' Then sends his javelin through the air (This the first drop of war's red rain), And tower-like bears him o'er the plain. Clamorous and eager to attack, His comrades follow at his back; The Teucrian hearts, they deem, are slack, Their valour laid asleep: They dare not trust the level space Or fight as men do, face to face, But still the encampment keep. So round and round the camp he wheels Enraged, and for an entrance feels: Like wolf, who, ranging round the fold, Whines at the gate, in rain and cold, At midnight's season still: Safe 'neath their dams the lambkins bleat: He rages in infuriate heat At those he cannot kill, With hunger's gathered flame unslaked And bloodless jaws to dryness baked. Thus while he wall and camp surveys, The fire of wrath begins to blaze, Grief burns in every vein: ​What way may access best be found To dash the Trojans from their mound And fling them on the plain? The fleet that lay upon their flank, Deep shored within the river-bank, He first assails, and calls aloud For torches to the exulting crowd, And with a flaming pine-tree brand, Himself on flame, supplies his hand. Then, then, by Turnus' presence spurred, They ply the work, and at the word Each waves a torch on fire: The hearths are stripped, and pitchy glare And soot and vapour through the air In flaky wreaths aspire.
What God, ye Muses, stayed the fire, And saved the barks from fate so dire? Declare: the tale long since was told, But fame is green, though faith be old. When first Æneas on the height Of Ida built his ships for flight, The Berecyntine queen, 'tis said, Her suit before the Thunderer pled: 'Vouchsafe, my son, thy mother's prayer, Throned by her aid Olympus' heir. On Ida's summit once was mine, Loved through long years, a grove of pine, Where worshippers their homage paid, With pitch-trees dark and maple shade: These to the Dardan chief I gave When ships he sought to cross the wave; I gave, and in the gift was glad: But now their future makes me sad. Release me from my fears: concede The object of a parent's need: ​Grant that their texture ne'er may fail From, voyage long or stormy gale: Such vantage let my favourites reap From birth on our Idæan steep.' Her son, the Mighty One, replies, Who rolls the orbits of the skies: 'O mother! wherefore strive in vain The course of destiny to strain? Shall vessels made by mortal hand The immortals' privilege command? Shall man ride safe in danger's hour? Claimed ever god so vast a power? Nay rather, when, their service o'er, They reach at length the Ausonian shore, What ships, escaping wind and wave, In Latium land the Dardan brave, Shall change their mortal shape for ours And swim the main as sea-god powers, As Galatè and Doto sweep O'er the broad surface of the deep.' He said, and called to seal his vow His Stygian brother's lake, The banks where pitch and sand and mud Together mix their murky flood, And with the bending of his brow Made all Olympus shake.
And now the promised time was come, The fated years had filled their sum, When Turnus' wrong reminds the dame To shield her sacred ships from flame. A sudden light strikes blind their eyes: A cloud runs westward o'er the skies, And Ida's choirs appear: ​An awful voice through ether thrills, The ranks of either army fills, And deafens every ear: 'Forbear your weapons to employ To guard my ships, ye sons of Troy: Know, Turnus' fire shall burn the seas Or ere it touch my sacred trees; Go free, my favourites: loose your bands: Be Ocean-nymphs: your queen commands.' At once they burst their cords and dip, Like dolphins, each with brazen tip Down plunging 'neath the flood; Then all in maiden forms emerge, Swim out to sea and breast the surge, As many as on the river's verge Had erst in order stood.
In wonder gaze the Rutule crowd: Messapus' valiant self is cowed: His horses start and leap: The river falters, sounding hoarse, Old Tiber, and retracks his course, Nor hurries to the deep. Yet Turnus still is undismayed, Still prompt to cheer or to upbraid: 'At Troy, at Troy these portents aim: See, Jove has ta'en away The means of flight, her wonted game: For Rutule sword and Rutule flame Her navy will not stay. No path for her across the sea: She has no hope to scape us, she: One half her world is gone: Ourselves are masters of the land; Such multitudes beside us stand, Italians every one. ​They scare not me, those words of heaven, The voice of fate from temples given, Which Phrygia's exiles boast: Venus and fate have reaped their due In bringing safe the wandering crew To our Ausonian coast. I too have had my fate assigned, To sweep the miscreants from mankind Who rob me of my spouse: Not only Atreus' sons can feel, Nor Greece alone can draw the steel For breach of marriage vows. Yet once to suffer may suffice: What ailed them then to trespass twice? One taste of crime should leave behind A loathing for the female kind. Behold, their confidence they ground On balking trench and mediate mound, Removed from death a span! And saw they not sink down in flame Their Ilium's walls, albeit the frame Of powers more strong than man? But you, my warriors, who will dare Rush on with me, the fence down-tear, The trembling camp invade? No Vulcan's arms, no thousand sail 'Gainst Troy are needed to prevail: Nay, let Etruria weight the scale And lend them all her aid. Palladium ravished from the tower, Its warders stabbed at midnight's hour, Such feats they need not fear: We will not skulk in horse's womb: Our fires shall wrap their walls with doom In daylight broad and clear. ​Trust me, they shall not think to say They deal with Danaans weak as they, Whom Hector's prowess kept at bay E'en to the tenth long year. And now, since day's best hours are spent, Let deeds well done your hearts content, Recruit your weary frames, and know The morn shall see us strike the blow.'
Meanwhile Messapus has to set About the gates a living net, And kindle fires around: Twice seven Rutulian chiefs he calls Armed watch to keep beside the walls: A hundred youths each chief obey: Their helmets shoot a golden ray, With crests of purple crowned. They shift their posts, relieve the guard: Then stretch them on the grassy sward, To Bacchus open all their soul, And tilt full oft the brazen bowl. Throughout the night the watch-fires flame, And all is revel, noise, and game. Forth look the Trojans from their mound: They see the leaguer stretching round, And keep the rampart manned, In anxious fear the gates inspect, With bridges wall and tower connect, And muster, spear in hand. Bold Mnestheus and Serestus brave, To whose tried hands Æneas gave, Should aught arise of sterner need, To rule the state, the battle lead, Press on, now here, now there: Along the walls the gathered host Keeps tireless watch from post to post, Each taking danger's share. ​Nisus was guardian of the gate, No bolder heart in war's debate, The son of Hyrtacus, whom Ide Sent, with his quiver at his side, From hunting beasts in mountain brake To follow in Æneas' wake: With him Euryalus, fair boy; None fairer donned the arms of Troy; His tender cheek as yet unshorn And blossoming with youth new-born. Love made them one in every thought: In battle side by side they fought; And now on duty at the gate The twain in common station wait. 'Can it be Heaven' said Nisus then 'That lends such warmth to hearts of men, Or passion surging past control That plays the god to each one's soul? Long time, impatient of repose, My swelling heart within me glows, And yearns its energy to fling On war, or some yet grander thing. See there the foe, with vain hope flushed! Their lights are scant, their stations hushed: Unnerved by slumber and by wine Their bravest chiefs are stretched supine. Now to my doubting thought give heed And listen where its motions lead. Our Trojan comrades, one and all, Cry loud, Æneas to recall, And where, they say, the men to go And let him of our peril know? Now, if the meed I ask they swear To give you—nay, I claim no share, Content with bare renown— ​Meseems, beside yon grassy heap The way I well might find and keep, To Pallanteum's town.' The youth returns, while thirst of praise Infects him with a strange amaze: 'Can Nisus aim at heights so great, Nor take his friend to share his fate? Shall I look on, and let you go Alone to venture 'mid the foe? Not thus my sire Opheltes, versed In war's rude toil, my childhood nursed, When Argive terror filled the air And Troy was battling with despair: Nor such the lot my youth has tried, In hardship ever at your side, Since, great Æneas' liegeman sworn, I followed Fortune to her bourne: Here, here within this bosom burns A soul that mere existence spurns, And holds the fame you seek to reap, Though bought with life, were bought full cheap.'
'Not mine the thought' brave Nisus said 'To wound you with so base a dread: So may great Jove, or whosoe'er Marks with just eyes how mortals fare, Protect me going, and restore In triumph to your arms once more. But if—for many a chance, you wis, Besets an enterprise like this— If accident or power divine The scheme to adverse end incline, Your life at least I would prolong: Death does your years a deeper wrong. Leave me a friend to tomb my clay, Rescued or ransomed, which you may; ​Or, e'en that boon should chance refuse, To pay the absent funeral dues. Nor let me cause so dire a smart To that devoted mother's heart, Who, sole of all the matron train, Attends her darling o'er the main, Nor cares like others to sit down An inmate of Acestes' town.' He answers brief: 'Your pleas are naught: Firm stands the purpose of my thought: Come, stir we: why so slow?' Then calls the guards to take their place, Moves on by INisus, pace with pace, And to the prince they go.
All other creatures wheresoe'er Were stretched in sleep, forgetting care: Troy's chosen chiefs in high debate Were pondering o'er the reeling state, What means to try, or whom to speed To show Æneas of their need. There stand they, midway in the field, Still hold the spear, still grasp the shield: When Nisus and his comrade brave With eager tones admittance crave; The matter high; though time be lost, The occasion well were worth the cost. Iulus hails the impatient pair, Bids Nisus what they wish declare. Then spoke the youth 'Chiefs! lend your ears, Nor judge our proffer by our years. The Rutules, sunk in wine and sleep, Have ceased their former watch to keep: A stealthy passage have we spied Where on the sea the gate opes wide: ​The line of fires is scat and broke, And thick and murky rolls the smoke. Give leave to seek, in these dark hours, Æneas at Evander's towers, Soon will you see us here again Decked with the spoils of slaughtered men. Nor strange the road: ourselves have seen The city, hid by valleys green, Just dimly dawning, and explored In hunting all the river-board.' Out spoke Aletes, old and grey: 'Ye gods, who still are Ilium's stay, No, no, ye mean not to destroy Down to the ground the race of Troy, When such the spirit of her youth, And such the might of patriot truth.' Then, as the tears roll down his face, He clasps them both in strict embrace: 'Brave warriors! what rewards so great, For worth like yours to compensate? From Heaven and from your own true heart Expect the largest, fairest part: The rest, and at no distant day, The good Æneas shall repay, Nor he, the royal youth, forget Through all his life the mighty debt.' 'Nay, hear me too' Ascanius cried 'Whose life is with my father's tied: O Nisus! by the home-god powers We jointly reverence, yours and ours, The god of ancient Capys' line, And Vesta's venerable shrine, By these dread sanctions I appeal To you, the masters of my weal; O bring me back my sire again! Restore him, and I feel no pain. ​Two massy goblets will I give; Rich sculptures on the silver live; The plunder of my sire, What time he took Arisba's hold; Two chargers, talents twain of gold, A bowl beside of antique mould By Dido brought from Tyre. Then too, if ours the lot to reign O'er Italy, by conquest ta'en, And each man's spoil assign,— Saw ye how Turnus rode yestreen, His horse and arms of golden sheen? That horse, that shield and glowing crest I separate, Nisus, from the rest And count already thine. Twelve female slaves, at your desire, Twelve captives with their arms entire, My sire shall give you, and the plain That forms Latinus' own domain. But you, dear youth, of worth divine, Whose blooming years are nearer mine, Here to my heart I take, and choose My comrade for whate'er ensues. No glory will I e'er pursue, Unmotived by the thought of you: Let peace or war my state befall, Thought, word, and deed, you share them all.' The youth replied: 'No after day This hour's fair promise shall betray, Be fate but kind. Yet let me claim One favour, more than all you name: A mother in the camp is mine, Derived from Priam's ancient line: No home in Sicily or Troy Has kept her from her darling boy. ​She knows not, she, the paths I tread; I leave her now, no farewell said; By night and this your hand I swear, A parent's tears I could not bear. Vouchsafe your pity, and engage To solace her unchilded age: And I shall meet whate'er betide By such assurance fortified.' With sympathy and tender grief All melt in tears, Iulus chief, As filial love in other shown Recalled the semblance of his own: And 'Tell your doubting heart' he cries 'All blessings wait your high emprise: I take your mother for my own, Creusa, save in name alone, Nor lightly deem the affection due To her who bore a child like you. Come what come may, I plight ray troth By this my head, my father's oath, The bounty to yourself decreed Should favouring gods your journey speed, The same shall in your line endure, To parent and to kin made sure.' He spoke, and weeping still, untied A gilded falchion from his side, Lycaon's work, the man of Crete, With sheath of ivory complete: Brave Mnestheus gives for Nisus' wear A lion's hide with shaggy hair; Aletes, old in danger grown, His helmet takes, and gives his own. Then to the gates, as forth they fare, The band of chiefs with many a prayer The gallant twain attends: ​Iulus, manlier than his years, Oft whispering, for his father's ears Full many a message sends: But be it message, be it prayer, Alike 'tis lost, dispersed in air.
The trenches past, through night's deep gloom The hostile camp they near: Yet many a foe shall meet his doom Or ere that hour appear. There see they bodies stretched supine, O'ercome with slumber and with wine; The cars, unhorsed, are drawn up high; 'Twixt wheels and harness warriors lie, With arms and goblets on the grass In undistinguishable mass. 'Now' Nisus cries 'for hearts and hands: This, this the hour our force demands. Here pass we: yours the rear to mind, Lest hostile arm be raised behind; Myself will go before and slay, While carnage opes a broad highway.' So whispers he with bated breath, And straight begins the work of death On Rhamnes, haughty lord: On rugs he lay, in gorgeous heap, From all his bosom breathing sleep, A royal seer, by Turnus loved: But all too weak his seer-craft proved To stay the rushing sword. Three servants next the weapon found Stretched 'mid their armour on the ground: Then Remus' charioteer he spies Beneath the coursers as he lies, And lops his downdropt head: The ill-starred master next he leaves, A headless trunk, that gasps and heaves: ​Forth, spouts the blood from every vein, And deluges with crimson rain Green earth and broidered bed. Then Lamyrus and Lamus died, Serranus too, in youth's fair pride: That night had seen him long at play: Now by the dream-god tamed he lay: Ah! had his play but matched the night, Nor ended till the dawn of light! So famished lion uncontrolled Makes havoc through the teeming fold, As frantic hunger craves; Mangling and harrying far and near The meek mild victims, mute with fear, With gory jaws he raves. Nor less Euryalus performs: The thirst of blood his bosom warms; 'Mid nameless multitudes he storms, Herbesus, Fadus, Abaris kills Slumbering and witless of their ills, While Rhœtus wakes and sees the whole, But hides behind a massy bowl. There, as to rise the trembler strove, Deep in his breast the sword he drove, And bathed in death withdrew. The lips disgorge the life's red flood, A mingled stream of wine and blood: He plies his blade anew. Now turns he to Messapus' band, For there the fires he sees Burnt out, while coursers hard at hand Are browsing at their ease, When Nisus marks the excess of zeal, The maddening fever of the steel, And checks him thus with brief appeal: 'Forbear we now; 'twill soon be day: Our wrath is slaked, and hewn our way.' ​Full many a spoil they leave behind Of solid silver thrice refined, Armour and bowls of costliest mould And rugs in rich confusion rolled. A belt Euryalus puts on With golden knobs, from Rhamnes won: Of old by Cædicus 'twas sent, An absent friendship to cement, To Remulus, fair Tibur's lord, Who, dying, to his grandson left The shining prize: the Rutule sword In after days the trophy reft. Athwart his manly chest in vain He binds these trappings of the slain; Then 'neath his chin in triumph laced Messapus' helm, with plumage graced. The camp at length they leave behind, And round the lake securely wind.
Meanwhile a troop is on its way, From Latium's city sped, An offshoot from the host that lay Along the plain in close array, Three hundred horsemen, sent to bring A message back to Turnus king, With Volscens at their head. Now to the camp they draw them nigh, Beneath the rampart's height, When from afar the twain they spy, Still steering from the right; The helmet through the glimmering shade At once the unwary boy betrayed, Seen in the moon's full light. Not lost the sight on jealous eyes: 'Ho! stand! who are ye?' Volscens cries 'Whence come, or whither tend?' ​No movement deign they of reply, But swifter to the forest fly, And make the night their friend. With fatal speed the mounted foes Each avenue as with network close, And every outlet bar. It was a forest bristling grim With shade of ilex, dense and dim: Thick brushwood all the ground o'ergrew: The tangled ways a path ran through, Faint glimmering like a star. The darkling boughs, the cumbering prey Euryalus's flight delay: His courage fails, his footsteps stray: But Nisus onward flees; No thought he takes, till now at last The enemy is all o'erpast, E'en at the grove, since Alban called, Where then Latinus' herds were stalled: Sudden he pauses, looks behind In eager hope his friend to find: In vain; no friend he sees. 'Euryalus, my chiefest care, Where left I you, unhappy? where? What clue may guide my erring tread This leafy labyrinth back to thread?' Then, noting each remembered track, He thrids the wood, dim-seen and black. Listening, he hears the horse-hoofs' beat, The clatter of pursuing feet: A little moment—shouts arise, And lo! Euryalus he spies, Whom now the foemen's gathered throng Is hurrying helplessly along, While vain resistance he essays, Trapped by false night and treacherous ways. ​What should he do? what force employ To rescue the beloved boy? Plunge through the spears that line the wood, And death and glory win with blood? Not unresolved, he poises soon A javelin, looking to the Moon: 'Grant, goddess, grant thy present aid, Queen of the stars, Latonian maid, The greenwood's guardian power; If, grateful for success of mine, With gifts my sire has graced thy shrine, If e'er myself have brought thee spoil, The tribute of my hunter's toil, To ornament thy roof divine, Or glitter on thy tower, These masses give me to confound, And guide through air my random wound.' He spoke, and hurled with all his might; The swift spear hurtles through the night: Stout Sulmo's back the stroke receives: The wood, though snapped, the midriff cleaves. He falls, disgorging life's warm tide, And long-drawn sobs distend his side. All gaze around: another spear The avenger levels from his ear, And launches on the sky. Tagus lies pierced through temples twain, The dart deep buried in his brain. Fierce Volscens storms, yet finds no foe, Nor sees the hand that dealt the blow, Nor knows on whom to fly. 'Your heart's warm blood for both shall pay' He cries, and on his beauteous prey With naked sword he sprang. Scared, maddened, Nisus shrieks aloud: No more he hides in night's dark shroud, Nor bears the o'erwhelming pang: ​'Me, guilty me, make me your aim, Rutules! mine is all the blame; He did no wrong, nor e'er could do; That sky, those stars attest 'tis true; Love for his friend too freely shown, This was his crime, and this alone.' In vain he spoke: the sword, fierce driven, That alabaster breast had riven. Down falls Euryalus, and lies In death's enthralling agonies: Blood trickles o'er his limbs of snow; "His head sinks gradually low:" Thus, severed by the ruthless plough, Dim fades a purple flower: Their weary necks so poppies bow, O'erladen by the shower. But Nisus on the midmost flies, With Volscens, Volscens in his eyes: In clouds the warriors round him rise, Thick hailing blow on blow: Yet on he bears, no stint, no stay; Like thunderbolt his falchion's sway: Till as for aid the Rutule shrieks Plunged in his throat the weapon reeks: The dying hand has reft away The life-blood of its foe. Then, pierced to death, asleep he fell On the dead breast he loved so well.
Blest pair! if aught my verse avail, No day shall make your memory fail From off the heart of time, While Capitol abides in place, The mansion of the Æneian race, And throned upon that moveless base Rome's father sits sublime. ​With conquest crowned, of trophies proud, The Rutule warriors, weeping loud, Slain Volscens campward bring: Nor fewer tears in camp are shed For Rhanmes and Serranus dead, By one fell stroke their noblest sped To darkness, chief and king. Crowds gather to the spot, where lie The bodies, dead or soon to die, And see the place afloat with blood And frothing gore in many a flood. From hand to hand they pass the spoil: Messapus' helm they know, And trappings gay, with deadly toil Recovered from the foe.
Now, rising from Tithonus' bed, The Dawn o'er earth her radiance spread: When all is flooded by the ray, And nature lies exposed to day, Bold Turnus, armed from head to heel, Inflames the warriors' martial zeal: Each to his followers makes appeal, And goads them to engage: Moreover, fixed on lifted spears, (Where in that hour were human tears?) Two gory heads they thrust to view, Euryalus' and Nisus' too, With cries of hate and rage. Troy's iron sons array their fight On the left rampart—for the right Adjoins the river shore:— Above their breadth of moat they stood In lofty turrets, sad of mood: And horror on their spirit fell To see those heads they knew so well Dripping with loathly gore. ​Through the pale ranks ran winged Fame, And swiftly to the mother came Of lost Euryalus: the start Sent icy chillness to her heart: The thread was on the shuttle stopped, And from her hand the spindle dropped. She rends her hair; she shrieks aloud, And to the rampart and the crowd In wild distraction flies: No more the face of men she fears, The winged deaths, the showering spears, But fills the air with cries: 'Euryalus! returned, and thus? And could you leave me lone, Mine age's stay, in life's late day? O what a heart of stone! This perilous adventure seek, Nor farewell to your mother speak? And you are lying, lying thrown To dogs and birds, 'neath skies unknown;— And I, your mother, might not close Your glassy eyes, your limbs compose, Nor wash the gore away, Nor robe you in that mantle fair, Which, solacing an old wife's care, I hastened for my darling's wear, Still spinning night and day! Where shall I seek you? how reclaim Those headless limbs, that mangled frame? This all? and was it this, ah me, I followed over land and sea? O slay me, Rutules! if ye know A mother's love, on me bestow The tempest of your spears! Or thou, great Thunderer, pity take. And whelm me 'neath the Stygian lake, ​Since otherwise I may not break This life of bitter tears!' That wail the hearts of Troy congealed; From rank to rank the infection ran; Each sickens of the battle-field, And feels no longer man. Still raves the miserable dame, Still higher piles grief's frantic flame: Iulus, shedding tears like rain, And old Ilioneus call their train, And Actor and Idæus come And bear her from the rampart home.
Now shrills the trump its dire alarms: At once the warriors cry to arms: Heaven thunders back the note. The Volscian host a penthouse form, And strive the palisade to storm And choke the gaping moat: Some try the approach, and ladders plant Where most the battle-line looks scant, And the dark ring that crowns the wall Presents a glimmering interval. With equal zeal the sons of Troy Stout poles and missile darts employ, Taught by experience long and hard How best a leaguered wall to guard. Stones too with cruel weight they throw In hope to break the shielded foe: Sure on such fence the heaviest blow Must fall like idle hail! See, see, at length it yields, it yields! Where threats the densest mass of shields A rock the Trojans topple o'er: Down on the Rutule host it bore, Dashed wide their ranks behind, before, And burst their quilted mail. ​Cowed by the shock, the Rutules bold No more engage in fight blindfold, But with a missile tempest strive The foeman from his wall to drive. Elsewhere Mezentius, grim to see, Wields Tuscan pine-stock, tall as he, And heads the desperate attack With torch-fire vapours, pitchy black: While bold Messapus, Neptune's seed, Imperious tamer of the steed, Tears down the palisade, and calls For ladders to ascend the walls.
Now grant, Calliope, thine aid; Ye Muses, prompt my lay To tell what havoc Turnus made On that too bloody day, What gallant chiefs were hurled below And what the hands that dealt the blow. Be near, and help me to unrol In length and breadth the martial scroll.
Linked by strong bridges to the wall There rose a lofty tower: Italia's warriors, one and all, Assail it, bent to work its fall, With utmost strain of power: The sons of Troy with stones defend, And through the narrowed eyelets send A furious steely shower. Fierce Turnus first a firebrand flings: It strikes the side, takes hold, and clings: The freshening breezes spread the blaze, And soon on plank and beam it preys. The inmates flutter in dismay And vainly wish to fly: ​There as they huddle and retire Back to the part which 'scapes the fire, Sudden the o'erweighted mass gives way, And falling, shakes the sky. Heavily to the ground they come In piteous ruin trailed, Some pierced with falling fragments, some On their own darts impaled. Unhurt, Helenor, sole of all, And Lycus issue from the fall: Helenor, whom Licymnia bare To Lydia's king, a captive fair, And sent herself her blooming boy In interdicted arms to Troy, Trained up a naked sword to wield And bear a blank unblazoned shield. Soon as the Rutule hosts he found And Turnus' squadrons close him round, As beast by hunter crowds beset Makes furious war on dart and net, Full at the throat of danger flies, And spiked on serried javelins dies, So leaps the warrior on the foe Where storms of iron deadliest blow. Not so young Lycus: swifter far He threads the windings of the war, Gripes the high wall with talon clutch, And strives his comrades' hands to touch. With speed of foot and javelin's throw Fierce Turnus follows on the foe: 'Poor fool! couldst hope' the conqueror cries 'To baffle Turnus of his prize?' Then grasps him hanging, and withal Plucks down a bulwark from the wall: So Jove's fell bird bears off in air A snow-white swan or timorous hare: ​So from, its vainly bleating dam Tears the gaunt wolf the folded lamb. Loud clamours rise: they charge once more, Break down the mound, the trench bridge o'er, Or to the topmost rampart throw Their brands of pine-wood all aglow. There as Lucetius nears the gate And waves aloft the hostile flame, Ilioneus whelms him 'neath the weight Of rock that from a mountain came: Stout Liger brings Emathion low; Asilas Corynæus slays; That skilled the warlike lance to throw, This wings the arrow from the bow Through unsuspected ways. Ortygius lies by Cæneus slain: The victor yields to Turnus' hands; And Sagaris, Itys, Clonius fall, With Promolus, by Turnus all, And Idas, tumbled to the plain, As on the wall he stands. Privernus finds from Capys death: Themilla's spear had grazed him first: He flings his buckler on the ground, And claps his hand upon the wound; Fond wretch! the arrow wings the wind, And to his side his hand is pinned, And through the vital springs of breath A deadly passage burst. There Arceus' son stood, richly dight, In broidered scarf with purple bright, Sent by his father to the fight, A youth of glorious show, Reared in his Oread mother's wood, Beside Symæthus' gentle flood, Where day by day with victims' blood Palicus' altars flow. ​No more his spear Mezentius hurled; Thrice round his head his sling he whirled With shrill and whizzing sound: Sheer through the warrior's temples sped With fatal aim the glowing lead; He falls, and lies unnerved and dead O'er many a foot of ground.
Then first, they say, Ascanius tried In battle-field his bow, Till then 'gainst flying silvans plied, And laid Numanus low: He late to his connubial bed Had Turnus' youngest sister led: And now, of new-worn purple proud, He stalks erect, with vaunting loud, Arid thus before the battle's van With wordy turbulence began. 'Twice captured Phrygians! to be pent Once more in leaguered battlement, And plant unblushingly between Yourselves and death a stony screen! Lo, these the men that draw their swords To part our ladies from their lords! What god, what madness brings you here To taste of our Italian cheer? No proud Atridæ lead our vans: No false Ulysses talks and plans: E'en from the birth a hardy brood, We take our infants to the flood, And fortify their tender mould With icy wave and ruthless cold. Early and late our sturdy boys Seek through the woods a hunter's joys: Their pastime is to tame the steed, To bend the bow and launch the reed. ​Our youth, to scanty fare inured, Made strong by labour oft endured, Subdue the soil with spade and rake, Or city walls with battle shake. Through life we grasp our trusty spear: It strikes the foe, it goads the steer: Age cannot chill our valour: no, The helmet sits on locks of snow; And still we love to store our prey, And eat the fruits our arms purvey. You flaunt your robes in all men's eyes, Your saffron and your purple dyes, Recline on downy couch, or weave The dreamy dance from morn to eve: Sleeved tunics guard your tender skins, And ribboned mitres prop your chins. Phrygians!—nay rather Phrygian fair! Hence, to your Dindymus repair! Go where the flute's congenial throat Shrieks through two doors its slender note, Where pipe and cymbal call the crew; These are the instruments for you: Leave men, like us, in arras to deal, Nor bruise your lily hands with steel.'
That ominous tongue, that boastful heart Ascanius could not bear: He drew the bowstring, poised the dart, And stood with outstretched arms apart, First calling Jove in prayer. 'Vouchsafe to bless, great Sire divine, Thy suppliant's bold essay: My grateful hand before thy shrine Shall yearly offerings pay: A goodly bullock from the stall, Snow-white, his mother scarce so tall, ​Shall at thy altar stand: His horns, which gold shall overlay, E'en now anticipate the fray: His feet spurn up the sand,' Jove heard, and instant from the left He thundered through the blue: Instant the bow was heard to twang; The shaft along the welkin sang, Numanus' haughty head it cleft, And pierced his temples through. 'Go, vent on worth your idle taunts: Such answer to Rutulian vaunts Twice captuted Phrygians send!' Ascanius spoke: the sons of Troy Mount skyward in their rapturous joy, And heaven with shoutings rend. Phœbus that hour from heaven's dim height Surveyed the fortunes of the fight, And thus from off his throne of cloud Bespoke the youthful victor proud: ''Tis thus that men to heaven aspire: Go on, and raise your glories higher, Of gods the son, of gods the sire! Beneath Assaracus's seed The war-worn land shall cease to bleed, Nor may our narrow Troy contain The compass of so grand a reign.' So speaking, from the skies he darts, The fluttering air before him parts, And quickly to Ascanius hies, In Butes' venerable guise. Once Butes kept Anchises' door, Anchises' arms in battle bore: Now other cares his age employ, The guardian of the princely boy. ​So moves the god: voice, colour, all, The veteran's lineaments recall, The silvery honours of his head, His armour, resonant with dread; And thus with words of mild control He calms that young, ambitious soul: 'Enough, Æneas' son, to know Your hand, unharmed, with shaft and bow Numanus' life has ta'en; Such glory to your first of fields Your patron god ungrudging yields, Nor robs of praise the arms he wields: From farther fight refrain.' So Phœbus speaks, and speaking flies: One moment beams on mortal eyes, Then mingles with the ambient skies. The Dardan chiefs the godhead knew: His flashing weapons caught their view: They heard his quiver as he flew. So now at great Apollo's beck Ascanius' martial zeal they check: Themselves renew the doubtful strife, And freely jeopardy their life. Rings through the camp the war-shout's peal: They bend their bows and hurl the steel Which leathern thong reclaims: Spent javelins all the ground bestrow: Helmet and shield rebound the blow: A savage fight upflames. So furiously from westward sped, The Kid-star lowering overhead, Wild tempests lash the plain: So on the sea the hail falls fast, When Jove, dread lord of southern blast, His watery volleys flings broad-cast, And opes the springs of rain. ​Pandarus and Bitias, brethren twain, Descended of Alcanor's strain (Iæra bore them, nymph divine: Their stature matched the hill-side pine Or e'en the hills' own height), Throw wide the gate they held in charge, And trusting but to spear and targe The foe's advance invite. Themselves within the gateway stand, Fronting the towers on either hand, Magnificent in steel array, And toss their plumes on high: So two fair oaks that proudly grow On banks of Athesis or Po Their unshorn heads aloft display And tower into the sky. With eager joy the Rutules see The gates thrown wide, the entrance free, And pour by hundreds in: Full soon Aquicolus the fair, With Quercens, Hæmon, fiery Tmare, To flight with all their followers turn, Or with their heels the threshold spurn But now they thought to win. Fierce and more fierce the combat glows: In gathering ranks the Trojans close, Nor further onset wait, But foot to foot defy their foes, And press beyond the gate.
Meanwhile to Turnus, as afar On other parts he launches war And mars the foe's array, Comes word that, flushed with blood new-shed, The sons of Troy forget their dread, And wide their gates display. ​Fell rage inspiring all his mind, The unfinished work he leaves behind, And rushes to the gates amain To cope with that presumptuous twain. First on Antiphates he bore, Whom chance had planted in the fore, The great Sarpedon's spurious seed, Born of a dame of Theban breed. The cornel hurtles through the skies; Straight to the stomach's pit it flies, And lodges 'neath the bosom's core, While the dark cavern wells with gore. Then Merops, Erymas the brave, And young Aphidnus find a grave, And Bitias, as with eyes aglow And bursting rage he fronts his foe: No dart was thrown: a puny dart Had scarcely reached that giant heart; No, 'twas a huge falaric spear, Thundering in levin-like career, That left the victor's hand: Not two bull-hides, nor corslet mail, Though plaited twice with golden scale, The onset might withstand. The vast frame tumbles on the field; Groans the jarred earth, loud clangs the shield. 'Tis thus descends in later day The granite pile in Baiæ's bay, Compact of many a block: E'en thus, in mighty downfall sped, It sinks into the oozy bed With vast reverberant shock: Up mounts the sand from depths profound: Lone Prochyta perceives the sound Thrill deep through cave and rock, ​And Arime, by Jove's behest Firm fixed on Typhon's monster breast.
Now Mars omnipotent imparts Fresh vigour to the Latian hearts, While on the Trojan band Dark fear he sends and coward flight: The Italians claim the proffered fight, And fury nerves each hand. When Pandarus saw his brother slain And knew the tide had ebbed again, He sets his shoulders to the gate And backward rolls the enormous weight, Leaving in miserable rout Full many a hapless friend shut out, While others through the entrance pour, And saved from carnage, breathe once more. Fond fool! amidst the noise and din He saw not Turnus rushing in, But closed him in the embattled hold, A tiger in a helpless fold. From those fierce eyes new terrors blaze; His arms around him clash: The red plume on his helmet plays, And from his shield reflected rays Like living lightning flash. At once the trembling Trojans know The dreaded presence of their foe: But Pandarus onward flies: In his proud breast his brother's fate Awakes the flames of rage and hate, And thus in scorn he cries: 'Not this Amata's promised dower, Your royal dome, your bridal bower, Nor Ardea's native town enthralls Her Turnus in her friendly walls: ​A hostile camp around you see, Shut in without the power to flee.' Then Turnus with untroubled mien: 'Begin, and let your strength be seen: Soon shall you tell in Priam's ear You found a new Achilles here.' Strong Pandarus launches on the wind A knotted spear, unpeeled its rind, With mighty effort flung: Saturnia caught it as it came And turned it from its destined aim: Fixed in the gate it hung. 'Not thus shall err my trusty brand, Sped by a surer, stronger hand:' Then, rising tiptoe as he speaks, Turnus uplifts the falchion keen: With force resistless sweeping down It crashes on the warrior's crown, And ample brows and beardless cheeks Are severed clear and clean. At once the mighty ruin sounds; The firm earth trembles and rebounds; His armour, splashed with blood and brain, His giant members load the plain: On either shoulder, cleft in twain, The ghastly head is seen. The Trojans fly in wild dismay: O, then had Turnus thought To force the fastenings of the gates And call within his valiant mates, The nation and the war that day Alike to end had brought! But rage and blind desire to slay Still drive him on the recreant prey. First Phalaris beneath him dies And Gyges, hamstrung as he flies: ​Forth from the slain he plucks each spear, And hurls them on the fliers' rear, While Juno nerves him for the strife, And breathes within diviner life. Then lays he Halys on the field And Phegeus, cloven through his shield: Alcander, Halius, Prytanis, And young Noemon, all Are slaughtered, ere their foe they wis, And tumbled from the wall: And Lynceus, who in vain essayed The strife, and called his friends for aid: His right knee propped against the mound, He swings his weighty falchion round: Head-piece and head, by one sure wound Cut off, at distance fall. Then huntsman Amycus succeeds: None better knew to flying reeds The envenomed point to lend: And Clytius feels the conqueror's spear, And Cretheus, to the Muses dear, Cretheus, the Muses' friend: The minstrel lay, the tuneful shell Had touched him with their magic spell, And still the warrior strung To martial themes his glowing lyre, And arms, and men, and steeds of fire In lofty numbers sung.
At last, at news of Troy's defeat, Mnestheus and brave Serestus meet: Their friends they see in wild retreat, Within their camp the foe: And 'Whither fly ye?' Mnestheus cried: 'What walls, what town are yours beside? ​Shall one more man, on all sides pent Within your mounded battlement, Such deaths have dealt, such warriors sent Unvenged to shades below? Feel ye no shame, no manly grief For gods, for country, or for chief, O craven hearts and slow?' Roused by the word, they stand at length, And front him with collected strength, While Turnus by degrees gives ground, And seeks the part the stream runs round. The Trojans follow, shouting loud, And closer still and closer crowd. So when the gathering swains assail A lion with their brazen hail, He, glaring rage, begins to quail And sullenly departs: For shame his back he will not turn, Yet dares not, howsoe'er he yearn, To charge their serried darts: So Turnus lingeringly retires, And glows with ineffectual fires. Twice on the foe e'en then he falls, Twice routs and drives them round the walls: But from the camp in swarms they pour, Nor Juno dares to help him more, For Iris hastens down With words from Jove of angry threat, Should Turnus make resistance yet, Nor quit the leaguered town. No longer now by force of hand Or buckler may the youth withstand, So thick the javelins play: Round his broad brows the helmet rings: Crushed by the volley from the slings Its solid sides give way. ​His plumes are reft: his shield 'gins fail, While spear on spear the Trojans hail, With Mnestheus, soul of flame. O'er all his limbs dark sweat-drops break; No time to breathe: thick pantings shake His vast and labouring frame. At length, accoutred as he stood, Headlong he plunged into the flood. The yellow flood the charge received, With buoyant tide his weight upheaved, And cleansing off the encrusted gore, Returned him to his friends once more.
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