# Aeneid (Conington 1866)/Book 10

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BOOK X.
Meantime Olympus' gate unfolds: The almighty Sire a council holds In heaven's sidereal hall, Whence earth lies open to his view, The camp of Troy, the Latian crew: The gods obey his call, And range them on their golden seats: Himself the high occasion treats: 'Great powers of heaven, what change has wrought Such dire revulsion in your thought? Whence comes this madness of debate, These passions flaming into hate? My nod forbade the Italian folk 'Gainst Teucer's sons to strike a stroke: What mean your strifes that break my law? What wild alarm could sway Or these or those the sword to draw And wake the sleeping fray? The battle-day at length shall come (Let none foredate the hour of doom) When Carthage town shall roll On Rome's seven hills the stormy tide, And through the Alps cleave passage wide To her predestined goal: ​Then may you give your hate its fill, And rage and ravage as you will: Now cease, and ratify with me The covenant I will shall be.'
Thus briefly Jove: but not in brief Gives Venus utterance to her grief: 'Dread lord of all above, below! For other succour none we know In this our trouble sore: Seest thou how swells the Rutules' pride? See Turnus in his triumph ride, E'en on the crest of war's fierce tide, And bid its billows roar! No more their walls my Trojans shield: The camp is changed to battle-field: The trenches float with gore. Our chief in ignorance bides away: What? leav'st us not one peaceful day From siege and leaguer free? Once more there lowers o'er rising Troy A spoiler, eager to destroy, With myriads fierce as he: And Tydeus' son once more is brought, To fight, belike, as erst he fought. Aye, sooth, I ween it is decreed That Venus' wounds again shall bleed, And I, thy child, too long delay The spear that gores, but cannot slay. If unsecured by leave from thee Troy's sons have sailed to Italy, Withdraw thine aid, and let them be, To reap their folly's due: But if thy mandates they obeyed By many a warning voice conveyed From heaven above and nether shade, ​Who dares to change thy firm decree Or write the fates anew? Why tell each bygone grievance o'er, The fleet consumed on Eryx' shore, The monarch of the storm called forth, The winds unchained, East, West and North, Or Iris sent from high? Nay, e'en the ghosts beneath she tries (O'erlooked till now those choice allies): Through Latian towns Alecto flies, And taints the upper sky. 'Tis not for empire now I fear: That was a hope which once was dear, But let it pass: our blood is spilt, Yet give the victory where thou wilt. But O, if yet thy cruel spouse Will grant no land where Troy may house, By Ilium's ruins I implore, By that last agony she bore, Release Ascanius from the strife, And let my grandson scape with life! His sire may roam on unknown seas, And drift where fate or fortune please: But let me snatch the child away And save him from yon bloody fray. Paphos and Amathus are mine, And high Cythera's bower: There let him live, his arms resign, Nor dream the dream of power. On Italy let Carthage frown, He shall not vex your Tyrian town. What profit to have scaped the fight And won his way in venturous flight Through foe and fire and sword, The rage of land and ocean spent, While Troy on Latium still is bent, And hopes her towers restored? ​Best to have fixed them on the spot Where Ilium's embers still are hot, Laid down their limbs by Xanthus' flood, And dwelt where once their city stood. O Father! look on wretched men; Give us our native streams again, And let our progeny repeat The old, old tale of Troy's defeat!'
Then, by her rage to utterance stirred, Imperial Juno took the word: 'And must I then my silence break And buried griefs to life awake? What god above or man below Your good Æneas forced to go To war, and be Latinus' foe? Grant that to Italy he went By fate or mad Cassandra sent: Who bade him quit his camp and trust His life to every stormy gust, Leave to a boy's weak hands to guide The war and o'er his walls preside, Seduce the Tyrrhenes, and molest The peace of nations long at rest? What force, what tyranny of ours To such misventure led? Where then were Juno's baleful powers, Or Iris downward sped? 'Tis shame Italians should engirth Your infant Troy with sword and fire, That Turnus on his parent earth Should come and go at his desire, Though nymph Venilia gave him birth And blest Pilumnus was his sire: And shall not Troy in turn fool shame To ravage Latium's fields with flame, ​Play despot o'er an alien soil, And carry flocks and herds for spoil, Pick marriages at will, and bear From others' arms the plighted fair, Make suit for peace with wool-wreathed bough, Yet arm her ships from stern to prow? Æneas from the conquering Greek You filch away with ease, And cheat them, when a man they seek, With cloud and airy breeze: You make his vessels change their guise And each and all as Nereids rise: Yet call it crime, when Juno lends Her succour to her Rutule friends. Your chief in ignorance bides away; And in his ignorance let him stay. Paphos and Amathus are yours, And high Cythera's shade: Why seek a sky where battle lowers, And savage homes invade? Are ours the hands that labour still The ebbing strength of Troy to spill? Our hands? or theirs that broke the peace And gave her to the sword of Greece? What fatal cause the quarrel sent 'Twixt continent and continent? When Paris stormed the Spartan's bed, Was mine the guiding star that led? Armed I for war the adulterous hand, Or battle's flame with passion fanned? Then had your terror been in place, Your fears for your beloved race: Now, all too late, you idly plain, And fling your wrongful taunts in vain.'
Thus pleaded Juno: and the rest Murmuriug their diverse minds expressed, ​As newborn gales in forest pent Confusedly struggle for a vent, And rippling 'mid the leaves, inform The seaman of a coming storm. Then he begins, the Sire of all, Who rules the world at will: E'en as he speaks, the gods' great hall Grows tremulously still: The firm earth quivers to her base: High heaven is still through all its space: The winds are whispered into sleep, And waveless calm controls the deep. 'Give ear, and with attention lay Deep in your hearts the words I say. Since Troy with Latium must contend, And these your wranglings find no end, Let each man use his chance to-day And carve his fortune as he may; Rutule or Trojan let him be, Nations and names are nought to me: Or be they fates to Rutules kind That Ilium's camp in leaguer bind, Or Trojan rashness, soon betrayed, And warnings by a foe conveyed. Nor would I yet the Rutules spare: They too the common chance must share: Each warrior from his own good lance Shall reap the fruit of toil or chance: Jove deals to all an equal lot, And Fate shall loose or cut the knot.' This said, to witness his intent He called his Stygian brother's lake, The banks where pitch and sand and mud Together mix their seething flood, And as his kingly brows he bent Made all Olympus shake. ​So came the council to its close: Jove from his golden throne arose: The gods around their sovereign wait And lead him to his palace gate.
Meantime, intent to burn and slay, The foe once more the siege essay. Pent in their camp the Trojans lie, Despair of help, yet cannot fly. Arrayed in vain, they ring the wall, A hapless remnant, thin and small. Asius Imbrasides is there, And Hicetaon's valiant heir; The Assaraci, twin warriors they, Castor, and Thymbris old and grey In battle's forefront stand: Claros and Themon join the train, The brethren of Sarpedon slain, From Lycia's mighty land. Lyrnesian Acmon heaves a block, Vast fragment of its parent rock, Born of a race no toil that shun, Menestheus' brother, Clytius' son. These fight with stones, with javelins those, Rain fiery torches on their foes, Or bend with force unerring bows. There in the midst is Venus' care, The princely boy, his head all bare; So, set in gold, beams forth a gem, For collar or for anadem; So polished ivory shines Inlaid in terebinth or box; Down his fair neck bright stream his locks, Which pliant gold entwines. ​Thou, Ismarus, too wast seen to deal With archer craft the envenomed steel And quell their valiant powers, Thy home Mæonia"s fruitful mould, Made rich by labour and the gold That bright Pactolus showers. There too is Mnestheus, raised heaven-high By Turnus made yestreen to fly, And Capys, marked for future fame, From whom fair Capua takes her name.
They all day long in fight had striven With ceaseless toil and pain: And now beneath a midnight heaven Æneas ploughs the main. For when, from good Evander sent, He reached the Etruscan leader's tent, Tells what his name and whence he springs, What aid he asks, what powers he brings, What arms are on Mezentius' side, And Turnus' overweening pride, And bids him think, with sighs and prayers, What changes wait on man's affairs, Not long the conference: Tarchon plights His friendly troth, his force unites, With action swift and brief: The Lydian race, from fate set free, By heaven's command put straight to sea Placed 'neath a foreign chief. First sails Æneas' royal ship: The Phrygian lions arm her tip, And Ida spreads its shade above, The hill that Teucrian exiles love. There sits Æneas on the stern, The tides that make the war to turn Deep pondering o'er and o'er; ​And Pallas, ever at his side, Asks of the stars, the night-fare's guide, Or questions of his wanderings wide On ocean and on shore.
Now, Muses, ope your Helicon, The gates of song expand; Say what the host to war comes on From forth the Etruscan strand, And, following in Æneas' train, Spreads sail, and navigates the main.
See Massicus the foremost guide His Tiger o'er the deep; A thousand warriors at his side In Clusium's lofty towers that bide And Cosæ's warlike keep: Light quivers from their shoulders hang, Their deadly bows in combat twang. Grim Abas next; his followers bold In gleaming steel arrayed; High on his stern, a blaze of gold, Apollo shone displayed. Six hundred Populonia gave To share his fortunes, tried and brave, And Ilva sends three hundred more, Rich island-home of Chalyb ore. Then far-renowned Asilas third, Who tells heaven's will to men: The starry sky, the victim herd, The levin-bolt, the voiceful bird, All own his piercing ken: To war he brings a mighty throng, True spearmen all, a thousand strong. The people these of Pisa's town, Whose sires from Elis erst came down. ​Then Astyr, proud of youthful charms, With fiery steed and glancing arms: Three hundred men beside him fare, Nerved by one loyal will, Who Cære's home or Pyrgi share, Who breathe Graviscæ's tainted air, Or Minio's cornland till.
Nor shall Liguria's chief remain, Brave Cinyras, here unsung, Nor thou, despite thy scanty train, Cupavo, fair and young: From whose tall helm swan-plumes arise, Memorial of thy sire's disguise. For Cycnus, all for love, 'tis said, Of Phaethon untimely dead, Embowered amid the poplar wood Of that unhappy sisterhood, Kept plaining o'er the cruel wrong, And solacing his grief with song, Till o'er his limbs began to grow A downy plumage, white as snow; Then to the skies he passed, and sent His voice before him as he went. And now his son in arms appears, Leads forth a host of equal years, And spreads his flying sails: High on the prow a Centaur stands, A huge rock heaved in both his hands; The keel behind him trails.
There too great Ocnus o'er the sea Conducts his country's chivalry, Child of prophetic Manto he And Tuscan Tiber's flood; Fair Mantua's town he built and walled And by his mother's surname called: ​Fair town! her sons of high degree, Though not unmixed their blood. Three races swell the mingled stream: Four states from each derive their birth; Herself among them sits supreme, Her Tuscan blood her chiefest worth. Five hundred thence Mezentius draws, Sworn foes to his unrighteous cause, A helmed and shielded train: And Mincius, whom Benacus breeds, In grey apparailment of reeds Their vengeful barks to battle leads, And launches on the main.
There huge Aulestes ploughs the deep With all his hundred oars: Thrown upward by the enormous sweep The billow foams and roars. A Triton on the vessel stood And blew defiance to the flood: His face a man's and half his side, A fish's all the rest: With giant force he stems the tide, And rears his savage breast.
So many chiefs, a nation's flower, Across the sea conveyed In thirty ships their friendly power, And brought the Trojans aid.
The day had vanished from on high, And Phœbe o'er the middle sky Impelled her chariot pale: Æneas, robbed by care of rest, The vessel's course as helmsman dressed, And trimmed the shifting sail. ​When lo! a friendly company Confronts him midway on the sea: The nymphs to whom Cybebe gave As goddesses to rule the wave They rode as ships before In seemly order swam the flood, As many as erewhile had stood With prows attached to shore. From far they recognize their king And round him weave a choral ring. Cymodoce, of all the train Chief mistress of the vocal strain, Her right hand on the vessel lays, Oars with her left the watery ways, And borne breast-high above the seas, Stirs his awed soul with words like these: 'Still wakes Æneas, heaven's true seed? Still wake, and mend your navy's speed. Lo here the pines from Ida's seat, Now ocean-nymphs, your sometime fleet! What time the faithless Rutule lord Bore headlong down with fire and sword, Unwillingly we broke your chain And went to seek you o'er the main. The mighty Mother of her grace In pity changed us, form and face, And called us to a life divine With other nymphs beneath the brine. Your royal heir the while is pent In palisade and battlement; A hedge of spears is round him set, And Latian foes the camp benet. The Arcade horse with Tyrrhenes joined Have mustered at the place assigned, And Turnus bids his warlike train Waylay them, ere the camp they gain. ​Up then, and soon as morn shall rise Array for fight your bold allies, And take your shield,' of Vulcan's mould, Invincible and rimmed with gold. The morn shall see ('tis truth I speak), Yon plains with Rutule carnage reek.'
She ceased, and parting, to the bark A measured impulse gave; Like wind-swift arrow to its mark It darts along the wave. The rest pursue. In wondering awe The chief revolves the things he saw, Yet cheers him, and with lifted eyes Thus makes petition to the skies: 'Blest Mother of the heavenly train, Whom Dindymus delights, Who lov'st the lions at thy rein, The city's tower-crowned heights, Do thou the first my arms bestead; Confirm the sign revealed; Draw near us with auspicious tread, Thy Phrygians' help and shield.' He spoke: and now the waxing day Was climbing up the etherial way, Close on the skirts of night; He bids the allies obey the call, Awake their courage, one and all, And gird them for the fight. And now there dawn upon his ken His leaguered camp, his gallant men, As on the stern he stands; At once he rears his shield on high: With shouts the Trojans rend the sky: Fast and more fast their darts they ply: Hope nerves their drooping hands. ​Such token give Strymonian cranes Beneath a gloomy cloud, What time they fly the autumnal rains With clamour hoarse and loud. With wonder strange the sudden change The Rutule leaders note, Till, backward as their eyes they bend, They see the vessels shoreward tend, And ocean all afloat. There glows like furnace fiery red The helmet on that noble head; From the bossed shield, with gold ablaze, A stream of living lightning plays; So comets shoot athwart the night A sullen sanguine glare; So Sirius' star, that brings to man Fierce calenture and sickness wan, Lifts high in heaven his baleful light And saddens all the air.
Yet Turnus still flames high with zeal To front the invader with the steel And drive him from the strand; Still prompt to cheer or to upbraid He clamours to his friends for aid: 'Lo, here the chance for which you prayed, To crush them sword in hand! A brave man's hand is Mars's seat; The coward finds him in his feet. Think, each and all, of home and wife, Think of their deeds who gave you life, Your gallant sires of old. Haste to the water's brink; dispute The land they challenge, foot to foot, While still in helpless disarray They slide and falter in the spray: Fair fortune aids the bold.' ​This said, he broods what wisest way To portion out his powers, Who best may follow him to fray, Who watch the leaguered towers.
Meantime by bridges linked to land Æneas disembarks his band: Some watch the ebbing of the deep, And safely mid the shallows leap: Some down the oars descending slide, And win the ascent in spite of tide. Stout Tarchon rolls his ranging eyes, Till on the shore a place he spies, Where no chafed billows seethe and boil, No broken waves in wrath recoil, But ocean without let or breach Runs gently up the shelving beach; Thither at once his fleet he steers, And then salutes his comrades' ears: 'Now, gallants, now each sinew strain, Your bounding bark upheave; Pierce with your beaks the hostile plain; Let the long keel with might and main Its own broad furrow cleave; Give me but once the land to seize, The ship may break, if Fortune please.' Nerved by the word, each plies his oar And onward drives 'mid surge and foam, Till every bark attains the shore And every keel finds scatheless home. Less happy their adventurous chief; His vessel, fastening on a reef, Long hangs in doubtful poise, and braves The onset of the baffled waves; Till the strained sides at last give way And land the seamen 'mid the spray. ​There as they struggle, floating wreck And shattered oars their progress check, And billows, ebbing in retreat, Draw back, and wash them from their feet.
Nor eager Turnus long delays: He musters all his band To front the Trojans, and arrays For conflict on the strand. The clarions sound: Æneas first On Latium's ranks in havoc burst, And laid the rustics low: First falls, an augury of the fight, Huge Theron, who with giant might Assailed the godlike foe: Through mail and gold-wrought tunic driven The fatal sword his side has riven. Then hapless Lichas meets his doom, Who, ripped from his dead mother's womb, To Phœbus vowed the cherished life That 'scaped the peril of the knife. Strong Cisseus and tall Gyas feel, As death with ponderous clubs they deal, The griding of the conqueror steel. Nought vantaged them in that dread hour Herculean arms nor hands of power, Nor he, the sire who gave them birth, Melampus, soul of purest worth, Long as Alcides toiled on earth, Still constant at his side. See, open-mouthed as Pharus cries, Full in his face the weapon flies, And stops his vaunting pride. Thou, Cydon, too, whose eager quest Young Clytius' heart would move, ​'Neath that dread arm the field hadst pressed, Forgetful of thy love, But thy brave brethren, Phorcus' seed, Were near thee in thy direst need; Seven mighty men, they front the foe; Seven javelins all at once they throw. Some from his helm and shield rebound, And, falling harmless, strew the ground; While others, hurled with truer aim, Kind Venus wards from off his frame. Then to Achates cries the king: 'Quick, give me store of darts to fling: No spear shall thirst in vain To dye its point in Rutule blood Which erst in corpse of Grecian stood On Ilium's fated plain.' He grasped his mighty lance and threw; Through Mæon's shield the weapon flew, And breast and breastplate rends. Alcanor brings his brother aid; The falling chief his hand has stayed: In vain: the fell spear holds its course, Cleaves the stretched arm with fatal force, And dangling from the shoulder-blade The severed hand depends. Then gallant Numitor outdrew The javelin that his brother slew And at Æneas sent: The erring weapon cleft the sky, Just grazed Achates' brawny thigh, Nor gained the mark it meant.
Now Clausus, who from Cures came, In pride of youth and stalwart frame, Takes up the work of death; ​'Neath Dryops' chin he drives his spear; Through neck and throat the point cuts sheer And quenches voice and breath. The dead brow tumbles on the shore, The ghastly jaws disgorging gore. Three too from Boreas' seed of Thrace And three from Idas' ancient race Beneath his weapon bleed: The Aurancan tribes to rescue run, Halæsus first, and Neptune's son, The tamer of the steed. Then burns the fray: now these, now those Essay to dispossess their foes: E'en on Ausonia's brink they close In fierce and deathful fight. So in the amplitude of sky Discordant winds the combat try With equal rage and might: Nor blasts, nor clouds, nor waves give way: Long balanced hangs the doubtful day: In deadly grips they stand. Thus Trojan and Italian meet, With face to face, and feet to feet, And hand close pressed to hand.
In other regions of the field Where stones and torn-up trees are spread Athwart a torrent's channelled bed, Young Pallas sees the Arcadians yield: Forced by the ground to put aside The gallant steeds they wont to ride, And all unused on foot to fight, They break and turn their backs in flight. Upbraiding, soothing, all he can, He prays them, taunts them, man by man: ​'Friends, whither would you fly? for shame! O, by your former deeds of fame, Tour chief Evander's glorious name, Your fights beneath him won, And my young hopes, that now aspire To match the honours of my sire, I charge you, stand, not run! The sword, the sword must hew a pass To take you through that living mass; There, where the battle fiercest flames, The noble land that bore us claims Her Pallas and his host. No angry heaven above you lowers: Mortal, we cope with mortal powers: The breath they draw is but as ours, Nor stronger arms they boast. Lo, here the ocean hems us in: Earth leaves no room to flee: Come, choose the goal ye mean to win: The city or the sea?' He said, and rushes all aglow Full on the midmost of the foe. First Lagus, led by evil chance, Confronts the inevitable lance; Him, as in vain a ponderous stone With toiling hands he heaves, The victor strikes where deftly join The sutures of the ribs and spine, And sudden from the jointed bone The unwilling spear retrieves. On rushes Hisbo, madly fain To catch him, hampered with the slain: But Pallas, still more fleet, Prevents him, as with reckless zeal He breathes revenge, and plants the steel E'en where the heartstrings beat. ​Then slew he Sthenelus, and base Anchemolus, of Rhœtus' race, Who dared in wantonness of crime His step-dame's wedded couch to climb. Ye too were tumbled on the plain, Larides, Thymber, brethren twain, Of Daucus' honourable strain; So like, the sweet confusion e'en Their parents' eyes betrayed; But Pallas twin and twin between Has cruel difference made: For Thymber's head the steel has shorn; Larides' severed hand forlorn Feels blindly for its lord: The quivering fingers, half alive, Twitch with convulsive gripe, and strive To close upon the sword.
Now with his warning in their ear, His deeds before their eye, Anger and shame o'erpowering fear, His mates to combat fly. Lo, hurrying past in full career, Falls Rhœteus by the Evandrian spear. That spear was meant for Ilus' death, But Ilus gains a moment's breath Doomed in the next to die: While Rhœteus comes between and bleeds, From warlike Teuthras as he speeds And Tyres' brandished steel; Rolled headlong from the rapid car He tumbles, and the field of war Spurns with his dying heel. E'en as a swain 'mid forest trees, When summer yields the wished-for breeze, His scattered torches sends; ​At once, devouring all between, From east to west along the green The fiery host extends; He, placed on high, beholds the while The conquering blaze with joyous smile: So, gallant youth, from far and wide Arcadia gathers to thy side, And all her succour lends. But, trained in battle's fierce alarms, Halæsus round him draws his arms And springs to meet the foe. Then fell Demodocus, and then Ladon and Pheres, valiant men: That onset brought them low: A hostile hand Strymonius rears; Strymonius' hand his falchion shears: At Thoas' front he flings a stone, And scatters blood, and brain, and bone. Halæsus' sire the future feared, And 'mid the woods his darling reared: When death had glazed the old man's eyes, The ruthless Parcæ claimed their prize, Laid their cold finger on his heart, And marked him for Evander's dart. Now, poising long his lance in air, To Tiber Pallas made his prayer: 'Grant, Tiber sire, the spear I throw Through strong Halæsus' breast may go: The spoils and armour of the foe Shall deck thy sacred oak.' 'Tis heard; and while Halæsus shields Imaon's breast, his own he yields Unguarded to the stroke.
But Lausus, breath of battle's life, Lets not his followers yield the strife, By that fell carnage frayed: ​First slays he Abas, warrior good, Who erst, like knot in sturdy wood, The edge of combat stayed. Now Tuscans, now Arcadians bleed, And Troy's indomitable breed. The two hosts join in battle shock, Their generals equal as their might: From every side to front they flock, Till pinioned in a deadly lock Nor arm nor dart can smite. Here Pallas bids the battle rage, There Lausus leads; alike their age; Both fair in form, but both denied Return to their dear land. Yet not for victory or defeat May each with each in conflict meet; Each must his destiny abide Beneath a mightier hand.
Now Turnus' sister warns her chief That gallant Lausus needs relief; At once, impetuous on his car, He cleaves a pathway through the war, And 'Lay' he cries 'your weapons by: I cope with Pallas, none but I; Stand off, nor rob me of my due; Would Heaven his sire were here to view!' He spoke; his mates obedient hear, And parting, leave the champaign clear. Thence as the yielding crowd retires, The brave youth pauses and admires, Much marvels at his haughty phrase, And scans his form with eager gaze; Then, rolling round undaunted eyes, With speech as resolute replies: 'Or goodly spoils shall make me great, Or honourable death; ​My sire is nerved for either fate: Loud vaunts are empty breath.' He spoke, and marched into the field; Chill fear the Arcadian hearts congealed. Down plunges Turnus from his car, Prepared on foot to fight: As when a lion from afar Beholds a bull intending war, Headlong he comes with furious bound; So fierce, advancing o'er the ground, Looks Turnus to the sight.
When Pallas saw his foe advance Within the cover of his lance, He steps in front, in hope that chance His ill-matched powers may aid, And thus with upraised countenance To highest heaven he prayed: 'Now by the board whose homely fare, A stranger, thou wast fain to share, Assist me, Hercules, I pray, In this my all too bold essay: Let Turnus' eyes in dying brook Upon a conqueror's face to look, The while I spoil him as he lies Of his stained arms, my gory prize.' His votary's prayer Alcides hears; His cheeks are bathed in fruitless tears, And deep within his labouring breast He heaves a stifled groan Whom thus the Almighty Sire addressed In grave and soothing tone: 'Each has his destined time: a span Is all the heritage of man: 'Tis virtue's part by deeds of praise To lengthen fame through after days. ​Full many a godhead's son, beside The walls of Troy, in combat died; Nay, he, my own authentic seed, Sarpedon, he was doomed to bleed. Death waits for Turnus too: e'en now He nears the bound his fates allow.' So speaking, be averts his mien, And turns him from the deathful scene.
Now Pallas hurls with all his might His spear, and bares his falchion bright. Where, rising high, the brazen coat The shoulder guards, the javelin smote, Pierced the broad shield with well-meant aim, And grazed e'en Turnus' mighty frame. Then, poising long the shaft, at last His steel-tipped javelin Turnus cast, And 'Let it now' he cries 'be seen If this my dart be not more keen.' So he: through all the metal plates, The hides of bullocks dressed That wrapped the shield in folds on folds, The fatal point its passage holds, The corslet's barrier penetrates And cleaves his manly breast. From, the wide wound he plucks in vain The reeking weapon out; The life-blood and the life amain In mingled torrent spout. He sinks collapsing on the wound; About his limbs the arms resound; And as he writhes in deadly pain His fierce teeth bite the hostile plain.
Spanning the dead with haughty stride, 'Arcadians, hear me' Turnus cried: ​'Say to your monarch I remit His Pallas, handled as was fit. The solace of a tomb, the meed Of burial, freely I concede. Who to Æneas plays the host Must square the glory with the cost.' Then with his foot the corpse he pressed, And stripped the belt from off the breast, The ponderous belt, whose sculptured gold A tale of crime and bloodshed told, Those fifty bridegrooms, slain in bed E'en on the very night they wed: Once Clonus' work: now proudly worn By Turnus in his hour of scorn. O impotence of man's frail mind To fate and to the future blind, Presumptuous and o'erweening still When fortune follows at its will! Full soon shall Turnus wish in vain That life untouched, those spoils unta'en, And think it cheap to spend his all, Could gold that bloody deed recall! But Pallas lifeless on his shield His weeping comrades bear from field. O sad, proud thought, that thus a son Should reach a father's door! This day beheld your wars begun: This day beholds them o'er, The while you leave on yonder plain Vast heaps of Rutule warriors slain!
No random fame of ill so great, But surer messenger of fate To brave Æneas hies; Tells him the day is well-nigh lost; 'Tis time to aid the routed host, While yet the moment flies. ​With brandished sword he storms along, And hews a passage through the throng, Still seeking Turnus, newly red With slaughter of the mighty dead. Pallas, Evander, all, they stand Like life before his sight, The board that welcomed him, the hand In warm affiance plight. Four hapless youths of Sulmo's breed And four who Ufens call their sire He takes alive, condemned to bleed To Pallas' shade on Pallas' pyre. At Magus then his spear he threw; But Magus from the death withdrew, Came crouching up, while o'er his head The quivering lance through ether sped, And clasped the victor's knees and said: 'By your great father's shade I pray, By young Iulus' dawning day, In pity deign my life to spare For my gray sire, my youthful heir. A lofty house is mine: a hoard Of silver in its vaults is stored, And piles of wrought and unwrought gold Are treasured there, of weight untold. Not here the crisis of the strife, Nor victory hangs on one poor life.' He ceased: immoveable and stern Æneas thus made brief return: 'Nay, spare your gold and silver heap: Those treasured hoards your heirs should keep. Since Turnus shed out Pallas' gore, The bartery of war is o'er: So deems my gallant son, and so My father's spirit down below:' ​Then seized him by the helm, and smote With deep-plunged blade his back-drawn throat. Not far Hæmomdes the good, Apollo's priest and Dian's, stood, His brow with sacred fillet wreathed, His limbs in dazzling armour sheathed: He meets him, chases, lays him low, Stands o'er the immolated foe, And shadows him like night: Serestus on his shoulders proud Bears the bright arms, a trophy vowed To thee, stern lord of fight.
Now Cæculus, of Vulcan's seed, And Umbro, nursed in Marsian airs, Bid the spent war afresh to bleed: The Dardan chief against them fares. Stout Anxur's hand and all his shield His sword has tumbled on the field: Poor wretch! he deemed that muttered charm Had power destruction to disarm, And, proudly swelling to the spheres, Dreamed of hoar locks, and length of years. E'en as the hero wreaked his wrath Came Tarquitus athwart his path, Whom Dryope to Faunus bore: Refulgent armour cased him o'er. The Dardan spear, with force addressed, Drives shield and corslet on his breast; Then while in vain he pours his prayers And many a plea for life prepares, His shapely neck the falchion shares: Down falls the body, reft of head, And thus Æneas taunts the dead: ​'Lie there, proud youth! no mother dear Shall lay you on your father's bier: Your corpse shall rot above the soil, The eagle's and the raven's spoil, Or drift unheeded down the flood, While hungry fish shall lick your blood.' Antæus next and Lucas die, The flower of Turnus' chivalry, With Numa, cast in valour's mould, And Camers with his locks of gold, Of noble Volscens' ancient strain, Who, lord of many a wide domain, O'er mute Amyclæ stretched his reign. As when of old Ægæon strove Against the majesty of Jove, With fifty heads, so legends say, A hundred hands, he waged the fray; Each head disgorged a stream of fire To match the lightnings of the Sire; Each hand flashed forth a sword, or pealed Responsive thunder on the shield: So, when Æneas' blade was warmed, O'er all the plain at once he stormed. Now on Niphæus' four-horse car And towering crest he turns the war: Soon as the advancing coursers spied, That dreadful port, that lofty stride, Appalled they start, their lord unseat, And backward to the shore retreat.
See Lucagus and Liger ride, In one fair chariot, side by side, One brother skilled the reins to guide, While one the falchion plies. Æneas stays their bold career, Confronts them with uplifted spear; When thus proud Liger cries: ​'Not these the steeds of Diomed, Nor this Achilles' car, Nor Phrygia's plains before you spread: This land shall see the invader dead, And terminate the war.' Thus Liger madly vaunts: the foe Speaks not, but answers with a blow. As Lucagus low bends him o'er The chariot's rim his steeds to smite, And with left foot advanced before, Prepares him for the doubtful fight, Just where the shield's last sutures join Comes the fell spear, and strikes the groin. He, from his chariot overthrown, Down toppling, on the field lies prone: And thus in sharp contemptuous strain Æneas glories o'er the slain: 'So, friend, no shadows seen from far Have turned to flight your luckless car; No frightened horses caused its shame: Its nimble lord is all to blame.' Then on the steeds his hand he laid, When sliding from the seat The wretched brother knelt and prayed, A suppliant at his feet: 'O, by your own illustrious worth, By those who gave such greatness birth, Brave chief of Troy, your suitor spare'— The warrior stopped his further prayer: 'Not this the strain you breathed so late: Die; brother should be brother's mate.' His sword unlocks the springs of breath, And opes a way to let in death. So plies the chief his work of blood Through the wide field, like torrent flood Or black tempestuous wind: ​Ascanius and his leaguered train Take heart, and issue on the plain, And leave their camp behind.
Then Jove addressed the spouse of Jove: 'Sweet sister mine and wedded love, Who now will do your judgment wrong? 'Tis Venus makes these Trojans strong, Not those vain powers they deem are theirs, The hand that strikes, the soul that dares.' 'Ah why,' she answered, 'gracious Sire, Torment a heart that fears your ire? Had I the power I owned erewhile, The power that suits my queenly style, I then had moved your will That Turnus, rescued from the strife, Should yet enjoy his precious life, And bless old Daunus still. Now let him die, though just and good, And glut his foes with guiltless blood. Yet from our race he draws his name; From old Pilumnus' loins he came; And altars, crowned with offerings fair, Attest his worth and claim your care.' To whom in brief thus made reply The ruler of the etherial sky: 'If all for Turnus you would crave Be respite from an open grave, And so my mind you read, Let the doomed youth have space to fly And scape awhile his destiny: So much may Jove concede: But know, if 'neath your prayer you hide Some deeper, larger boon beside, And think to change the war's set tide, 'Tis empty hope you feed.' ​The queen returns with streaming eyes: 'What if your heart should give That further boon your lip denies, And suffer him to live? Now on the blameless victim wait The powers of doom, or blind to fate I wander all astray. Yet O! may Juno's fears be vain, And He that can, in mercy deign To choose the better way!'
Then from the sky with eager haste She stoops, a storm-cloud round her waist, And, driving tempest as she flies, Down to the embattled hosts she hies. A phantom in Æneas' mould She fashions, wondrous to behold, Of hollow shadowy cloud, Bids it the Dardan arms assume, The shield, the helmet, and the plume, Gives soulless words of swelling tone, And motions like the hero's own, As stately and as proud; Like gliding spectres of the dead, Or dreams that haunt the slumberer's bed. Now, stalking in the battle's van, The phantom menaces the man, And pours defiant cries: Turnus comes on in swift career, And hurls from far his hurtling spear, When lo! it turns and flies. Then Turnus deems his foe retires In craven flight, and instant fires With hope's delusive glow: 'Æneas! why so fast?' he cried; 'Desert not thus your plighted bride; ​The land you sought for o'er the tide This hand shall soon bestow.' So clamouring, he pursues the quest With brandished falchion bare, Nor sees the transports of his breast Are lavished on the air. A ship stood fastened to the bank, With steps let down and sloping plank, The same which king Osinius bore Across the sea from Clusium's shore. Thither the feigned Æneas flies, And cowering as in covert lies; Turnus pursues, the bridge bestrides, And scales the vessel's lofty sides. Scarce on the prow his foot had stept, Saturnia breaks the band; The galley down the waves is swept That ebb from off the strand: While through the plain with baffled wrath Æneas seeks his foe, And hurries all that cross his path To Dis and Death below. And now no more the phantom hides, But melts in air on high, While Turnus o'er the ocean rides Fast as his bark can fly.
Amazed, unthankful for escape, He gazes on the fleeting shape, And thus in wild remonstrance cries With hands uplifted to the skies: 'And couldst thou deem, Almighty Sire, Thy worshipper's offence so dire To merit doom so sore? Whence came I? whither am I borne? And must I journey home in scorn, ​Nor e'er behold, ah wretch forlorn, The camp, the city more? And where are they, that gallant band, Who fieldward followed my command? In Death's fell grasp I left them all: I see them fly—I see them fall— I hear their dying groans. What gulf will hide me from the day? Have pity, O ye winds, I pray, And dash me on the stones! 'Tis Turnus, yes, 'tis I that kneel! Strand on the shoals this cursed keel, And whelm me where nor Rutule rout Nor prying fame may find me out.' E'en thus he raves, and all distraught Whirls in an agony of thought, Or should he bury in his side The hard cold steel, sure salve of pride, Or plunge in ocean, swim to shore, And tempt the Teucrian arms once more. Thrice had he rushed on either fate: Thrice Jove's great spouse withstood, Looked down with eyes compassionate, And checked his maddening mood. The swift wind wafts him o'er the foam, And bears him to his father's home.
Now, sped by promptings from the skies, Mezentius takes the field, and flies On Troy's triumphant van. With gathered hate and furious blows The Tyrrhene legions round him close, A nation 'gainst a man. He stands like rock that breasts the deep, Exposed to winds' and waters' sweep, ​That bears all threats of sea and sky In undisturbed tranquillity. First Dolichaon's son be slew, Then Latagus and Palmus too; That, as he stands, with ponderous stone He crushes, scattering brain and bone; This, as he flies, with dexterous wound He tumbles hamstrung on the ground, There leaves him: Lausus wears his crest And glittering arms on brow and breast. Euanthes sinks beneath his spear, And Mimas, Paris' loved compeer, Whom fair Theano bore To Amycus, the selfsame night When Troy's fell firebrand sprang to light: Now Paris 'neath his country's walls Sleeps his last sleep, while Mimas falls On Latium's unknown shore. Like wild boar, driven from mountain height By cries that scare and fangs that bite, In Vesulus' pine-cinctured glen Long fostered, or Laurentum's fen, Mid reeds and marish ground, Now, trapped among the hunters' nets, His bristles rears, his tushes whets: None dares for very fear draw nigh; With arrowy war and furious cry They stand at distance round: E'en thus, of all Mezentius' foes, None ventures hand to hand to close: With deafening shouts and bended bows Their tyrant they assail; He, churning foam, from side to side Glares round, and from his tough bull hide Shakes off the brazen hail. ​From ancient Corythus' domain Had Acron come, of Grecian strain, Leaving his spouse unwed: Him dealing death Mezentius spied Clad in the robe his lady dyed And crowned with plumage red: As lion ranging o'er the wold, Made mad by hunger uncontrolled, If flying roe his eyes behold Or lofty-antlered deer, Grins ghastly, rears his mane, and hangs O'er the rent flesh: his greedy fangs Dark streams of gore besmear: So springs Mezentius on the foe: Soon lies unhappy Acron low, Spurns the soaked ground with dying heel, And stains with blood the shivered steel. Now, as Orodes strides before, He deigns not to shed out his gore By javelin's covert blow; He heads, and meets him front to front, Not by base stealth but strength's sheer brunt Prevailing o'er his foe. With spear infixed and scornful tread Pressing the fallen, the conqueror said: 'Behold the great Orodes slain, Who stemmed the war so long!' And at the word his joyous train Raise high the pæan song. The chief replies: 'Whate'er thy name, Not long shall be thy hour of pride: The same dark powers thy presence claim, And soon shall stretch thee at my side.' Mezentius answers, smiling stern: 'Die thou: my fate is Jove's concern.' ​This said, the javelin from the wound He plucked with main and might: A heavy slumber iron-bound Seals the dull eyes in rest profound: They close in endless night.
Now Cædicus Alcathous kills, Hydaspes' life Sacrator spills, And Orses and Parthenius feel The unbated edge of Rapo's steel: And Lycaonian Ericete And Clonius to Messapus yield, This fallen beneath his horse's feet,
That foot to foot o'erthrown in field. Proud Agis pranced along the ground, But Valerus like his sires renowned The haughty Lycian slays: Salius had stricken Thronius low, But quickly finds a deadlier foe, Nealces, skilled the dart to throw Or send the arrow from the bow Through unsuspected ways. The god of war with heavy hand Impartial deals to either band The horrors of the fight: By turns they fall, by turns they strike, Conquered and conquering, each alike Intolerant of flight. In Jove's high courts the gods afar Look sadly on the unending war, And sigh to think that man below Such dire calamity should know. There Venus sits the fray to see, Saturnian Juno here: Down in the field Tisiphone Spreads havoc far and near. ​Now, shaking his tremendous lance, Mezentius makes renewed advance: Huge as Orion's frame appears, What time on foot he strides Through Nereus' watery realm, and rears His shoulder o'er the tides, Or when, with ashen trunk in hand Uptorn from mountain high, He plants his footstep on the land, His forehead in the sky: So towering high in steel array Mezentius marches to the fray. Æneas marks him far away And hastes his mighty foe to meet: Firm stands the foe without dismay, Like mountain rooted to its seat: Then nicely measures with his eye The distance due for lance to fly. 'Now hear my prayer, my spear steel-tipped, And thou, my good right hand: A votive trophy, all equipped With spoils from yon false pirate stripped, To-day shall Lausus stand:' He spoke, and forth his javelin threw: From the broad shield apart it flew, And piercing deep 'twixt side and flank In brave Antores' frame it sank, Antores, follower in the train Of Hercules o'er land and main, Who, sped from Argos, sat him down Co-partner in Evander's town: Now, prostrate by an unmeant wound, In death he welters on the ground, And gazing on Italian skies Of his loved Argos dreams, and dies. ​His javelin then Æneas cast; Through triple plate of bronze it passed, Thick quilt, and hide three-fold, Till in the groin it lodged at last, But might not further hold. Æneas sees with glistening eye The Tuscan's life-blood flow, Plucks forth the falchion from his thigh, And threats the wounded foe.
When Lausus thus his sire beheld, A heart-fetched groan he drew: Hot tears within his eyelids swelled, And trickled down in dew. Now let me, glorious youth, relate Your gallant deeds, your piteous fate: Should after days my labours own, I will not leave you all unknown. The sire, encumbered and unstrung, Moves backward o'er the field, And trails the spear the Trojan flung Still dangling from his shield. Forth sprang the generous youth betwixt And fearless with the combat mixed: E'en as Æneas aimed a stroke With upraised arm, its force he broke, Himself sustained the lifted blade, And, shield in hand, the conqueror stayed. Loud clamouring, the confederate train Protect the sire's retreat, And on the foe at distance rain Their driving arrowy sleet. With gathering wrath Æneas glows, And, cased in armour, shuns the blows. As when the hail's chill stores descend In tempest from the skies, ​Each swain that wont the plough to tend To speedy covert flies, The traveller hides his fenceless head In caverned rock or torrent's bed, Till parting clouds restore the sun, And man resumes the day begun: So stands Æneas 'neath the blast Of wintry war, till all be past, And chiding, threatening, seeks to stay Young Lausus from his bold essay: 'Fond youth! why rush so fast on fate, And spend your strength on task too great? Love blinds you to impending ill'— In vain; the fond youth rages still. And now more fierce the passions rise That lighten from the Trojan's eyes, And Lausus' miserable thread The hand of Fate at length must shred: Lo! with full force Æneas drives The weapon, and his bosom rives. Through the light shield that made him bold, The vest his mother wove with gold, The blade held on: his breast runs o'er With gurgling rivulets of gore; While to the phantom world away Flits the sad soul, and leaves the clay. But when Anchises' son surveyed The fair, fair face so ghastly made, He groaned, by tenderness unmanned, And stretched the sympathizing hand, As reproduced he sees once more The love that to his sire he bore. 'Alas! what honour, hapless youth, To those great deeds, that soul of truth, Can good Æneas show? ​Keep the frail arms you loved to wear: The lifeless corpse I yield to share (If thought like this still claim your care) Your fathers' tomb below. Yet take this solace to the grave; 'Twas great Æneas' hand that gave The inevitable blow.' With that he chides his friends' delay, And rears from earth the bleeding clay, Bedabbling as it lay with gore The dainty locks so trim before.
Meantime the sire by Tiber's flood Was staunching the yet flowing blood, On tree's broad bole recumbent stayed And sheltered by its kindly shade. High on the branches hangs his casque: His arms, reposing from their task, In meadow-grasses rest: His mates stand round in friendly ring: Panting and weak, the wounded king Eases his faint neck, scattering His beard adown his breast. Of Lausus oft he asks, and sends Full many a charge by hand of friends To call him back from field. Alas! e'en then the weeping train Were bearing Lausus o'er the plain, The mighty by the mighty slain, And stretched upon his shield. The distant wail, prolonged and drear, Smote on the sire's prophetic ear. At once in bitterness of woe He mars with dust his locks of snow, His hands to heaven despairing flings, And fondly to the body clings. ​'My son! and held I life so sweet, That I, your sire, could let you meet For me the foeman's steel, By your last gasp preserve my breath, Kept living' by my darling's death? Aye, now is exile's woe complete, Now, now my wound I feel! Dear child! I stained your glorious name By my own crimes, driven out to shame From my ancestral reign: My country's vengeance claimed my blood: Ah! had that tainted, guilty flood Been shed from every vein! Now 'mid my kind I linger still And live: but leave the light I will.' Thus as he pours the bitter cry He rears him on his crippled thigh, And, though the deep wound slacks his speed, Calls proudly for his warrior steed; The warrior steed he wont to ride, His consolation and his pride, Which ever still, at fall of night, Had borne him conqueror from the fight: And thus bespeaks in kindly tone The beast whose sorrow matched his own: 'Long have we lived, if long the date Conferred on aught of mortal state: Now, Rhæbus, will we twain to-day A glorious trophy bear away, The Trojan's arms and severed head, In vengeance for my Lausus dead: Or if the vantage be denied, We twain will perish side by side: For ne'er, I ween, my gallant horse, Will soul so generous stoop perforce ​To other mastery, nor deign That Trojan hand should sleek thy mane.' He said, and mounting to his selle Pressed the proud sides he knew so well, In either hand a javelin took, And his plumed crest disdainful shook; So rushed he on the foe, While kindling in each throbbing vein A warrior's pride, a father's pain With mingled madness glow. Three times he called Æneas' name: Æneas hears the loud acclaim, And prays with fierce delight 'Grant, mighty Jove, Apollo, grant This challenge prove no empty vaunt! Begin, begin the fight!' He said, and with uplifted spear Confronts the foe in mid career: But he: 'What means this threatening strain To fright me, now my child is slain? 'Twas thus, and thus alone your dart Could e'er have reached Mezentius' heart: I fear not death, nor ask to live,
Nor quarter take from Heaven, nor give.
Forbear: I come to meet my end, And these my gifts before me send.' He ceased, and at the word he wings A javelin at the foe: Then circling round in rapid rings Another and another flings: The good shield bides each blow. Thrice, fiercely hurling spears on spears, From right to left he wheeled: Thrice, facing round as he careers, The steely grove the Trojan bears, Thick planted on his shield. ​At length, impatient of delay, Wearied with plucking spears away, Indignant at the unequal fray, His wary fence he leaves, And, issuing with resistless force, The temples of the gallant horse With darted javelin cleaves. The good steed rears and wildly sprawls, Distracted with its wound; Then heavily on the rider falls, And pins him to the ground. Fierce shouts, enkindling all the air, From either host arise: Forth springs the chief, with falchion bare, And thus triumphant cries: 'Say, where is proud Mezentius now? Where sleep the terrors of his brow?' Recovering sense, with upturned eye The Tuscan, gasping, made reply: 'Stern foe, why waste your threatening breath? He wrongs me not, who works my death. When late I dared you to the strife, I made no covenant for life, Nor he, my Lausus, e'er such pledge Extorted from your weapon's edge. One boon (if vanquished foe may crave The victor's grace) I ask—a grave. My wrathful subjects round me wait: Protect me from their savage hate, And let me in the tomb enjoy The presence of my slaughtered boy.' He said, and to the conqueror's sword His throat unshrinking gave: The life-blood, o'er his armour poured, Spreads wide its crimson wave.
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