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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=479712" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 11</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais’d her head <br>Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed; <br>The pious chief, whom double cares attend <br>For his unburied soldiers and his friend, <br>Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows: 5 <br>He bar’d an ancient oak of all her boughs; <br>Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac’d, <br>Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac’d. <br>The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn, <br>Now on a naked snag in triumph borne, 10 <br>Was hung on high, and glitter’d from afar, <br>A trophy sacred to the God of War. <br>Above his arms, fix’d on the leafless wood, <br>Appear’d his plumy crest, besmear’d with blood: <br>His brazen buckler on the left was seen; 15 <br>Truncheons of shiver’d lances hung between; <br>And on the right was placed his corslet, bor’d; <br>And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword. <br>A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man, <br>Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began: 20 <br>“Our toils, my friends, are crown’d with sure success; <br>The greater part perform’d, achieve the less. <br>Now follow cheerful to the trembling town; <br>Press but an entrance, and presume it won. <br>Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies, 25 <br>As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice. <br>Turnus shall fall extended on the plain, <br>And, in this omen, is already slain. <br>Prepar’d in arms, pursue your happy chance; <br>That none unwarn’d may plead his ignorance, 30 <br>And I, at Heav’n’s appointed hour, may find <br>Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind. <br>Meantime the rites and fun’ral pomps prepare, <br>Due to your dead companions of the war: <br>The last respect the living can bestow, 35 <br>To shield their shadows from contempt below. <br>That conquer’d earth be theirs, for which they fought, <br>And which for us with their own blood they bought; <br>But first the corpse of our unhappy friend <br>To the sad city of Evander send, 40 <br>Who, not inglorious, in his age’s bloom, <br>Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.” <br>Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way, <br>Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay. <br>Acoetes watch’d the corpse; whose youth deserv’d 45 <br>The father’s trust; and now the son he serv’d <br>With equal faith, but less auspicious care. <br>Th’ attendants of the slain his sorrow share. <br>A troop of Trojans mix’d with these appear, <br>And mourning matrons with dishevel’d hair. 50 <br>Soon as the prince appears, they raise a cry; <br>All beat their breasts, and echoes rend the sky. <br>They rear his drooping forehead from the ground; <br>But, when Æneas view’d the grisly wound <br>Which Pallas in his manly bosom bore, 55 <br>And the fair flesh distain’d with purple gore; <br>First, melting into tears, the pious man <br>Deplor’d so sad a sight, then thus began: <br>“Unhappy youth! when Fortune gave the rest <br>Of my full wishes, she refus’d the best! 60 <br>She came; but brought not thee along, to bless <br>My longing eyes, and share in my success: <br>She grudg’d thy safe return, the triumphs due <br>To prosp’rous valor, in the public view. <br>Not thus I promis’d, when thy father lent 65 <br>Thy needless succor with a sad consent; <br>Embrac’d me, parting for th’ Etrurian land, <br>And sent me to possess a large command. <br>He warn’d, and from his own experience told, <br>Our foes were warlike, disciplin’d, and bold. 70 <br>And now perhaps, in hopes of thy return, <br>Rich odors on his loaded altars burn, <br>While we, with vain officious pomp, prepare <br>To send him back his portion of the war, <br>A bloody breathless body, which can owe 75 <br>No farther debt, but to the pow’rs below. <br>The wretched father, ere his race is run, <br>Shall view the fun’ral honors of his son. <br>These are my triumphs of the Latian war, <br>Fruits of my plighted faith and boasted care! 80 <br>And yet, unhappy sire, thou shalt not see <br>A son whose death disgrac’d his ancestry; <br>Thou shalt not blush, old man, however griev’d: <br>Thy Pallas no dishonest wound receiv’d. <br>He died no death to make thee wish, too late, 85 <br>Thou hadst not liv’d to see his shameful fate: <br>But what a champion has th’ Ausonian coast, <br>And what a friend hast thou, Ascanius, lost!” <br>Thus having mourn’d, he gave the word around, <br>To raise the breathless body from the ground; 90 <br>And chose a thousand horse, the flow’r of all <br>His warlike troops, to wait the funeral, <br>To bear him back and share Evander’s grief: <br>A well-becoming, but a weak relief. <br>Of oaken twigs they twist an easy bier, 95 <br>Then on their shoulders the sad burden rear. <br>The body on this rural hearse is borne: <br>Strew’d leaves and funeral greens the bier adorn. <br>All pale he lies, and looks a lovely flow’r, <br>New cropp’d by virgin hands, to dress the bow’r: 100 <br>Unfaded yet, but yet unfed below, <br>No more to mother earth or the green stem shall owe. <br>Then two fair vests, of wondrous work and cost, <br>Of purple woven, and with gold emboss’d, <br>For ornament the Trojan hero brought, 105 <br>Which with her hands Sidonian Dido wrought. <br>One vest array’d the corpse; and one they spread <br>O’er his clos’d eyes, and wrapp’d around his head, <br>That, when the yellow hair in flame should fall, <br>The catching fire might burn the golden caul. 110 <br>Besides, the spoils of foes in battle slain, <br>When he descended on the Latian plain; <br>Arms, trappings, horses, by the hearse are led <br>In long array—th’ achievements of the dead. <br>Then, pinion’d with their hands behind, appear 115 <br>Th’ unhappy captives, marching in the rear, <br>Appointed off’rings in the victor’s name, <br>To sprinkle with their blood the fun’ral flame. <br>Inferior trophies by the chiefs are borne; <br>Gauntlets and helms their loaded hands adorn; 120 <br>And fair inscriptions fix’d, and titles read <br>Of Latian leaders conquer’d by the dead. <br>Acoetes on his pupil’s corpse attends, <br>With feeble steps, supported by his friends. <br>Pausing at ev’ry pace, in sorrow drown’d, 125 <br>Betwixt their arms he sinks upon the ground; <br>Where grov’ling while he lies in deep despair, <br>He beats his breast, and rends his hoary hair. <br>The champion’s chariot next is seen to roll, <br>Besmear’d with hostile blood, and honorably foul. 130 <br>To close the pomp, Æthon, the steed of state, <br>Is led, the fun’rals of his lord to wait. <br>Stripp’d of his trappings, with a sullen pace <br>He walks; and the big tears run rolling down his face. <br>The lance of Pallas, and the crimson crest, 135 <br>Are borne behind: the victor seiz’d the rest. <br>The march begins: the trumpets hoarsely sound; <br>The pikes and lances trail along the ground. <br>Thus while the Trojan and Arcadian horse <br>To Pallantean tow’rs direct their course, 140 <br>In long procession rank’d, the pious chief <br>Stopp’d in the rear, and gave a vent to grief: <br>“The public care,” he said, “which war attends, <br>Diverts our present woes, at least suspends. <br>Peace with the manes of great Pallas dwell! 145 <br>Hail, holy relics! and a last farewell!” <br>He said no more, but, inly thro’ he mourn’d, <br>Restrain’d his tears, and to the camp return’d. <br>Now suppliants, from Laurentum sent, demand <br>A truce, with olive branches in their hand; 150 <br>Obtest his clemency, and from the plain <br>Beg leave to draw the bodies of their slain. <br>They plead, that none those common rites deny <br>To conquer’d foes that in fair battle die. <br>All cause of hate was ended in their death; 155 <br>Nor could he war with bodies void of breath. <br>A king, they hop’d, would hear a king’s request, <br>Whose son he once was call’d, and once his guest. <br>Their suit, which was too just to be denied, <br>The hero grants, and farther thus replied: 160 <br>“O Latian princes, how severe a fate <br>In causeless quarrels has involv’d your state, <br>And arm’d against an unoffending man, <br>Who sought your friendship ere the war began! <br>You beg a truce, which I would gladly give, 165 <br>Not only for the slain, but those who live. <br>I came not hither but by Heav’n’s command, <br>And sent by fate to share the Latian land. <br>Nor wage I wars unjust: your king denied <br>My proffer’d friendship, and my promis’d bride; 170 <br>Left me for Turnus. Turnus then should try <br>His cause in arms, to conquer or to die. <br>My right and his are in dispute: the slain <br>Fell without fault, our quarrel to maintain. <br>In equal arms let us alone contend; 175 <br>And let him vanquish, whom his fates befriend. <br>This is the way (so tell him) to possess <br>The royal virgin, and restore the peace. <br>Bear this message back, with ample leave, <br>That your slain friends may fun’ral rites receive.” 180 <br>Thus having said—th’ embassadors, amaz’d, <br>Stood mute a while, and on each other gaz’d. <br>Drances, their chief, who harbor’d in his breast <br>Long hate to Turnus, as his foe profess’d, <br>Broke silence first, and to the godlike man, 185 <br>With graceful action bowing, thus began: <br>“Auspicious prince, in arms a mighty name, <br>But yet whose actions far transcend your fame; <br>Would I your justice or your force express, <br>Thought can but equal; and all words are less. 190 <br>Your answer we shall thankfully relate, <br>And favors granted to the Latian state. <br>If wish’d success our labor shall attend, <br>Think peace concluded, and the king your friend: <br>Let Turnus leave the realm to your command, 195 <br>And seek alliance in some other land: <br>Build you the city which your fates assign; <br>We shall be proud in the great work to join.” <br>Thus Drances; and his words so well persuade <br>The rest impower’d, that soon a truce is made. 200 <br>Twelve days the term allow’d: and, during those, <br>Latians and Trojans, now no longer foes, <br>Mix’d in the woods, for fun’ral piles prepare <br>To fell the timber, and forget the war. <br>Loud axes thro’ the groaning groves resound; 205 <br>Oak, mountain ash, and poplar spread the ground; <br>First fall from high; and some the trunks receive <br>In loaden wains; with wedges some they cleave. <br>And now the fatal news by Fame is blown <br>Thro’ the short circuit of th’ Arcadian town, 210 <br>Of Pallas slain—by Fame, which just before <br>His triumphs on distended pinions bore. <br>Rushing from out the gate, the people stand, <br>Each with a fun’ral flambeau in his hand. <br>Wildly they stare, distracted with amaze: 215 <br>The fields are lighten’d with a fiery blaze, <br>That cast a sullen splendor on their friends, <br>The marching troop which their dead prince attends. <br>Both parties meet: they raise a doleful cry; <br>The matrons from the walls with shrieks reply, 220 <br>And their mix’d mourning rends the vaulted sky. <br>The town is fill’d with tumult and with tears, <br>Till the loud clamors reach Evander’s ears: <br>Forgetful of his state, he runs along, <br>With a disorder’d pace, and cleaves the throng; 225 <br>Falls on the corpse; and groaning there he lies, <br>With silent grief, that speaks but at his eyes. <br>Short sighs and sobs succeed; till sorrow breaks <br>A passage, and at once he weeps and speaks: <br>“O Pallas! thou hast fail’d thy plighted word, 230 <br>To fight with caution, not to tempt the sword! <br>I warn’d thee, but in vain; for well I knew <br>What perils youthful ardor would pursue, <br>That boiling blood would carry thee too far, <br>Young as thou wert in dangers, raw to war! 235 <br>O curst essay of arms, disastrous doom, <br>Prelude of bloody fields, and fights to come! <br>Hard elements of unauspicious war, <br>Vain vows to Heav’n, and unavailing care! <br>Thrice happy thou, dear partner of my bed, 240 <br>Whose holy soul the stroke of Fortune fled, <br>Præscious of ills, and leaving me behind, <br>To drink the dregs of life by fate assign’d! <br>Beyond the goal of nature I have gone: <br>My Pallas late set out, but reach’d too soon. 245 <br>If, for my league against th’ Ausonian state, <br>Amidst their weapons I had found my fate, <br>(Deserv’d from them,) then I had been return’d <br>A breathless victor, and my son had mourn’d. <br>Yet will I not my Trojan friend upbraid, 250 <br>Nor grudge th’ alliance I so gladly made. <br>’T was not his fault, my Pallas fell so young, <br>But my own crime, for having liv’d too long. <br>Yet, since the gods had destin’d him to die, <br>At least he led the way to victory: 255 <br>First for his friends he won the fatal shore, <br>And sent whole herds of slaughter’d foes before; <br>A death too great, too glorious to deplore. <br>Nor will I add new honors to thy grave, <br>Content with those the Trojan hero gave: 260 <br>That funeral pomp thy Phrygian friends design’d, <br>In which the Tuscan chiefs and army join’d. <br>Great spoils and trophies, gain’d by thee, they bear: <br>Then let thy own achievements be thy share. <br>Even thou, O Turnus, hadst a trophy stood, 265 <br>Whose mighty trunk had better grac’d the wood, <br>If Pallas had arriv’d, with equal length <br>Of years, to match thy bulk with equal strength. <br>But why, unhappy man, dost thou detain <br>These troops, to view the tears thou shedd’st in vain? 270 <br>Go, friends, this message to your lord relate: <br>Tell him, that, if I bear my bitter fate, <br>And, after Pallas’ death, live ling’ring on, <br>’T is to behold his vengeance for my son. <br>I stay for Turnus, whose devoted head 275 <br>Is owing to the living and the dead. <br>My son and I expect it from his hand; <br>’T is all that he can give, or we demand. <br>Joy is no more; but I would gladly go, <br>To greet my Pallas with such news below.” 280 <br>The morn had now dispell’d the shades of night, <br>Restoring toils, when she restor’d the light. <br>The Trojan king and Tuscan chief command <br>To raise the piles along the winding strand. <br>Their friends convey the dead to fun’ral fires; 285 <br>Black smold’ring smoke from the green wood expires; <br>The light of heav’n is chok’d, and the new day retires. <br>Then thrice around the kindled piles they go <br>(For ancient custom had ordain’d it so); <br>Thrice horse and foot about the fires are led; 290 <br>And thrice, with loud laments, they hail the dead. <br>Tears, trickling down their breasts, bedew the ground, <br>And drums and trumpets mix their mournful sound. <br>Amid the blaze, their pious brethren throw <br>The spoils, in battle taken from the foe: 295 <br>Helms, bits emboss’d, and swords of shining steel; <br>One casts a target, one a chariot wheel; <br>Some to their fellows their own arms restore: <br>The fauchions which in luckless fight they bore, <br>Their bucklers pierc’d, their darts bestow’d in vain, 300 <br>And shiver’d lances gather’d from the plain. <br>Whole herds of offer’d bulls, about the fire, <br>And bristled boars, and woolly sheep expire. <br>Around the piles a careful troop attends, <br>To watch the wasting flames, and weep their burning friends; 305 <br>Ling’ring along the shore, till dewy night <br>New decks the face of heav’n with starry light. <br>The conquer’d Latians, with like pious care, <br>Piles without number for their dead prepare. <br>Part in the places where they fell are laid; 310 <br>And part are to the neighb’ring fields convey’d. <br>The corps of kings, and captains of renown, <br>Borne off in state, are buried in the town; <br>The rest, unhonor’d, and without a name, <br>Are cast a common heap to feed the flame. 315 <br>Trojans and Latians vie with like desires <br>To make the field of battle shine with fires, <br>And the promiscuous blaze to heav’n aspires. <br>Now had the morning thrice renew’d the light, <br>And thrice dispell’d the shadows of the night, 320 <br>When those who round the wasted fires remain, <br>Perform the last sad office to the slain. <br>They rake the yet warm ashes from below; <br>These, and the bones unburn’d, in earth bestow; <br>These relics with their country rites they grace, 325 <br>And raise a mount of turf to mark the place. <br>But, in the palace of the king, appears <br>A scene more solemn, and a pomp of tears. <br>Maids, matrons, widows, mix their common moans; <br>Orphans their sires, and sires lament their sons. 330 <br>All in that universal sorrow share, <br>And curse the cause of this unhappy war: <br>A broken league, a bride unjustly sought, <br>A crown usurp’d, which with their blood is bought! <br>These are the crimes with which they load the name 335 <br>Of Turnus, and on him alone exclaim: <br>“Let him who lords it o’er th’ Ausonian land <br>Engage the Trojan hero hand to hand: <br>His is the gain; our lot is but to serve; <br>’T is just, the sway he seeks, he should deserve.” 340 <br>This Drances aggravates; and adds, with spite: <br>“His foe expects, and dares him to the fight.” <br>Nor Turnus wants a party, to support <br>His cause and credit in the Latian court. <br>His former acts secure his present fame, 345 <br>And the queen shades him with her mighty name. <br>While thus their factious minds with fury burn, <br>The legates from th’ Ætolian prince return: <br>Sad news they bring, that, after all the cost <br>And care employ’d, their embassy is lost; 350 <br>That Diomedes refus’d his aid in war, <br>Unmov’d with presents, and as deaf to pray’r. <br>Some new alliance must elsewhere be sought, <br>Or peace with Troy on hard conditions bought. <br>Latinus, sunk in sorrow, finds too late, 355 <br>A foreign son is pointed out by fate; <br>And, till Æneas shall Lavinia wed, <br>The wrath of Heav’n is hov’ring o’er his head. <br>The gods, he saw, espous’d the juster side, <br>When late their titles in the field were tried: 360 <br>Witness the fresh laments, and fun’ral tears undried. <br>Thus, full of anxious thought, he summons all <br>The Latian senate to the council hall. <br>The princes come, commanded by their head, <br>And crowd the paths that to the palace lead. 365 <br>Supreme in pow’r, and reverenc’d for his years, <br>He takes the throne, and in the midst appears. <br>Majestically sad, he sits in state, <br>And bids his envoys their success relate. <br>When Venulus began, the murmuring sound 370 <br>Was hush’d, and sacred silence reign’d around. <br>“We have,” said he, “perform’d your high command, <br>And pass’d with peril a long tract of land: <br>We reach’d the place desir’d; with wonder fill’d, <br>The Grecian tents and rising tow’rs beheld. 375 <br>Great Diomede has compass’d round with walls <br>The city, which Argyripa he calls, <br>From his own Argos nam’d. We touch’d, with joy, <br>The royal hand that raz’d unhappy Troy. <br>When introduc’d, our presents first we bring, 380 <br>Then crave an instant audience from the king. <br>His leave obtain’d, our native soil we name, <br>And tell th’ important cause for which we came. <br>Attentively he heard us, while we spoke; <br>Then, with soft accents, and a pleasing look, 385 <br>Made this return: ‘Ausonian race, of old <br>Renown’d for peace, and for an age of gold, <br>What madness has your alter’d minds possess’d, <br>To change for war hereditary rest, <br>Solicit arms unknown, and tempt the sword, 390 <br>A needless ill your ancestors abhorr’d? <br>We—for myself I speak, and all the name <br>Of Grecians, who to Troy’s destruction came, <br>Omitting those who were in battle slain, <br>Or borne by rolling Simois to the main— 395 <br>Not one but suffer’d, and too dearly bought <br>The prize of honor which in arms he sought; <br>Some doom’d to death, and some in exile driv’n, <br>Outcasts, abandon’d by the care of Heav’n; <br>So worn, so wretched, so despis’d a crew, 400 <br>As ev’n old Priam might with pity view. <br>Witness the vessels by Minerva toss’d <br>In storms; the vengeful Capharean coast; <br>Th’ Euboean rocks! the prince, whose brother led <br>Our armies to revenge his injur’d bed, 405 <br>In Egypt lost! Ulysses with his men <br>Have seen Charybdis and the Cyclops’ den. <br>Why should I name Idomeneus, in vain <br>Restor’d to scepters, and expell’d again? <br>Or young Achilles, by his rival slain? 410 <br>Ev’n he, the King of Men, the foremost name <br>Of all the Greeks, and most renown’d by fame, <br>The proud revenger of another’s wife, <br>Yet by his own adult’ress lost his life; <br>Fell at his threshold; and the spoils of Troy 415 <br>The foul polluters of his bed enjoy. <br>The gods have envied me the sweets of life, <br>My much lov’d country, and my more lov’d wife: <br>Banish’d from both, I mourn; while in the sky, <br>Transform’d to birds, my lost companions fly: 420 <br>Hov’ring about the coasts, they make their moan, <br>And cuff the cliffs with pinions not their own. <br>What squalid specters, in the dead of night, <br>Break my short sleep, and skim before my sight! <br>I might have promis’d to myself those harms, 425 <br>Mad as I was, when I, with mortal arms, <br>Presum’d against immortal pow’rs to move, <br>And violate with wounds the Queen of Love. <br>Such arms this hand shall never more employ; <br>No hate remains with me to ruin’d Troy. 430 <br>I war not with its dust; nor am I glad <br>To think of past events, or good or bad. <br>Your presents I return: whate’er you bring <br>To buy my friendship, send the Trojan king. <br>We met in fight; I know him, to my cost: 435 <br>With what a whirling force his lance he toss’d! <br>Heav’ns! what a spring was in his arm, to throw! <br>How high he held his shield, and rose at ev’ry blow! <br>Had Troy produc’d two more his match in might, <br>They would have chang’d the fortune of the fight: 440 <br>Th’ invasion of the Greeks had been return’d, <br>Our empire wasted, and our cities burn’d. <br>The long defense the Trojan people made, <br>The war protracted, and the siege delay’d, <br>Were due to Hector’s and this hero’s hand: 445 <br>Both brave alike, and equal in command; <br>Æneas, not inferior in the field, <br>In pious reverence to the gods excell’d. <br>Make peace, ye Latians, and avoid with care <br>Th’ impending dangers of a fatal war.’ 450 <br>He said no more; but, with this cold excuse, <br>Refus’d th’ alliance, and advis’d a truce.” <br>Thus Venulus concluded his report. <br>A jarring murmur fill’d the factious court: <br>As, when a torrent rolls with rapid force, 455 <br>And dashes o’er the stones that stop the course, <br>The flood, constrain’d within a scanty space, <br>Roars horrible along th’ uneasy race; <br>White foam in gath’ring eddies floats around; <br>The rocky shores rebellow to the sound. 460 <br>The murmur ceas’d: then from his lofty throne <br>The king invok’d the gods, and thus begun: <br>“I wish, ye Latins, what we now debate <br>Had been resolv’d before it was too late. <br>Much better had it been for you and me, 465 <br>Unforc’d by this our last necessity, <br>To have been earlier wise, than now to call <br>A council, when the foe surrounds the wall. <br>O citizens, we wage unequal war, <br>With men not only Heav’n’s peculiar care, 470 <br>But Heav’n’s own race; unconquer’d in the field, <br>Or, conquer’d, yet unknowing how to yield. <br>What hopes you had in Diomedes, lay down: <br>Our hopes must center on ourselves alone. <br>Yet those how feeble, and, indeed, how vain, 475 <br>You see too well; nor need my words explain. <br>Vanquish’d without resource; laid flat by fate; <br>Factions within, a foe without the gate! <br>Not but I grant that all perform’d their parts <br>With manly force, and with undaunted hearts: 480 <br>With our united strength the war we wag’d; <br>With equal numbers, equal arms, engag’d. <br>You see th’ event.—Now hear what I propose, <br>To save our friends, and satisfy our foes. <br>A tract of land the Latins have possess’d 485 <br>Along the Tiber, stretching to the west, <br>Which now Rutulians and Auruncans till, <br>And their mix’d cattle graze the fruitful hill. <br>Those mountains fill’d with firs, that lower land, <br>If you consent, the Trojan shall command, 490 <br>Call’d into part of what is ours; and there, <br>On terms agreed, the common country share. <br>There let ’em build and settle, if they please; <br>Unless they choose once more to cross the seas, <br>In search of seats remote from Italy, 495 <br>And from unwelcome inmates set us free. <br>Then twice ten galleys let us build with speed, <br>Or twice as many more, if more they need. <br>Materials are at hand; a well-grown wood <br>Runs equal with the margin of the flood: 500 <br>Let them the number and the form assign; <br>The care and cost of all the stores be mine. <br>To treat the peace, a hundred senators <br>Shall be commission’d hence with ample pow’rs, <br>With olive crown’d: the presents they shall bear, 505 <br>A purple robe, a royal iv’ry chair, <br>And all the marks of sway that Latian monarchs wear, <br>And sums of gold. Among yourselves debate <br>This great affair, and save the sinking state.” <br>Then Drances took the word, who grudg’d, long since, 510 <br>The rising glories of the Daunian prince. <br>Factious and rich, bold at the council board, <br>But cautious in the field, he shunn’d the sword; <br>A close caballer, and tongue-valiant lord. <br>Noble his mother was, and near the throne; 515 <br>But, what his father’s parentage, unknown. <br>He rose, and took th’ advantage of the times, <br>To load young Turnus with invidious crimes. <br>“Such truths, O king,” said he, “your words contain, <br>As strike the sense, and all replies are vain; 520 <br>Nor are your loyal subjects now to seek <br>What common needs require, but fear to speak. <br>Let him give leave of speech, that haughty man, <br>Whose pride this unauspicious war began; <br>For whose ambition (let me dare to say, 525 <br>Fear set apart, tho’ death is in my way) <br>The plains of Latium run with blood around. <br>So many valiant heroes bite the ground; <br>Dejected grief in ev’ry face appears; <br>A town in mourning, and a land in tears; 530 <br>While he, th’ undoubted author of our harms, <br>The man who menaces the gods with arms, <br>Yet, after all his boasts, forsook the fight, <br>And sought his safety in ignoble flight. <br>Now, best of kings, since you propose to send 535 <br>Such bounteous presents to your Trojan friend; <br>Add yet a greater at our joint request, <br>One which he values more than all the rest: <br>Give him the fair Lavinia for his bride; <br>With that alliance let the league be tied, 540 <br>And for the bleeding land a lasting peace provide. <br>Let insolence no longer awe the throne; <br>But, with a father’s right, bestow your own. <br>For this maligner of the general good, <br>If still we fear his force, he must be woo’d; 545 <br>His haughty godhead we with pray’rs implore, <br>Your scepter to release, and our just rights restore. <br>O cursed cause of all our ills, must we <br>Wage wars unjust, and fall in fight, for thee! <br>What right hast thou to rule the Latian state, 550 <br>And send us out to meet our certain fate? <br>’T is a destructive war: from Turnus’ hand <br>Our peace and public safety we demand. <br>Let the fair bride to the brave chief remain; <br>If not, the peace, without the pledge, is vain. 555 <br>Turnus, I know you think me not your friend, <br>Nor will I much with your belief contend: <br>I beg your greatness not to give the law <br>In others’ realms, but, beaten, to withdraw. <br>Pity your own, or pity our estate; 560 <br>Nor twist our fortunes with your sinking fate. <br>Your interest is, the war should never cease; <br>But we have felt enough to wish the peace: <br>A land exhausted to the last remains, <br>Depopulated towns, and driven plains. 565 <br>Yet, if desire of fame, and thirst of pow’r, <br>A beauteous princess, with a crown in dow’r, <br>So fire your mind, in arms assert your right, <br>And meet your foe, who dares you to the fight. <br>Mankind, it seems, is made for you alone; 570 <br>We, but the slaves who mount you to the throne: <br>A base ignoble crowd, without a name, <br>Unwept, unworthy, of the fun’ral flame, <br>By duty bound to forfeit each his life, <br>That Turnus may possess a royal wife. 575 <br>Permit not, mighty man, so mean a crew <br>Should share such triumphs, and detain from you <br>The post of honor, your undoubted due. <br>Rather alone your matchless force employ, <br>To merit what alone you must enjoy.” 580 <br>These words, so full of malice mix’d with art, <br>Inflam’d with rage the youthful hero’s heart. <br>Then, groaning from the bottom of his breast, <br>He heav’d for wind, and thus his wrath express’d: <br>“You, Drances, never want a stream of words, 585 <br>Then, when the public need requires our swords. <br>First in the council hall to steer the state, <br>And ever foremost in a tongue-debate, <br>While our strong walls secure us from the foe, <br>Ere yet with blood our ditches overflow: 590 <br>But let the potent orator declaim, <br>And with the brand of coward blot my name; <br>Free leave is giv’n him, when his fatal hand <br>Has cover’d with more corps the sanguine strand, <br>And high as mine his tow’ring trophies stand. 595 <br>If any doubt remains, who dares the most, <br>Let us decide it at the Trojan’s cost, <br>And issue both abreast, where honor calls— <br>Foes are not far to seek without the walls— <br>Unless his noisy tongue can only fight, 600 <br>And feet were giv’n him but to speed his flight. <br>I beaten from the field? I forc’d away? <br>Who, but so known a dastard, dares to say? <br>Had he but ev’n beheld the fight, his eyes <br>Had witness’d for me what his tongue denies: 605 <br>What heaps of Trojans by this hand were slain, <br>And how the bloody Tiber swell’d the main. <br>All saw, but he, th’ Arcadian troops retire <br>In scatter’d squadrons, and their prince expire. <br>The giant brothers, in their camp, have found, 610 <br>I was not forc’d with ease to quit my ground. <br>Not such the Trojans tried me, when, inclos’d, <br>I singly their united arms oppos’d: <br>First forc’d an entrance thro’ their thick array; <br>Then, glutted with their slaughter, freed my way. 615 <br>’T is a destructive war? So let it be, <br>But to the Phrygian pirate, and to thee! <br>Meantime proceed to fill the people’s ears <br>With false reports, their minds with panic fears: <br>Extol the strength of a twice-conquer’d race; 620 <br>Our foes encourage, and our friends debase. <br>Believe thy fables, and the Trojan town <br>Triumphant stands; the Grecians are o’erthrown; <br>Suppliant at Hector’s feet Achilles lies, <br>And Diomede from fierce Æneas flies. 625 <br>Say rapid Aufidus with awful dread <br>Runs backward from the sea, and hides his head, <br>When the great Trojan on his bank appears; <br>For that’s as true as thy dissembled fears <br>Of my revenge. Dismiss that vanity: 630 <br>Thou, Drances, art below a death from me. <br>Let that vile soul in that vile body rest; <br>The lodging is well worthy of the guest. <br>“Now, royal father, to the present state <br>Of our affairs, and of this high debate: 635 <br>If in your arms thus early you diffide, <br>And think your fortune is already tried; <br>If one defeat has brought us down so low, <br>As never more in fields to meet the foe; <br>Then I conclude for peace: ’t is time to treat, 640 <br>And lie like vassals at the victor’s feet. <br>But, O! if any ancient blood remains, <br>One drop of all our fathers’, in our veins, <br>That man would I prefer before the rest, <br>Who dar’d his death with an undaunted breast; 645 <br>Who comely fell, by no dishonest wound, <br>To shun that sight, and, dying, gnaw’d the ground. <br>But, if we still have fresh recruits in store, <br>If our confederates can afford us more; <br>If the contended field we bravely fought, 650 <br>And not a bloodless victory was bought; <br>Their losses equal’d ours; and, for their slain, <br>With equal fires they fill’d the shining plain; <br>Why thus, unforc’d, should we so tamely yield, <br>And, ere the trumpet sounds, resign the field? 655 <br>Good unexpected, evils unforeseen, <br>Appear by turns, as fortune shifts the scene: <br>Some, rais’d aloft, come tumbling down amain; <br>Then fall so hard, they bound and rise again. <br>If Diomede refuse his aid to lend, 660 <br>The great Messapus yet remains our friend: <br>Tolumnius, who foretells events, is ours; <br>Th’ Italian chiefs and princes join their pow’rs: <br>Nor least in number, nor in name the last, <br>Your own brave subjects have your cause embrac’d 665 <br>Above the rest, the Volscian Amazon <br>Contains an army in herself alone, <br>And heads a squadron, terrible to sight, <br>With glitt’ring shields, in brazen armor bright. <br>Yet, if the foe a single fight demand, 670 <br>And I alone the public peace withstand; <br>If you consent, he shall not be refus’d, <br>Nor find a hand to victory unus’d. <br>This new Achilles, let him take the field, <br>With fated armor, and Vulcanian shield! 675 <br>For you, my royal father, and my fame, <br>I, Turnus, not the least of all my name, <br>Devote my soul. He calls me hand to hand, <br>And I alone will answer his demand. <br>Drances shall rest secure, and neither share 680 <br>The danger, nor divide the prize of war.” <br>While they debate, nor these nor those will yield, <br>Æneas draws his forces to the field, <br>And moves his camp. The scouts with flying speed <br>Return, and thro’ the frighted city spread 685 <br>Th’ unpleasing news, the Trojans are descried, <br>In battle marching by the river side, <br>And bending to the town. They take th’ alarm: <br>Some tremble, some are bold; all in confusion arm. <br>Th’ impetuous youth press forward to the field; 690 <br>They clash the sword, and clatter on the shield: <br>The fearful matrons raise a screaming cry; <br>Old feeble men with fainter groans reply; <br>A jarring sound results, and mingles in the sky, <br>Like that of swans remurm’ring to the floods, 695 <br>Or birds of diff’ring kinds in hollow woods. <br>Turnus th’ occasion takes, and cries aloud: <br>“Talk on, ye quaint haranguers of the crowd: <br>Declaim in praise of peace, when danger calls, <br>And the fierce foes in arms approach the walls.” 700 <br>He said, and, turning short, with speedy pace, <br>Casts back a scornful glance, and quits the place: <br>“Thou, Volusus, the Volscian troops command <br>To mount; and lead thyself our Ardean band. <br>Messapus and Catillus, post your force 705 <br>Along the fields, to charge the Trojan horse. <br>Some guard the passes, others man the wall; <br>Drawn up in arms, the rest attend my call.” <br>They swarm from ev’ry quarter of the town, <br>And with disorder’d haste the rampires crown. 710 <br>Good old Latinus, when he saw, too late, <br>The gath’ring storm just breaking on the state, <br>Dismiss’d the council till a fitter time, <br>And own’d his easy temper as his crime, <br>Who, forc’d against his reason, had complied 715 <br>To break the treaty for the promis’d bride. <br>Some help to sink new trenches; others aid <br>To ram the stones, or raise the palisade. <br>Hoarse trumpets sound th’ alarm; around the walls <br>Runs a distracted crew, whom their last labor calls. 720 <br>A sad procession in the streets is seen, <br>Of matrons, that attend the mother queen: <br>High in her chair she sits, and, at her side, <br>With downcast eyes, appears the fatal bride. <br>They mount the cliff, where Pallas’ temple stands; 725 <br>Pray’rs in their mouths, and presents in their hands, <br>With censers first they fume the sacred shrine, <br>Then in this common supplication join: <br>“O patroness of arms, unspotted maid, <br>Propitious hear, and lend thy Latins aid! 730 <br>Break short the pirate’s lance; pronounce his fate, <br>And lay the Phrygian low before the gate.” <br>Now Turnus arms for fight. His back and breast <br>Well-temper’d steel and scaly brass invest: <br>The cuishes which his brawny thighs infold 735 <br>Are mingled metal damask’d o’er with gold. <br>His faithful fauchion sits upon his side; <br>Nor casque, nor crest, his manly features hide: <br>But, bare to view, amid surrounding friends, <br>With godlike grace, he from the tow’r descends. 740 <br>Exulting in his strength, he seems to dare <br>His absent rival, and to promise war. <br>Freed from his keepers, thus, with broken reins, <br>The wanton courser prances o’er the plains, <br>Or in the pride of youth o’erleaps the mounds, 745 <br>And snuffs the females in forbidden grounds. <br>Or seeks his wat’ring in the well-known flood, <br>To quench his thirst, and cool his fiery blood: <br>He swims luxuriant in the liquid plain, <br>And o’er his shoulder flows his waving mane: 750 <br>He neighs, he snorts, he bears his head on high; <br>Before his ample chest the frothy waters fly. <br>Soon as the prince appears without the gate, <br>The Volscians, with their virgin leader, wait <br>His last commands. Then, with a graceful mien, 755 <br>Lights from her lofty steed the warrior queen: <br>Her squadron imitates, and each descends; <br>Whose common suit Camilla thus commends: <br>“If sense of honor, if a soul secure <br>Of inborn worth, that can all tests endure, 760 <br>Can promise aught, or on itself rely <br>Greatly to dare, to conquer or to die; <br>Then, I alone, sustain’d by these, will meet <br>The Tyrrhene troops, and promise their defeat. <br>Ours be the danger, ours the sole renown: 765 <br>You, gen’ral, stay behind, and guard the town:” <br>Turnus a while stood mute, with glad surprise, <br>And on the fierce virago fix’d his eyes; <br>Then thus return’d: “O grace of Italy, <br>With what becoming thanks can I reply? 770 <br>Not only words lie lab’ring in my breast, <br>But thought itself is by thy praise oppress’d. <br>Yet rob me not of all; but let me join <br>My toils, my hazard, and my fame, with thine. <br>The Trojan, not in stratagem unskill’d, 775 <br>Sends his light horse before to scour the field: <br>Himself, thro’ steep ascents and thorny brakes, <br>A larger compass to the city takes. <br>This news my scouts confirm, and I prepare <br>To foil his cunning, and his force to dare; 780 <br>With chosen foot his passage to forelay, <br>And place an ambush in the winding way. <br>Thou, with thy Volscians, face the Tuscan horse; <br>The brave Messapus shall thy troops inforce <br>With those of Tibur, and the Latian band, 785 <br>Subjected all to thy supreme command.” <br>This said, he warns Messapus to the war, <br>Then ev’ry chief exhorts with equal care. <br>All thus encourag’d, his own troops he joins, <br>And hastes to prosecute his deep designs. 790 <br>Inclos’d with hills, a winding valley lies, <br>By nature form’d for fraud, and fitted for surprise. <br>A narrow track, by human steps untrode, <br>Leads, thro’ perplexing thorns, to this obscure abode. <br>High o’er the vale a steepy mountain stands, 795 <br>Whence the surveying sight the nether ground commands. <br>The top is level, an offensive seat <br>Of war; and from the war a safe retreat: <br>For, on the right and left, is room to press <br>The foes at hand, or from afar distress; 800 <br>To drive ’em headlong downward, and to pour <br>On their descending backs a stony show’r. <br>Thither young Turnus took the well-known way, <br>Possess’d the pass, and in blind ambush lay. <br>Meantime Latonian Phœbe, from the skies, 805 <br>Beheld th’ approaching war with hateful eyes, <br>And call’d the light-foot Opis to her aid, <br>Her most belov’d and ever-trusty maid; <br>Then with a sigh began: “Camilla goes <br>To meet her death amidst her fatal foes: 810 <br>The nymphs I lov’d of all my mortal train, <br>Invested with Diana’s arms, in vain. <br>Nor is my kindness for the virgin new: <br>’T was born with her; and with her years it grew. <br>Her father Metabus, when forc’d away 815 <br>From old Privernum, for tyrannic sway, <br>Snatch’d up, and sav’d from his prevailing foes, <br>This tender babe, companion of his woes. <br>Casmilla was her mother; but he drown’d <br>One hissing letter in a softer sound, 820 <br>And call’d Camilla. Thro’ the woods he flies; <br>Wrapp’d in his robe the royal infant lies. <br>His foes in sight, he mends his weary pace; <br>With shouts and clamors they pursue the chase. <br>The banks of Amasene at length he gains: 825 <br>The raging flood his farther flight restrains, <br>Rais’d o’er the borders with unusual rains. <br>Prepar’d to plunge into the stream, he fears, <br>Not for himself, but for the charge he bears. <br>Anxious, he stops a while, and thinks in haste; 830 <br>Then, desp’rate in distress, resolves at last. <br>A knotty lance of well-boil’d oak he bore; <br>The middle part with cork he cover’d o’er: <br>He clos’d the child within the hollow space; <br>With twigs of bending osier bound the case; 835 <br>Then pois’d the spear, heavy with human weight, <br>And thus invok’d my favor for the freight: <br>‘Accept, great goddess of the woods,’ he said, <br>‘Sent by her sire, this dedicated maid! <br>Thro’ air she flies a suppliant to thy shrine; 840 <br>And the first weapons that she knows, are thine.’ <br>He said; and with full force the spear he threw: <br>Above the sounding waves Camilla flew. <br>Then, press’d by foes, he stemm’d the stormy tide, <br>And gain’d, by stress of arms, the farther side. 845 <br>His fasten’d spear he pull’d from out the ground, <br>And, victor of his vows, his infant nymph unbound; <br>Nor, after that, in towns which walls inclose, <br>Would trust his hunted life amidst his foes; <br>But, rough, in open air he chose to lie; 850 <br>Earth was his couch, his cov’ring was the sky. <br>On hills unshorn, or in a desart den, <br>He shunn’d the dire society of men. <br>A shepherd’s solitary life he led; <br>His daughter with the milk of mares he fed. 855 <br>The dugs of bears, and ev’ry salvage beast, <br>He drew, and thro’ her lips the liquor press’d. <br>The little Amazon could scarcely go: <br>He loads her with a quiver and a bow; <br>And, that she might her stagg’ring steps command, 860 <br>He with a slender jav’lin fills her hand. <br>Her flowing hair no golden fillet bound; <br>Nor swept her trailing robe the dusty ground. <br>Instead of these, a tiger’s hide o’erspread <br>Her back and shoulders, fasten’d to her head. 865 <br>The flying dart she first attempts to fling, <br>And round her tender temples toss’d the sling; <br>Then, as her strength with years increas’d, began <br>To pierce aloft in air the soaring swan, <br>And from the clouds to fetch the heron and the crane. 870 <br>The Tuscan matrons with each other vied, <br>To bless their rival sons with such a bride; <br>But she disdains their love, to share with me <br>The sylvan shades and vow’d virginity. <br>And, O! I wish, contented with my cares 875 <br>Of salvage spoils, she had not sought the wars! <br>Then had she been of my celestial train, <br>And shunn’d the fate that dooms her to be slain. <br>But since, opposing Heav’n’s decree, she goes <br>To find her death among forbidden foes, 880 <br>Haste with these arms, and take thy steepy flight, <br>Where, with the gods, averse, the Latins fight. <br>This bow to thee, this quiver I bequeath, <br>This chosen arrow, to revenge her death: <br>By whate’er hand Camilla shall be slain, 885 <br>Or of the Trojan or Italian train, <br>Let him not pass unpunish’d from the plain. <br>Then, in a hollow cloud, myself will aid <br>To bear the breathless body of my maid: <br>Unspoil’d shall be her arms, and unprofan’d 890 <br>Her holy limbs with any human hand, <br>And in a marble tomb laid in her native land.” <br>She said. The faithful nymph descends from high <br>With rapid flight, and cuts the sounding sky: <br>Black clouds and stormy winds around her body fly. 895 <br>By this, the Trojan and the Tuscan horse, <br>Drawn up in squadrons, with united force, <br>Approach the walls: the sprightly coursers bound, <br>Press forward on their bits, and shift their ground. <br>Shields, arms, and spears flash horribly from far; 900 <br>And the fields glitter with a waving war. <br>Oppos’d to these, come on with furious force <br>Messapus, Coras, and the Latian horse; <br>These in the body plac’d, on either hand <br>Sustain’d and clos’d by fair Camilla’s band. 905 <br>Advancing in a line, they couch their spears; <br>And less and less the middle space appears. <br>Thick smoke obscures the field; and scarce are seen <br>The neighing coursers, and the shouting men. <br>In distance of their darts they stop their course; 910 <br>Then man to man they rush, and horse to horse. <br>The face of heav’n their flying jav’lins hide, <br>And deaths unseen are dealt on either side. <br>Tyrrhenus, and Aconteus, void of fear, <br>By mettled coursers borne in full career, 915 <br>Meet first oppos’d; and, with a mighty shock, <br>Their horses’ heads against each other knock. <br>Far from his steed is fierce Aconteus cast, <br>As with an engine’s force, or lightning’s blast: <br>He rolls along in blood, and breathes his last. 920 <br>The Latin squadrons take a sudden fright, <br>And sling their shields behind, to save their backs in flight. <br>Spurring at speed to their own walls they drew; <br>Close in the rear the Tuscan troops pursue, <br>And urge their flight: Asylas leads the chase; 925 <br>Till, seiz’d, with shame, they wheel about and face, <br>Receive their foes, and raise a threat’ning cry. <br>The Tuscans take their turn to fear and fly. <br>So swelling surges, with a thund’ring roar, <br>Driv’n on each other’s backs, insult the shore, 930 <br>Bound o’er the rocks, incroach upon the land, <br>And far upon the beach eject the sand; <br>Then backward, with a swing, they take their way, <br>Repuls’d from upper ground, and seek their mother sea; <br>With equal hurry quit th’ invaded shore, 935 <br>And swallow back the sand and stones they spew’d before. <br>Twice were the Tuscans masters of the field, <br>Twice by the Latins, in their turn, repell’d. <br>Asham’d at length, to the third charge they ran; <br>Both hosts resolv’d, and mingled man to man. 940 <br>Now dying groans are heard; the fields are strow’d <br>With falling bodies, and are drunk with blood. <br>Arms, horses, men, on heaps together lie: <br>Confus’d the fight, and more confus’d the cry. <br>Orsilochus, who durst not press too near 945 <br>Strong Remulus, at distance drove his spear, <br>And stuck the steel beneath his horse’s ear. <br>The fiery steed, impatient of the wound, <br>Curvets, and, springing upward with a bound, <br>His helpless lord cast backward on the ground. 950 <br>Catillus pierc’d Iolas first; then drew <br>His reeking lance, and at Herminius threw, <br>The mighty champion of the Tuscan crew. <br>His neck and throat unarm’d, his head was bare, <br>But shaded with a length of yellow hair: 955 <br>Secure, he fought, expos’d on ev’ry part, <br>A spacious mark for swords, and for the flying dart. <br>Across the shoulders came the feather’d wound; <br>Transfix’d he fell, and doubled to the ground. <br>The sands with streaming blood are sanguine dyed, 960 <br>And death with honor sought on either side. <br>Resistless thro’ the war Camilla rode, <br>In danger unappall’d, and pleas’d with blood. <br>One side was bare for her exerted breast; <br>One shoulder with her painted quiver press’d. 965 <br>Now from afar her fatal jav’lins play; <br>Now with her ax’s edge she hews her way: <br>Diana’s arms upon her shoulder sound; <br>And when, too closely press’d, she quits the ground, <br>From her bent bow she sends a backward wound. 970 <br>Her maids, in martial pomp, on either side, <br>Larina, Tulla, fierce Tarpeia, ride: <br>Italians all; in peace, their queen’s delight; <br>In war, the bold companions of the fight. <br>So march’d the Tracian Amazons of old, 975 <br>When Thermodon with bloody billows roll’d: <br>Such troops as these in shining arms were seen, <br>When Theseus met in fight their maiden queen: <br>Such to the field Penthisilea led, <br>From the fierce virgin when the Grecians fled; 980 <br>With such, return’d triumphant from the war, <br>Her maids with cries attend the lofty car; <br>They clash with manly force their moony shields; <br>With female shouts resound the Phrygian fields. <br>Who foremost, and who last, heroic maid, 985 <br>On the cold earth were by thy courage laid? <br>Thy spear, of mountain ash, Eumenius first, <br>With fury driv’n, from side to side transpierc’d: <br>A purple stream came spouting from the wound; <br>Bath’d in his blood he lies, and bites the ground. 990 <br>Liris and Pagasus at once she slew: <br>The former, as the slacken’d reins he drew <br>Of his faint steed; the latter, as he stretch’d <br>His arm to prop his friend, the jav’lin reach’d. <br>By the same weapon, sent from the same hand, 995 <br>Both fall together, and both spurn the sand. <br>Amastrus next is added to the slain: <br>The rest in rout she follows o’er the plain: <br>Tereus, Harpalycus, Demophoon, <br>And Chromis, at full speed her fury shun. 1000 <br>Of all her deadly darts, not one she lost; <br>Each was attended with a Trojan ghost. <br>Young Ornithus bestrode a hunter steed, <br>Swift for the chase, and of Apulian breed. <br>Him from afar she spied, in arms unknown: 1005 <br>O’er his broad back an ox’s hide was thrown; <br>His helm a wolf, whose gaping jaws were spread <br>A cov’ring for his cheeks, and grinn’d around his head, <br>He clench’d within his hand an iron prong, <br>And tower’d above the rest, conspicuous in the throng. 1010 <br>Him soon she singled from the flying train, <br>And slew with ease; then thus insults the slain: <br>“Vain hunter, didst thou think thro’ woods to chase <br>The savage herd, a vile and trembling race? <br>Here cease thy vaunts, and own my victory: 1015 <br>A woman warrior was too strong for thee. <br>Yet, if the ghosts demand the conqu’ror’s name. <br>Confessing great Camilla, save thy shame.” <br>Then Butes and Orsilochus she slew, <br>The bulkiest bodies of the Trojan crew; 1020 <br>But Butes breast to breast: the spear descends <br>Above the gorget, where his helmet ends, <br>And o’er the shield which his left side defends. <br>Orsilochus and she their courses ply: <br>He seems to follow, and she seems to fly; 1025 <br>But in a narrower ring she makes the race; <br>And then he flies, and she pursues the chase. <br>Gath’ring at length on her deluded foe, <br>She swings her ax, and rises to the blow; <br>Full on the helm behind, with such a sway 1030 <br>The weapon falls, the riven steel gives way: <br>He groans, he roars, he sues in vain for grace; <br>Brains, mingled with his blood, besmear his face. <br>Astonish’d Aunus just arrives by chance, <br>To see his fall; nor farther dares advance; 1035 <br>But, fixing on the horrid maid his eye, <br>He stares, and shakes, and finds it vain to fly; <br>Yet, like a true Ligurian, born to cheat, <br>(At least while fortune favor’d his deceit,) <br>Cries out aloud: “What courage have you shown, 1040 <br>Who trust your courser’s strength, and not your own? <br>Forego the vantage of your horse, alight, <br>And then on equal terms begin the fight: <br>It shall be seen, weak woman, what you can, <br>When, foot to foot, you combat with a man.” 1045 <br>He said. She glows with anger and disdain, <br>Dismounts with speed to dare him on the plain, <br>And leaves her horse at large among her train; <br>With her drawn sword defies him to the field, <br>And, marching, lifts aloft her maiden shield. 1050 <br>The youth, who thought his cunning did succeed, <br>Reins round his horse, and urges all his speed; <br>Adds the remembrance of the spur, and hides <br>The goring rowels in his bleeding sides. <br>“Vain fool, and coward!” cries the lofty maid, 1055 <br>“Caught in the train which thou thyself hast laid! <br>On others practice thy Ligurian arts; <br>Thin stratagems and tricks of little hearts <br>Are lost on me: nor shalt thou safe retire, <br>With vaunting lies, to thy fallacious sire.” 1060 <br>At this, so fast her flying feet she sped, <br>That soon she strain’d beyond his horse’s head: <br>Then turning short, at once she seiz’d the rein, <br>And laid the boaster grov’ling on the plain. <br>Not with more ease the falcon, from above, 1065 <br>Trusses in middle air the trembling dove, <br>Then plumes the prey, in her strong pounces bound: <br>The feathers, foul with blood, come tumbling to the ground. <br>Now mighty Jove, from his superior height, <br>With his broad eye surveys th’ unequal fight. 1070 <br>He fires the breast of Tarchon with disdain, <br>And sends him to redeem th’ abandon’d plain. <br>Betwixt the broken ranks the Tuscan rides, <br>And these encourages, and those he chides; <br>Recalls each leader, by his name, from flight; 1075 <br>Renews their ardor, and restores the fight. <br>“What panic fear has seiz’d your souls? O shame, <br>O brand perpetual of th’ Etrurian name! <br>Cowards incurable, a woman’s hand <br>Drives, breaks, and scatters your ignoble band! 1080 <br>Now cast away the sword, and quit the shield! <br>What use of weapons which you dare not wield? <br>Not thus you fly your female foes by night, <br>Nor shun the feast, when the full bowls invite; <br>When to fat off’rings the glad augur calls, 1085 <br>And the shrill hornpipe sounds to bacchanals. <br>These are your studied cares, your lewd delight: <br>Swift to debauch, but slow to manly fight.” <br>Thus having said, he spurs amid the foes, <br>Not managing the life he meant to lose. 1090 <br>The first he found he seiz’d with headlong haste, <br>In his strong gripe, and clasp’d around the waist; <br>’T was Venulus, whom from his horse he tore, <br>And, laid athwart his own, in triumph bore. <br>Loud shouts ensue; the Latins turn their eyes, 1095 <br>And view th’ unusual sight with vast surprise. <br>The fiery Tarchon, flying o’er the plains, <br>Press’d in his arms the pond’rous prey sustains; <br>Then, with his shorten’d spear, explores around <br>His jointed arms, to fix a deadly wound. 1100 <br>Nor less the captive struggles for his life: <br>He writhes his body to prolong the strife, <br>And, fencing for his naked throat, exerts <br>His utmost vigor, and the point averts. <br>So stoops the yellow eagle from on high, 1105 <br>And bears a speckled serpent thro’ the sky, <br>Fast’ning his crooked talons on the prey: <br>The pris’ner hisses thro’ the liquid way; <br>Resists the royal hawk; and, tho’ oppress’d, <br>She fights in volumes, and erects her crest: 1110 <br>Turn’d to her foe, she stiffens ev’ry scale, <br>And shoots her forky tongue, and whisks her threat’ning tail. <br>Against the victor, all defense is weak: <br>Th’ imperial bird still plies her with his beak; <br>He tears her bowels, and her breast he gores; 1115 <br>Then claps his pinions, and securely soars. <br>Thus, thro’ the midst of circling enemies, <br>Strong Tarchon snatch’d and bore away his prize. <br>The Tyrrhene troops, that shrunk before, now press <br>The Latins, and presume the like success. 1120 <br>Then Aruns, doom’d to death, his arts assay’d, <br>To murther, unespied, the Volscian maid: <br>This way and that his winding course he bends, <br>And, whereso’er she turns, her steps attends. <br>When she retires victorious from the chase, 1125 <br>He wheels about with care, and shifts his place; <br>When, rushing on, she seeks her foes in flight, <br>He keeps aloof, but keeps her still in sight: <br>He threats, and trembles, trying ev’ry way, <br>Unseen to kill, and safely to betray. 1130 <br>Chloreus, the priest of Cybele, from far, <br>Glitt’ring in Phrygian arms amidst the war, <br>Was by the virgin view’d. The steed he press’d <br>Was proud with trappings, and his brawny chest <br>With scales of gilded brass was cover’d o’er; 1135 <br>A robe of Tyrian dye the rider wore. <br>With deadly wounds he gall’d the distant foe; <br>Gnossian his shafts, and Lycian was his bow: <br>A golden helm his front and head surrounds; <br>A gilded quiver from his shoulder sounds. 1140 <br>Gold, weav’d with linen, on his thighs he wore, <br>With flowers of needlework distinguish’d o’er, <br>With golden buckles bound, and gather’d up before. <br>Him the fierce maid beheld with ardent eyes, <br>Fond and ambitious of so rich a prize, 1145 <br>Or that the temple might his trophies hold, <br>Or else to shine herself in Trojan gold. <br>Blind in her haste, she chases him alone. <br>And seeks his life, regardless of her own. <br>This lucky moment the sly traitor chose: 1150 <br>Then, starting from his ambush, up he rose, <br>And threw, but first to Heav’n address’d his vows: <br>“O patron of Socrate’s high abodes, <br>Phœbus, the ruling pow’r among the gods, <br>Whom first we serve, whole woods of unctuous pine 1155 <br>Are fell’d for thee, and to thy glory shine; <br>By thee protected with our naked soles, <br>Thro’ flames unsing’d we march, and tread the kindled coals: <br>Give me, propitious pow’r, to wash away <br>The stains of this dishonorable day: 1160 <br>Nor spoils, nor triumph, from the fact I claim, <br>But with my future actions trust my fame. <br>Let me, by stealth, this female plague o’ercome, <br>And from the field return inglorious home.” <br>Apollo heard, and, granting half his pray’r, 1165 <br>Shuffled in winds the rest, and toss’d in empty air. <br>He gives the death desir’d; his safe return <br>By southern tempests to the seas is borne. <br>Now, when the jav’lin whizz’d along the skies, <br>Both armies on Camilla turn’d their eyes, 1170 <br>Directed by the sound. Of either host, <br>Th’ unhappy virgin, tho’ concern’d the most, <br>Was only deaf; so greedy was she bent <br>On golden spoils, and on her prey intent; <br>Till in her pap the winged weapon stood 1175 <br>Infix’d, and deeply drunk the purple blood. <br>Her sad attendants hasten to sustain <br>Their dying lady, drooping on the plain. <br>Far from their sight the trembling Aruns flies, <br>With beating heart, and fear confus’d with joys; 1180 <br>Nor dares he farther to pursue his blow, <br>Or ev’n to bear the sight of his expiring foe. <br>As, when the wolf has torn a bullock’s hide <br>At unawares, or ranch’d a shepherd’s side, <br>Conscious of his audacious deed, he flies, 1185 <br>And claps his quiv’ring tail between his thighs: <br>So, speeding once, the wretch no more attends, <br>But, spurring forward, herds among his friends. <br>She wrench’d the jav’lin with her dying hands, <br>But wedg’d within her breast the weapon stands; 1190 <br>The wood she draws, the steely point remains; <br>She staggers in her seat with agonizing pains: <br>(A gath’ring mist o’erclouds her cheerful eyes, <br>And from her cheeks the rosy color flies <br>Then turns to her, whom of her female train 1195 <br>She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain: <br>“Acca, ’t is past! he swims before my sight, <br>Inexorable Death; and claims his right. <br>Bear my last words to Turnus; fly with speed, <br>And bid him timely to my charge succeed, 1200 <br>Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve: <br>Farewell! and in this kiss my parting breath receive.” <br>She said, and, sliding, sunk upon the plain: <br>Dying, her open’d hand forsakes the rein; <br>Short, and more short, she pants; by slow degrees 1205 <br>Her mind the passage from her body frees. <br>She drops her sword; she nods her plumy crest, <br>Her drooping head declining on her breast: <br>In the last sigh her struggling soul expires, <br>And, murm’ring with disdain, to Stygian sounds retires. 1210 <br>A shout, that struck the golden stars, ensued; <br>Despair and rage the languish’d fight renew’d. <br>The Trojan troops and Tuscans, in a line, <br>Advance to charge; the mix’d Arcadians join. <br>But Cynthia’s maid, high seated, from afar 1215 <br>Surveys the field, and fortune of the war, <br>Unmov’d a while, till, prostrate on the plain, <br>Welt’ring in blood, she sees Camilla slain, <br>And, round her corpse, of friends and foes a fighting train. <br>Then, from the bottom of her breast, she drew 1220 <br>A mournful sigh, and these sad words ensue: <br>“Too dear a fine, ah much lamented maid, <br>For warring with the Trojans, thou hast paid! <br>Nor aught avail’d, in this unhappy strife, <br>Diana’s sacred arms, to save thy life. 1225 <br>Yet unreveng’d thy goddess will not leave <br>Her vot’ry’s death, nor with vain sorrow grieve. <br>Branded the wretch, and be his name abhorr’d; <br>But after ages shall thy praise record. <br>Th’ inglorious coward soon shall press the plain: 1230 <br>Thus vows thy queen, and thus the Fates ordain.” <br>High o’er the field there stood a hilly mound, <br>Sacred the place, and spread with oaks around, <br>Where, in a marble tomb, Dercennus lay, <br>A king that once in Latium bore the sway. 1235 <br>The beauteous Opis thither bent her flight, <br>To mark the traitor Aruns from the height. <br>Him in refulgent arms she soon espied, <br>Swoln with success; and loudly thus she cried: <br>“Thy backward steps, vain boaster, are too late; 1240 <br>Turn like a man, at length, and meet thy fate. <br>Charg’d with my message, to Camilla go, <br>And say I sent thee to the shades below, <br>An honor undeserv’d from Cynthia’s bow.” <br>She said, and from her quiver chose with speed 1245 <br>The winged shaft, predestin’d for the deed; <br>Then to the stubborn yew her strength applied, <br>Till the far distant horns approach’d on either side. <br>The bowstring touch’d her breast, so strong she drew; <br>Whizzing in air the fatal arrow flew. 1250 <br>At once the twanging bow and sounding dart <br>The traitor heard, and felt the point within his heart. <br>Him, beating with his heels in pangs of death, <br>His flying friends to foreign fields bequeath. <br>The conqu’ring damsel, with expanded wings, 1255 <br>The welcome message to her mistress brings. <br>Their leader lost, the Volscians quit the field,</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Publius+Vergilius+Maro">Publius Vergilius Maro</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=479712" data-title="The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 11 de Publius Vergilius Maro" data-description="SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais’d her head 
Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed; 
The pious chief, whom double cares attend 
For his unburied soldiers and his friend, 
Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows: 5 
He bar’d an..."></div>
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