Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=479713" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 12</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field, <br>Their armies broken, and their courage quell’d, <br>Himself become the mark of public spite, <br>His honor question’d for the promis’d fight; <br>The more he was with vulgar hate oppress’d, 5 <br>The more his fury boil’d within his breast: <br>He rous’d his vigor for the last debate, <br>And rais’d his haughty soul to meet his fate. <br>As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase, <br>He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace; 10 <br>But, if the pointed jav’lin pierce his side, <br>The lordly beast returns with double pride: <br>He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain; <br>His sides he lashes, and erects his mane: <br>So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire, 15 <br>Thro’ his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire. <br>Trembling with rage, around the court he ran, <br>At length approach’d the king, and thus began: <br>“No more excuses or delays: I stand <br>In arms prepar’d to combat, hand to hand, 20 <br>This base deserter of his native land. <br>The Trojan, by his word, is bound to take <br>The same conditions which himself did make. <br>Renew the truce; the solemn rites prepare, <br>And to my single virtue trust the war. 25 <br>The Latians unconcern’d shall see the fight; <br>This arm unaided shall assert your right: <br>Then, if my prostrate body press the plain, <br>To him the crown and beauteous bride remain.” <br>To whom the king sedately thus replied: 30 <br>“Brave youth, the more your valor has been tried, <br>The more becomes it us, with due respect, <br>To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect. <br>You want not wealth, or a successive throne, <br>Or cities which your arms have made your own: 35 <br>My towns and treasures are at your command, <br>And stor’d with blooming beauties is my land; <br>Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees, <br>Unmarried, fair, of noble families. <br>Now let me speak, and you with patience hear, 40 <br>Things which perhaps may grate a lover’s ear, <br>But sound advice, proceeding from a heart <br>Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art. <br>The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown, <br>No prince Italian born should heir my throne: 45 <br>Oft have our augurs, in prediction skill’d, <br>And oft our priests, a foreign son reveal’d. <br>Yet, won by worth that cannot be withstood, <br>Brib’d by my kindness to my kindred blood, <br>Urg’d by my wife, who would not be denied, 50 <br>I promis’d my Lavinia for your bride: <br>Her from her plighted lord by force I took; <br>All ties of treaties, and of honor, broke: <br>On your account I wag’d an impious war— <br>With what success, ’t is needless to declare; 55 <br>I and my subjects feel, and you have had your share. <br>Twice vanquish’d while in bloody fields we strive, <br>Scarce in our walls we keep our hopes alive: <br>The rolling flood runs warm with human gore; <br>The bones of Latians blanch the neighb’ring shore. 60 <br>Why put I not an end to this debate, <br>Still unresolv’d, and still a slave to fate? <br>If Turnus’ death a lasting peace can give, <br>Why should I not procure it whilst you live? <br>Should I to doubtful arms your youth betray, 65 <br>What would my kinsmen the Rutulians say? <br>And, should you fall in fight, (which Heav’n defend!) <br>How curse the cause which hasten’d to his end <br>The daughter’s lover and the father’s friend? <br>Weigh in your mind the various chance of war; 70 <br>Pity your parent’s age, and ease his care.” <br>Such balmy words he pour’d, but all in vain: <br>The proffer’d med’cine but provok’d the pain. <br>The wrathful youth, disdaining the relief, <br>With intermitting sobs thus vents his grief: 75 <br>“The care, O best of fathers, which you take <br>For my concerns, at my desire forsake. <br>Permit me not to languish out my days, <br>But make the best exchange of life for praise. <br>This arm, this lance, can well dispute the prize; 80 <br>And the blood follows, where the weapon flies. <br>His goddess mother is not near, to shroud <br>The flying coward with an empty cloud.” <br>But now the queen, who fear’d for Turnus’ life, <br>And loath’d the hard conditions of the strife, 85 <br>Held him by force; and, dying in his death, <br>In these sad accents gave her sorrow breath: <br>“O Turnus, I adjure thee by these tears, <br>And whate’er price Amata’s honor bears <br>Within thy breast, since thou art all my hope, 90 <br>My sickly mind’s repose, my sinking age’s prop; <br>Since on the safety of thy life alone <br>Depends Latinus, and the Latian throne: <br>Refuse me not this one, this only pray’r, <br>To waive the combat, and pursue the war. 95 <br>Whatever chance attends this fatal strife, <br>Think it includes, in thine, Amata’s life. <br>I cannot live a slave, or see my throne <br>Usurp’d by strangers or a Trojan son.” <br>At this, a flood of tears Lavinia shed; 100 <br>A crimson blush her beauteous face o’erspread, <br>Varying her cheeks by turns with white and red. <br>The driving colors, never at a stay, <br>Run here and there, and flush, and fade away. <br>Delightful change! Thus Indian iv’ry shows, 105 <br>Which with the bord’ring paint of purple glows; <br>Or lilies damask’d by the neighb’ring rose. <br>The lover gaz’d, and, burning with desire, <br>The more he look’d, the more he fed the fire: <br>Revenge, and jealous rage, and secret spite, 110 <br>Roll in his breast, and rouse him to the fight. <br>Then fixing on the queen his ardent eyes, <br>Firm to his first intent, he thus replies: <br>“O mother, do not by your tears prepare <br>Such boding omens, and prejudge the war. 115 <br>Resolv’d on fight, I am no longer free <br>To shun my death, if Heav’n my death decree.” <br>Then turning to the herald, thus pursues: <br>“Go, greet the Trojan with ungrateful news; <br>Denounce from me, that, when to-morrow’s light 120 <br>Shall gild the heav’ns, he need not urge the fight; <br>The Trojan and Rutulian troops no more <br>Shall dye, with mutual blood, the Latian shore: <br>Our single swords the quarrel shall decide, <br>And to the victor be the beauteous bride.” 125 <br>He said, and striding on, with speedy pace, <br>He sought his coursers of the Thracian race. <br>At his approach they toss their heads on high, <br>And, proudly neighing, promise victory. <br>The sires of these Orythia sent from far, 130 <br>To grace Pilumnus, when he went to war. <br>The drifts of Thracian snows were scarce so white, <br>Nor northern winds in fleetness match’d their flight. <br>Officious grooms stand ready by his side; <br>And some with combs their flowing manes divide, 135 <br>And others stroke their chests and gently soothe their pride. <br>He sheath’d his limbs in arms; a temper’d mass <br>Of golden metal those, and mountain brass. <br>Then to his head his glitt’ring helm he tied, <br>And girt his faithful fauchion to his side. 140 <br>In his Ætnæan forge, the God of Fire <br>That fauchion labor’d for the hero’s sire; <br>Immortal keenness on the blade bestow’d, <br>And plung’d it hissing in the Stygian flood. <br>Propp’d on a pillar, which the ceiling bore, 145 <br>Was plac’d the lance Auruncan Actor wore; <br>Which with such force he brandish’d in his hand, <br>The tough ash trembled like an osier wand: <br>Then cried: “O pond’rous spoil of Actor slain, <br>And never yet by Turnus toss’d in vain, 150 <br>Fail not this day thy wonted force; but go, <br>Sent by this hand, to pierce the Trojan foe! <br>Give me to tear his corslet from his breast, <br>And from that eunuch head to rend the crest; <br>Dragg’d in the dust, his frizzled hair to soil, 155 <br>Hot from the vexing ir’n, and smear’d with fragrant oil!” <br>Thus while he raves, from his wide nostrils flies <br>A fiery steam, and sparkles from his eyes. <br>So fares the bull in his lov’d female’s sight: <br>Proudly he bellows, and preludes the fight; 160 <br>He tries his goring horns against a tree, <br>And meditates his absent enemy; <br>He pushes at the winds; he digs the strand <br>With his black hoofs, and spurns the yellow sand. <br>Nor less the Trojan, in his Lemnian arms, 165 <br>To future fight his manly courage warms: <br>He whets his fury, and with joy prepares <br>To terminate at once the ling’ring wars; <br>To cheer his chiefs and tender son, relates <br>What Heav’n had promis’d, and expounds the fates. 170 <br>Then to the Latian king he sends, to cease <br>The rage of arms, and ratify the peace. <br>The morn ensuing, from the mountain’s height, <br>Had scarcely spread the skies with rosy light; <br>Th’ ethereal coursers, bounding from the sea, 175 <br>From out their flaming nostrils breath’d the day; <br>When now the Trojan and Rutulian guard, <br>In friendly labor join’d, the list prepar’d. <br>Beneath the walls they measure out the space; <br>Then sacred altars rear, on sods of grass, 180 <br>Where, with religious rites, their common gods they place. <br>In purest white the priests their heads attire; <br>And living waters bear, and holy fire; <br>And, o’er their linen hoods and shaded hair, <br>Long twisted wreaths of sacred vervain wear, 185 <br>In order issuing from the town appears <br>The Latin legion, arm’d with pointed spears; <br>And from the fields, advancing on a line, <br>The Trojan and the Tuscan forces join: <br>Their various arms afford a pleasing sight; 190 <br>A peaceful train they seem, in peace prepar’d for fight. <br>Betwixt the ranks the proud commanders ride, <br>Glitt’ring with gold, and vests in purple dyed; <br>Here Mnestheus, author of the Memmian line, <br>And there Messapus, born of seed divine. 195 <br>The sign is giv’n; and, round the listed space, <br>Each man in order fills his proper place. <br>Reclining on their ample shields, they stand, <br>And fix their pointed lances in the sand. <br>Now, studious of the sight, a num’rous throng 200 <br>Of either sex promiscuous, old and young, <br>Swarm from the town: by those who rest behind, <br>The gates and walls and houses’ tops are lin’d. <br>Meantime the Queen of Heav’n beheld the sight, <br>With eyes unpleas’d, from Mount Albano’s height 205 <br>(Since call’d Albano by succeeding fame, <br>But then an empty hill, without a name). <br>She thence survey’d the field, the Trojan pow’rs, <br>The Latian squadrons, and Laurentine tow’rs. <br>Then thus the goddess of the skies bespake, 210 <br>With sighs and tears, the goddess of the lake, <br>King Turnus’ sister, once a lovely maid, <br>Ere to the lust of lawless Jove betray’d: <br>Compress’d by force, but, by the grateful god, <br>Now made the Nais of the neighb’ring flood. 215 <br>“O nymph, the pride of living lakes,” said she, <br>“O most renown’d, and most belov’d by me, <br>Long hast thou known, nor need I to record, <br>The wanton sallies of my wand’ring lord. <br>Of ev’ry Latian fair whom Jove misled 220 <br>To mount by stealth my violated bed, <br>To thee alone I grudg’d not his embrace, <br>But gave a part of heav’n, and an unenvied place. <br>Now learn from me thy near approaching grief, <br>Nor think my wishes want to thy relief. 225 <br>While fortune favor’d, nor Heav’n’s King denied <br>To lend my succor to the Latian side, <br>I sav’d thy brother, and the sinking state: <br>But now he struggles with unequal fate, <br>And goes, with gods averse, o’ermatch’d in might, 230 <br>To meet inevitable death in fight; <br>Nor must I break the truce, nor can sustain the sight. <br>Thou, if thou dar’st, thy present aid supply; <br>It well becomes a sister’s care to try.” <br>At this the lovely nymph, with grief oppress’d, 235 <br>Thrice tore her hair, and beat her comely breast. <br>To whom Saturnia thus: “Thy tears are late: <br>Haste, snatch him, if he can be snatch’d from fate: <br>New tumults kindle; violate the truce: <br>Who knows what changeful fortune may produce? 240 <br>’T is not a crime t’ attempt what I decree; <br>Or, if it were, discharge the crime on me.” <br>She said, and, sailing on the winged wind, <br>Left the sad nymph suspended in her mind. <br>And now in pomp the peaceful kings appear: 245 <br>Four steeds the chariot of Latinus bear; <br>Twelve golden beams around his temples play, <br>To mark his lineage from the God of Day. <br>Two snowy coursers Turnus’ chariot yoke, <br>And in his hand two massy spears he shook: 250 <br>Then issued from the camp, in arms divine, <br>Æneas, author of the Roman line; <br>And by his side Ascanius took his place, <br>The second hope of Rome’s immortal race. <br>Adorn’d in white, a rev’rend priest appears, 255 <br>And off’rings to the flaming altars bears; <br>A porket, and a lamb that never suffer’d shears. <br>Then to the rising sun he turns his eyes, <br>And strews the beasts, design’d for sacrifice, <br>With salt and meal: with like officious care 260 <br>He marks their foreheads, and he clips their hair. <br>Betwixt their horns the purple wine he sheds; <br>With the same gen’rous juice the flame he feeds. <br>Æneas then unsheath’d his shining sword, <br>And thus with pious pray’rs the gods ador’d: 265 <br>“All-seeing sun, and thou, Ausonian soil, <br>For which I have sustain’d so long a toil, <br>Thou, King of Heav’n, and thou, the Queen of Air, <br>Propitious now, and reconcil’d by pray’r; <br>Thou, God of War, whose unresisted sway 270 <br>The labors and events of arms obey; <br>Ye living fountains, and ye running floods, <br>All pow’rs of ocean, all ethereal gods, <br>Hear, and bear record: if I fall in field, <br>Or, recreant in the fight, to Turnus yield, 275 <br>My Trojans shall encrease Evander’s town; <br>Ascanius shall renounce th’ Ausonian crown: <br>All claims, all questions of debate, shall cease; <br>Nor he, nor they, with force infringe the peace. <br>But, if my juster arms prevail in fight, 280 <br>(As sure they shall, if I divine aright,) <br>My Trojans shall not o’er th’ Italians reign: <br>Both equal, both unconquer’d shall remain, <br>Join’d in their laws, their lands, and their abodes; <br>I ask but altars for my weary gods. 285 <br>The care of those religious rites be mine; <br>The crown to King Latinus I resign: <br>His be the sov’reign sway. Nor will I share <br>His pow’r in peace, or his command in war. <br>For me, my friends another town shall frame, 290 <br>And bless the rising tow’rs with fair Lavinia’s name.” <br>Thus he. Then, with erected eyes and hands, <br>The Latian king before his altar stands. <br>“By the same heav’n,” said he, “and earth, and main, <br>And all the pow’rs that all the three contain; 295 <br>By hell below, and by that upper god <br>Whose thunder signs the peace, who seals it with his nod; <br>So let Latona’s double offspring hear, <br>And double-fronted Janus, what I swear: <br>I touch the sacred altars, touch the flames, 300 <br>And all those pow’rs attest, and all their names; <br>Whatever chance befall on either side, <br>No term of time this union shall divide: <br>No force, no fortune, shall my vows unbind, <br>Or shake the steadfast tenor of my mind; 305 <br>Not tho’ the circling seas should break their bound, <br>O’erflow the shores, or sap the solid ground; <br>Not tho’ the lamps of heav’n their spheres forsake, <br>Hurl’d down, and hissing in the nether lake: <br>Ev’n as this royal scepter” (for he bore 310 <br>A scepter in his hand) “shall never more <br>Shoot out in branches, or renew the birth: <br>An orphan now, cut from the mother earth <br>By the keen ax, dishonor’d of its hair, <br>And cas’d in brass, for Latian kings to bear.” 315 <br>When thus in public view the peace was tied <br>With solemn vows, and sworn on either side, <br>All dues perform’d which holy rites require; <br>The victim beasts are slain before the fire, <br>The trembling entrails from their bodies torn, 320 <br>And to the fatten’d flames in chargers borne. <br>Already the Rutulians deem their man <br>O’ermatch’d in arms, before the fight began. <br>First rising fears are whisper’d thro’ the crowd; <br>Then, gath’ring sound, they murmur more aloud. 325 <br>Now, side to side, they measure with their eyes <br>The champions’ bulk, their sinews, and their size: <br>The nearer they approach, the more is known <br>Th’ apparent disadvantage of their own. <br>Turnus himself appears in public sight 330 <br>Conscious of fate, desponding of the fight. <br>Slowly he moves, and at his altar stands <br>With eyes dejected, and with trembling hands; <br>And, while he mutters undistinguish’d pray’rs, <br>A livid deadness in his cheeks appears. 335 <br>With anxious pleasure when Juturna view’d <br>Th’ increasing fright of the mad multitude, <br>When their short sighs and thick’ning sobs she heard, <br>And found their ready minds for change prepar’d; <br>Dissembling her immortal form, she took 340 <br>Camertus’ mien, his habit, and his look; <br>A chief of ancient blood; in arms well known <br>Was his great sire, and he his greater son. <br>His shape assum’d, amid the ranks she ran, <br>And humoring their first motions, thus began: 345 <br>“For shame, Rutulians, can you bear the sight <br>Of one expos’d for all, in single fight? <br>Can we, before the face of heav’n, confess <br>Our courage colder, or our numbers less? <br>View all the Trojan host, th’ Arcadian band, 350 <br>And Tuscan army; count ’em as they stand: <br>Undaunted to the battle if we go, <br>Scarce ev’ry second man will share a foe. <br>Turnus, ’t is true, in this unequal strife, <br>Shall lose, with honor, his devoted life, 355 <br>Or change it rather for immortal fame, <br>Succeeding to the gods, from whence he came: <br>But you, a servile and inglorious band, <br>For foreign lords shall sow your native land, <br>Those fruitful fields your fighting fathers gain’d, 360 <br>Which have so long their lazy sons sustain’d.” <br>With words like these, she carried her design: <br>A rising murmur runs along the line. <br>Then ev’n the city troops, and Latians, tir’d <br>With tedious war, seem with new souls inspir’d: 365 <br>Their champion’s fate with pity they lament, <br>And of the league, so lately sworn, repent. <br>Nor fails the goddess to foment the rage <br>With lying wonders, and a false presage; <br>But adds a sign, which, present to their eyes, 370 <br>Inspires new courage, and a glad surprise. <br>For, sudden, in the fiery tracts above, <br>Appears in pomp th’ imperial bird of Jove: <br>A plump of fowl he spies, that swim the lakes, <br>And o’er their heads his sounding pinions shakes; 375 <br>Then, stooping on the fairest of the train, <br>In his strong talons truss’d a silver swan. <br>Th’ Italians wonder at th’ unusual sight; <br>But, while he lags, and labors in his flight, <br>Behold, the dastard fowl return anew, 380 <br>And with united force the foe pursue: <br>Clam’rous around the royal hawk they fly, <br>And, thick’ning in a cloud, o’ershade the sky. <br>They cuff, they scratch, they cross his airy course; <br>Nor can th’ incumber’d bird sustain their force; 385 <br>But vex’d, not vanquish’d, drops the pond’rous prey, <br>And, lighten’d of his burthen, wings his way. <br>Th’ Ausonian bands with shouts salute the sight, <br>Eager of action, and demand the fight. <br>Then King Tolumnius, vers’d in augurs’ arts, 390 <br>Cries out, and thus his boasted skill imparts: <br>“At length ’t is granted, what I long desir’d! <br>This, this is what my frequent vows requir’d. <br>Ye gods, I take your omen, and obey. <br>Advance, my friends, and charge! I lead the way. 395 <br>These are the foreign foes, whose impious band, <br>Like that rapacious bird, infest our land: <br>But soon, like him, they shall be forc’d to sea <br>By strength united, and forego the prey. <br>Your timely succor to your country bring, 400 <br>Haste to the rescue, and redeem your king.” <br>He said; and, pressing onward thro’ the crew, <br>Pois’d in his lifted arm, his lance he threw. <br>The winged weapon, whistling in the wind, <br>Came driving on, nor miss’d the mark design’d. 405 <br>At once the cornel rattled in the skies; <br>At once tumultuous shouts and clamors rise. <br>Nine brothers in a goodly band there stood, <br>Born of Arcadian mix’d with Tuscan blood, <br>Gylippus’ sons: the fatal jav’lin flew, 410 <br>Aim’d at the midmost of the friendly crew. <br>A passage thro’ the jointed arms it found, <br>Just where the belt was to the body bound, <br>And struck the gentle youth extended on the ground. <br>Then, fir’d with pious rage, the gen’rous train 415 <br>Run madly forward to revenge the slain. <br>And some with eager haste their jav’lins throw; <br>And some with sword in hand assault the foe. <br>The wish’d insult the Latine troops embrace, <br>And meet their ardor in the middle space. 420 <br>The Trojans, Tuscans, and Arcadian line, <br>With equal courage obviate their design. <br>Peace leaves the violated fields, and hate <br>Both armies urges to their mutual fate. <br>With impious haste their altars are o’erturn’d, 425 <br>The sacrifice half-broil’d, and half-unburn’d. <br>Thick storms of steel from either army fly, <br>And clouds of clashing darts obscure the sky; <br>Brands from the fire are missive weapons made, <br>With chargers, bowls, and all the priestly trade. 430 <br>Latinus, frighted, hastens from the fray, <br>And bears his unregarded gods away. <br>These on their horses vault; those yoke the car; <br>The rest, with swords on high, run headlong to the war. <br>Messapus, eager to confound the peace, 435 <br>Spurr’d his hot courser thro’ the fighting prease, <br>At King Aulestes, by his purple known <br>A Tuscan prince, and by his regal crown; <br>And, with a shock encount’ring, bore him down. <br>Backward he fell; and, as his fate design’d, 440 <br>The ruins of an altar were behind: <br>There, pitching on his shoulders and his head, <br>Amid the scatt’ring fires he lay supinely spread. <br>The beamy spear, descending from above, <br>His cuirass pierc’d, and thro’ his body drove. 445 <br>Then, with a scornful smile, the victor cries: <br>“The gods have found a fitter sacrifice.” <br>Greedy of spoils, th’ Italians strip the dead <br>Of his rich armor, and uncrown his head. <br>Priest Corynæus, arm’d his better hand, 450 <br>From his own altar, with a blazing brand; <br>And, as Ebusus with a thund’ring pace <br>Advanc’d to battle, dash’d it on his face: <br>His bristly beard shines out with sudden fires; <br>The crackling crop a noisome scent expires. 455 <br>Following the blow, he seiz’d his curling crown <br>With his left hand; his other cast him down. <br>The prostrate body with his knees he press’d, <br>And plung’d his holy poniard in his breast. <br>While Podalirius, with his sword, pursued 460 <br>The shepherd Alsus thro’ the flying crowd, <br>Swiftly he turns, and aims a deadly blow <br>Full on the front of his unwary foe. <br>The broad ax enters with a crashing sound, <br>And cleaves the chin with one continued wound; 465 <br>Warm blood, and mingled brains, besmear his arms around. <br>An iron sleep his stupid eyes oppress’d, <br>And seal’d their heavy lids in endless rest. <br>But good Æneas rush’d amid the bands; <br>Bare was his head, and naked were his hands, 470 <br>In sign of truce: then thus he cries aloud: <br>“What sudden rage, what new desire of blood, <br>Inflames your alter’d minds? O Trojans, cease <br>From impious arms, nor violate the peace! <br>By human sanctions, and by laws divine, 475 <br>The terms are all agreed; the war is mine. <br>Dismiss your fears, and let the fight ensue; <br>This hand alone shall right the gods and you: <br>Our injur’d altars, and their broken vow, <br>To this avenging sword the faithless Turnus owe.” 480 <br>Thus while he spoke, unmindful of defense, <br>A winged arrow struck the pious prince. <br>But, whether from some human hand it came, <br>Or hostile god, is left unknown by fame: <br>No human hand or hostile god was found, 485 <br>To boast the triumph of so base a wound. <br>When Turnus saw the Trojan quit the plain, <br>His chiefs dismay’d, his troops a fainting train, <br>Th’ unhop’d event his heighten’d soul inspires: <br>At once his arms and coursers he requires; 490 <br>Then, with a leap, his lofty chariot gains, <br>And with a ready hand assumes the reins. <br>He drives impetuous, and, where’er he goes, <br>He leaves behind a lane of slaughter’d foes. <br>These his lance reaches; over those he rolls 495 <br>His rapid car, and crushes out their souls: <br>In vain the vanquish’d fly; the victor sends <br>The dead men’s weapons at their living friends. <br>Thus, on the banks of Hebrus’ freezing flood, <br>The God of Battles, in his angry mood, 500 <br>Clashing his sword against his brazen shield, <br>Let loose the reins, and scours along the field: <br>Before the wind his fiery coursers fly; <br>Groans the sad earth, resounds the rattling sky. <br>Wrath, Terror, Treason, Tumult, and Despair 505 <br>(Dire faces, and deform’d) surround the car; <br>Friends of the god, and followers of the war. <br>With fury not unlike, nor less disdain, <br>Exulting Turnus flies along the plain: <br>His smoking horses, at their utmost speed, 510 <br>He lashes on, and urges o’er the dead. <br>Their fetlocks run with blood; and, when they bound, <br>The gore and gath’ring dust are dash’d around. <br>Thamyris and Pholus, masters of the war, <br>He kill’d at hand, but Sthenelus afar: 515 <br>From far the sons of Imbracus he slew, <br>Glaucus and Lades, of the Lycian crew; <br>Both taught to fight on foot, in battle join’d, <br>Or mount the courser that outstrips the wind. <br>Meantime Eumedes, vaunting in the field, 520 <br>New fir’d the Trojans, and their foes repell’d. <br>This son of Dolon bore his grandsire’s name, <br>But emulated more his father’s fame; <br>His guileful father, sent a nightly spy, <br>The Grecian camp and order to descry: 525 <br>Hard enterprise! and well he might require <br>Achilles’ car and horses, for his hire: <br>But, met upon the scout, th’ Ætolian prince <br>In death bestow’d a juster recompense. <br>Fierce Turnus view’d the Trojan from afar, 530 <br>And launch’d his jav’lin from his lofty car; <br>Then lightly leaping down, pursued the blow, <br>And, pressing with his foot his prostrate foe, <br>Wrench’d from his feeble hold the shining sword, <br>And plung’d it in the bosom of its lord. 535 <br>“Possess,” said he, “the fruit of all thy pains, <br>And measure, at thy length, our Latian plains. <br>Thus are my foes rewarded by my hand; <br>Thus may they build their town, and thus enjoy the land!” <br>Then Dares, Butes, Sybaris he slew, 540 <br>Whom o’er his neck his flound’ring courser threw. <br>As when loud Boreas, with his blust’ring train, <br>Stoops from above, incumbent on the main; <br>Where’er he flies, he drives the rack before, <br>And rolls the billows on th’ Ægæan shore: 545 <br>So, where resistless Turnus takes his course, <br>The scatter’d squadrons bend before his force; <br>His crest of horses’ hair is blown behind <br>By adverse air, and rustles in the wind. <br>This haughty Phegeus saw with high disdain, 550 <br>And, as the chariot roll’d along the plain, <br>Light from the ground he leapt, and seiz’d the rein. <br>Thus hung in air, he still retain’d his hold, <br>The coursers frighted, and their course controll’d. <br>The lance of Turnus reach’d him as he hung, 555 <br>And pierc’d his plated arms, but pass’d along, <br>And only raz’d the skin. He turn’d, and held <br>Against his threat’ning foe his ample shield; <br>Then call’d for aid: but, while he cried in vain, <br>The chariot bore him backward on the plain. 560 <br>He lies revers’d; the victor king descends, <br>And strikes so justly where his helmet ends, <br>He lops the head. The Latian fields are drunk <br>With streams that issue from the bleeding trunk. <br>While he triumphs, and while the Trojans yield, 565 <br>The wounded prince is forc’d to leave the field: <br>Strong Mnestheus, and Achates often tried, <br>And young Ascanius, weeping by his side, <br>Conduct him to his tent. Scarce can he rear <br>His limbs from earth, supported on his spear. 570 <br>Resolv’d in mind, regardless of the smart, <br>He tugs with both his hands, and breaks the dart. <br>The steel remains. No readier way he found <br>To draw the weapon, than t’ inlarge the wound. <br>Eager of fight, impatient of delay, 575 <br>He begs; and his unwilling friends obey. <br>Iapis was at hand to prove his art, <br>Whose blooming youth so fir’d Apollo’s heart, <br>That, for his love, he proffer’d to bestow <br>His tuneful harp and his unerring bow. 580 <br>The pious youth, more studious how to save <br>His aged sire, now sinking to the grave, <br>Preferr’d the pow’r of plants, and silent praise <br>Of healing arts, before Phœbean bays. <br>Propp’d on his lance the pensive hero stood, 585 <br>And heard and saw, unmov’d, the mourning crowd. <br>The fam’d physician tucks his robes around <br>With ready hands, and hastens to the wound. <br>With gentle touches he performs his part, <br>This way and that, soliciting the dart, 590 <br>And exercises all his heav’nly art. <br>All soft’ning simples, known of sov’reign use, <br>He presses out, and pours their noble juice. <br>These first infus’d, to lenify the pain, <br>He tugs with pincers, but he tugs in vain. 595 <br>Then to the patron of his art he pray’d: <br>The patron of his art refus’d his aid. <br>Meantime the war approaches to the tents; <br>Th’ alarm grows hotter, and the noise augments: <br>The driving dust proclaims the danger near; 600 <br>And first their friends, and then their foes appear: <br>Their friends retreat; their foes pursue the rear. <br>The camp is fill’d with terror and affright: <br>The hissing shafts within the trench alight; <br>An undistinguish’d noise ascends the sky, 605 <br>The shouts of those who kill, and groans of those who die. <br>But now the goddess mother, mov’d with grief, <br>And pierc’d with pity, hastens her relief. <br>A branch of healing dittany she brought, <br>Which in the Cretan fields with care she sought: 610 <br>Rough is the stem, which woolly leafs surround; <br>The leafs with flow’rs, the flow’rs with purple crown’d, <br>Well known to wounded goats; a sure relief <br>To draw the pointed steel, and ease the grief. <br>This Venus brings, in clouds involv’d, and brews 615 <br>Th’ extracted liquor with ambrosian dews, <br>And od’rous panacee. Unseen she stands, <br>Temp’ring the mixture with her heav’nly hands, <br>And pours it in a bowl, already crown’d <br>With juice of med’c’nal herbs prepar’d to bathe the wound. 620 <br>The leech, unknowing of superior art <br>Which aids the cure, with this foments the part; <br>And in a moment ceas’d the raging smart. <br>Stanch’d is the blood, and in the bottom stands: <br>The steel, but scarcely touch’d with tender hands, 625 <br>Moves up, and follows of its own accord, <br>And health and vigor are at once restor’d. <br>Iapis first perceiv’d the closing wound, <br>And first the footsteps of a god he found. <br>“Arms! arms!” he cries; “the sword and shield prepare, 630 <br>And send the willing chief, renew’d, to war. <br>This is no mortal work, no cure of mine, <br>Nor art’s effect, but done by hands divine. <br>Some god our general to the battle sends; <br>Some god preserves his life for greater ends.” 635 <br>The hero arms in haste; his hands infold <br>His thighs with cuishes of refulgent gold: <br>Inflam’d to fight, and rushing to the field, <br>That hand sustaining the celestial shield, <br>This gripes the lance, and with such vigor shakes, 640 <br>That to the rest the beamy weapon quakes. <br>Then with a close embrace he strain’d his son, <br>And, kissing thro’ his helmet, thus begun: <br>“My son, from my example learn the war, <br>In camps to suffer, and in fields to dare; 645 <br>But happier chance than mine attend thy care! <br>This day my hand thy tender age shall shield, <br>And crown with honors of the conquer’d field: <br>Thou, when thy riper years shall send thee forth <br>To toils of war, be mindful of my worth; 650 <br>Assert thy birthright, and in arms be known, <br>For Hector’s nephew, and Æneas’ son.” <br>He said; and, striding, issued on the plain. <br>Anteus and Mnestheus, and a num’rous train, <br>Attend his steps; the rest their weapons take, 655 <br>And, crowding to the field, the camp forsake. <br>A cloud of blinding dust is rais’d around, <br>Labors beneath their feet the trembling ground. <br>Now Turnus, posted on a hill, from far <br>Beheld the progress of the moving war: 660 <br>With him the Latins view’d the cover’d plains, <br>And the chill blood ran backward in their veins. <br>Juturna saw th’ advancing troops appear, <br>And heard the hostile sound, and fled for fear. <br>Æneas leads; and draws a sweeping train, 665 <br>Clos’d in their ranks, and pouring on the plain. <br>As when a whirlwind, rushing to the shore <br>From the mid ocean, drives the waves before; <br>The painful hind with heavy heart foresees <br>The flatted fields, and slaughter of the trees; 670 <br>With like impetuous rage the prince appears <br>Before his doubled front, nor less destruction bears. <br>And now both armies shock in open field; <br>Osiris is by strong Thymbræus kill’d. <br>Archetius, Ufens, Epulon, are slain 675 <br>(All fam’d in arms, and of the Latian train) <br>By Gyas’, Mnestheus’, and Achates’ hand. <br>The fatal augur falls, by whose command <br>The truce was broken, and whose lance, embrued <br>With Trojan blood, th’ unhappy fight renew’d. 680 <br>Loud shouts and clamors rend the liquid sky, <br>And o’er the field the frighted Latins fly. <br>The prince disdains the dastards to pursue, <br>Nor moves to meet in arms the fighting few; <br>Turnus alone, amid the dusky plain, 685 <br>He seeks, and to the combat calls in vain. <br>Juturna heard, and, seiz’d with mortal fear, <br>Forc’d from the beam her brother’s charioteer; <br>Assumes his shape, his armor, and his mien, <br>And, like Metiscus, in his seat is seen. 690 <br>As the black swallow near the palace plies; <br>O’er empty courts, and under arches, flies; <br>Now hawks aloft, now skims along the flood, <br>To furnish her loquacious nest with food: <br>So drives the rapid goddess o’er the plains; 695 <br>The smoking horses run with loosen’d reins. <br>She steers a various course among the foes; <br>Now here, now there, her conqu’ring brother shows; <br>Now with a straight, now with a wheeling flight, <br>She turns, and bends, but shuns the single fight. 700 <br>Æneas, fir’d with fury, breaks the crowd, <br>And seeks his foe, and calls by name aloud: <br>He runs within a narrower ring, and tries <br>To stop the chariot; but the chariot flies. <br>If he but gain a glimpse, Juturna fears, 705 <br>And far away the Daunian hero bears. <br>What should he do! Nor arts nor arms avail; <br>And various cares in vain his mind assail. <br>The great Messapus, thund’ring thro’ the field, <br>In his left hand two pointed jav’lins held: 710 <br>Encount’ring on the prince, one dart he drew, <br>And with unerring aim and utmost vigor threw. <br>Æneas saw it come, and, stooping low <br>Beneath his buckler, shunn’d the threat’ning blow. <br>The weapon hiss’d above his head, and tore 715 <br>The waving plume which on his helm he wore. <br>Forced by this hostile act, and fir’d with spite, <br>That flying Turnus still declin’d the fight, <br>The Prince, whose piety had long repell’d <br>His inborn ardor, now invades the field; 720 <br>Invokes the pow’rs of violated peace, <br>Their rites and injur’d altars to redress; <br>Then, to his rage abandoning the rein, <br>With blood and slaughter’d bodies fills the plain. <br>What god can tell, what numbers can display, 725 <br>The various labors of that fatal day; <br>What chiefs and champions fell on either side, <br>In combat slain, or by what deaths they died; <br>Whom Turnus, whom the Trojan hero kill’d; <br>Who shar’d the fame and fortune of the field! 730 <br>Jove, could’st thou view, and not avert thy sight, <br>Two jarring nations join’d in cruel fight, <br>Whom leagues of lasting love so shortly shall unite! <br>Æneas first Rutulian Sucro found, <br>Whose valor made the Trojans quit their ground; 735 <br>Betwixt his ribs the jav’lin drove so just, <br>It reach’d his heart, nor needs a second thrust. <br>Now Turnus, at two blows, two brethren slew; <br>First from his horse fierce Amycus he threw: <br>Then, leaping on the ground, on foot assail’d 740 <br>Diores, and in equal fight prevail’d. <br>Their lifeless trunks he leaves upon the place; <br>Their heads, distilling gore, his chariot grace. <br>Three cold on earth the Trojan hero threw, <br>Whom without respite at one charge he slew: 745 <br>Cethegus, Tanais, Tagus, fell oppress’d, <br>And sad Onythes, added to the rest, <br>Of Theban blood, whom Peridia bore. <br>Turnus two brothers from the Lycian shore, <br>And from Apollo’s fane to battle sent, 750 <br>O’erthrew; nor Phœbus could their fate prevent. <br>Peaceful Menoetes after these he kill’d, <br>Who long had shunn’d the dangers of the field: <br>On Lerna’s lake a silent life he led, <br>And with his nets and angle earn’d his bread; 755 <br>Nor pompous cares, nor palaces, he knew, <br>But wisely from th’ infectious world withdrew: <br>Poor was his house; his father’s painful hand <br>Discharg’d his rent, and plow’d another’s land. <br>As flames among the lofty woods are thrown 760 <br>On diff’rent sides, and both by winds are blown; <br>The laurels crackle in the sputt’ring fire; <br>The frighted sylvans from their shades retire: <br>Or as two neighb’ring torrents fall from high; <br>Rapid they run; the foamy waters fry; 765 <br>They roll to sea with unresisted force, <br>And down the rocks precipitate their course: <br>Not with less rage the rival heroes take <br>Their diff’rent ways, nor less destruction make. <br>With spears afar, with swords at hand, they strike; 770 <br>And zeal of slaughter fires their souls alike. <br>Like them, their dauntless men maintain the field; <br>And hearts are pierc’d, unknowing how to yield: <br>They blow for blow return, and wound for wound; <br>And heaps of bodies raise the level ground. 775 <br>Murranus, boasting of his blood, that springs <br>From a long royal race of Latian kings, <br>Is by the Trojan from his chariot thrown, <br>Crush’d with the weight of an unwieldy stone: <br>Betwixt the wheels he fell; the wheels, that bore 780 <br>His living load, his dying body tore. <br>His starting steeds, to shun the glitt’ring sword, <br>Paw down his trampled limbs, forgetful of their lord. <br>Fierce Hyllus threaten’d high, and, face to face, <br>Affronted Turnus in the middle space: 785 <br>The prince encounter’d him in full career, <br>And at his temples aim’d the deadly spear; <br>So fatally the flying weapon sped, <br>That thro’ his brazen helm it pierc’d his head. <br>Nor, Cisseus, couldst thou scape from Turnus’ hand, 790 <br>In vain the strongest of th’ Arcadian band: <br>Nor to Cupentus could his gods afford <br>Availing aid against th’ Ænean sword, <br>Which to his naked heart pursued the course; <br>Nor could his plated shield sustain the force. 795 <br>Iolas fell, whom not the Grecian pow’rs, <br>Nor great subverter of the Trojan tow’rs, <br>Were doom’d to kill, while Heav’n prolong’d his date; <br>But who can pass the bounds prefix’d by fate? <br>In high Lyrnessus, and in Troy, he held 800 <br>Two palaces, and was from each expell’d: <br>Of all the mighty man, the last remains <br>A little spot of foreign earth contains. <br>And now both hosts their broken troops unite <br>In equal ranks, and mix in mortal fight. 805 <br>Seresthus and undaunted Mnestheus join <br>The Trojan, Tuscan, and Arcadian line: <br>Sea-born Messapus, with Atinas, heads <br>The Latin squadrons, and to battle leads. <br>They strike, they push, they throng the scanty space, 810 <br>Resolv’d on death, impatient of disgrace; <br>And, where one falls, another fills his place. <br>The Cyprian goddess now inspires her son <br>To leave th’ unfinish’d fight, and storm the town: <br>For, while he rolls his eyes around the plain 815 <br>In quest of Turnus, whom he seeks in vain, <br>He views th’ unguarded city from afar, <br>In careless quiet, and secure of war. <br>Occasion offers, and excites his mind <br>To dare beyond the task he first design’d. 820 <br>Resolv’d, he calls his chiefs; they leave the fight: <br>Attended thus, he takes a neighb’ring height; <br>The crowding troops about their gen’ral stand, <br>All under arms, and wait his high command. <br>Then thus the lofty prince: “Hear and obey, 825 <br>Ye Trojan bands, without the least delay <br>Jove is with us; and what I have decreed <br>Requires our utmost vigor, and our speed. <br>Your instant arms against the town prepare, <br>The source of mischief, and the seat of war. 830 <br>This day the Latian tow’rs, that mate the sky, <br>Shall level with the plain in ashes lie: <br>The people shall be slaves, unless in time <br>They kneel for pardon, and repent their crime. <br>Twice have our foes been vanquish’d on the plain: 835 <br>Then shall I wait till Turnus will be slain? <br>Your force against the perjur’d city bend. <br>There it began, and there the war shall end. <br>The peace profan’d our rightful arms requires; <br>Cleanse the polluted place with purging fires.” 840 <br>He finish’d; and, one soul inspiring all, <br>Form’d in a wedge, the foot approach the wall. <br>Without the town, an unprovided train <br>Of gaping, gazing citizens are slain. <br>Some firebrands, others scaling ladders bear, 845 <br>And those they toss aloft, and these they rear: <br>The flames now launch’d, the feather’d arrows fly, <br>And clouds of missive arms obscure the sky. <br>Advancing to the front, the hero stands, <br>And, stretching out to heav’n his pious hands, 850 <br>Attests the gods, asserts his innocence, <br>Upbraids with breach of faith th’ Ausonian prince; <br>Declares the royal honor doubly stain’d, <br>And twice the rites of holy peace profan’d. <br>Dissenting clamors in the town arise; 855 <br>Each will be heard, and all at once advise. <br>One part for peace, and one for war contends; <br>Some would exclude their foes, and some admit their friends. <br>The helpless king is hurried in the throng, <br>And, whate’er tide prevails, is borne along. 860 <br>Thus, when the swain, within a hollow rock, <br>Invades the bees with suffocating smoke, <br>They run around, or labor on their wings, <br>Disus’d to flight, and shoot their sleepy stings; <br>To shun the bitter fumes in vain they try; 865 <br>Black vapors, issuing from the vent, involve the sky. <br>But fate and envious fortune now prepare <br>To plunge the Latins in the last despair. <br>The queen, who saw the foes invade the town, <br>And brands on tops of burning houses thrown, 870 <br>Cast round her eyes, distracted with her fear— <br>No troops of Turnus in the field appear. <br>Once more she stares abroad, but still in vain, <br>And then concludes the royal youth is slain. <br>Mad with her anguish, impotent to bear 875 <br>The mighty grief, she loathes the vital air. <br>She calls herself the cause of all this ill, <br>And owns the dire effects of her ungovern’d will; <br>She raves against the gods; she beats her breast; <br>She tears with both her hands her purple vest: 880 <br>Then round a beam a running noose she tied, <br>And, fasten’d by the neck, obscenely died. <br>Soon as the fatal news by Fame was blown, <br>And to her dames and to her daughter known, <br>The sad Lavinia rends her yellow hair 885 <br>And rosy cheeks; the rest her sorrow share: <br>With shrieks the palace rings, and madness of despair. <br>The spreading rumor fills the public place: <br>Confusion, fear, distraction, and disgrace, <br>And silent shame, are seen in ev’ry face. 890 <br>Latinus tears his garments as he goes, <br>Both for his public and his private woes; <br>With filth his venerable beard besmears, <br>And sordid dust deforms his silver hairs. <br>And much he blames the softness of his mind, 895 <br>Obnoxious to the charms of womankind, <br>And soon seduc’d to change what he so well design’d; <br>To break the solemn league so long desir’d, <br>Nor finish what his fates, and those of Troy, requir’d. <br>Now Turnus rolls aloof o’er empty plains, 900 <br>And here and there some straggling foes he gleans. <br>His flying coursers please him less and less, <br>Asham’d of easy fight and cheap success. <br>Thus half-contented, anxious in his mind, <br>The distant cries come driving in the wind, 905 <br>Shouts from the walls, but shouts in murmurs drown’d; <br>A jarring mixture, and a boding sound. <br>“Alas!” said he, “what mean these dismal cries? <br>What doleful clamors from the town arise?” <br>Confus’d, he stops, and backward pulls the reins. 910 <br>She who the driver’s office now sustains, <br>Replies: “Neglect, my lord, these new alarms; <br>Here fight, and urge the fortune of your arms: <br>There want not others to defend the wall. <br>If by your rival’s hand th’ Italians fall, 915 <br>So shall your fatal sword his friends oppress, <br>In honor equal, equal in success.” <br>To this, the prince: “O sister—for I knew <br>The peace infring’d proceeded first from you; <br>I knew you, when you mingled first in fight; 920 <br>And now in vain you would deceive my sight— <br>Why, goddess, this unprofitable care? <br>Who sent you down from heav’n, involv’d in air, <br>Your share of mortal sorrows to sustain, <br>And see your brother bleeding on the plain? 925 <br>For to what pow’r can Turnus have recourse, <br>Or how resist his fate’s prevailing force? <br>These eyes beheld Murranus bite the ground: <br>Mighty the man, and mighty was the wound. <br>I heard my dearest friend, with dying breath, 930 <br>My name invoking to revenge his death. <br>Brave Ufens fell with honor on the place, <br>To shun the shameful sight of my disgrace. <br>On earth supine, a manly corpse he lies; <br>His vest and armor are the victor’s prize. 935 <br>Then, shall I see Laurentum in a flame, <br>Which only wanted, to complete my shame? <br>How will the Latins hoot their champion’s flight! <br>How Drances will insult and point them to the sight! <br>Is death so hard to bear? Ye gods below, 940 <br>(Since those above so small compassion show,) <br>Receive a soul unsullied yet with shame, <br>Which not belies my great forefather’s name!” <br>He said; and while he spoke, with flying speed <br>Came Sages urging on his foamy steed: 945 <br>Fix’d on his wounded face a shaft he bore, <br>And, seeking Turnus, sent his voice before: <br>“Turnus, on you, on you alone, depends <br>Our last relief: compassionate your friends! <br>Like lightning, fierce Æneas, rolling on, 950 <br>With arms invests, with flames invades the town: <br>The brands are toss’d on high; the winds conspire <br>To drive along the deluge of the fire. <br>All eyes are fix’d on you: your foes rejoice; <br>Ev’n the king staggers, and suspends his choice; 955 <br>Doubts to deliver or defend the town, <br>Whom to reject, or whom to call his son. <br>The queen, on whom your utmost hopes were plac’d, <br>Herself suborning death, has breath’d her last. <br>’T is true, Messapus, fearless of his fate, 960 <br>With fierce Atinas’ aid, defends the gate: <br>On ev’ry side surrounded by the foe, <br>The more they kill, the greater numbers grow; <br>An iron harvest mounts, and still remains to mow. <br>You, far aloof from your forsaken bands, 965 <br>Your rolling chariot drive o’er empty sands.” <br>Stupid he sate, his eyes on earth declin’d, <br>And various cares revolving in his mind: <br>Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast, <br>And sorrow mix’d with shame, his soul oppress’d; 970 <br>And conscious worth lay lab’ring in his thought, <br>And love by jealousy to madness wrought. <br>By slow degrees his reason drove away <br>The mists of passion, and resum’d her sway. <br>Then, rising on his car, he turn’d his look, 975 <br>And saw the town involv’d in fire and smoke. <br>A wooden tow’r with flames already blaz’d, <br>Which his own hands on beams and rafters rais’d; <br>And bridges laid above to join the space, <br>And wheels below to roll from place to place. 980 <br>“Sister, the Fates have vanquish’d: let us go <br>The way which Heav’n and my hard fortune show. <br>The fight is fix’d; nor shall the branded name <br>Of a base coward blot your brother’s fame. <br>Death is my choice; but suffer me to try 985 <br>My force, and vent my rage before I die.” <br>He said; and, leaping down without delay, <br>Thro’ crowds of scatter’d foes he freed his way. <br>Striding he pass’d, impetuous as the wind, <br>And left the grieving goddess far behind. 990 <br>As when a fragment, from a mountain torn <br>By raging tempests, or by torrents borne, <br>Or sapp’d by time, or loosen’d from the roots— <br>Prone thro’ the void the rocky ruin shoots, <br>Rolling from crag to crag, from steep to steep; 995 <br>Down sink, at once, the shepherds and their sheep: <br>Involv’d alike, they rush to nether ground; <br>Stunn’d with the shock they fall, and stunn’d from earth rebound: <br>So Turnus, hasting headlong to the town, <br>Should’ring and shoving, bore the squadrons down. 1000 <br>Still pressing onward, to the walls he drew, <br>Where shafts, and spears, and darts promiscuous flew, <br>And sanguine streams the slipp’ry ground embrue. <br>First stretching out his arm, in sign of peace, <br>He cries aloud, to make the combat cease: 1005 <br>“Rutulians, hold; and Latin troops, retire! <br>The fight is mine; and me the gods require. <br>’T is just that I should vindicate alone <br>The broken truce, or for the breach atone. <br>This day shall free from wars th’ Ausonian state, 1010 <br>Or finish my misfortunes in my fate.” <br>Both armies from their bloody work desist, <br>And, bearing backward, form a spacious list. <br>The Trojan hero, who receiv’d from fame <br>The welcome sound, and heard the champion’s name, 1015 <br>Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls, <br>Greedy of war where greater glory calls. <br>He springs to fight, exulting in his force; <br>His jointed armor rattles in the course. <br>Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows, 1020 <br>Or Father Apennine, when, white with snows, <br>His head divine obscure in clouds he hides, <br>And shakes the sounding forest on his sides. <br>The nations, overaw’d, surcease the fight; <br>Immovable their bodies, fix’d their sight. 1025 <br>Ev’n death stands still; nor from above they throw <br>Their darts, nor drive their batt’ring-rams below. <br>In silent order either army stands, <br>And drop their swords, unknowing, from their hands. <br>Th’ Ausonian king beholds, with wond’ring sight, 1030 <br>Two mighty champions match’d in single fight, <br>Born under climes remote, and brought by fate, <br>With swords to try their titles to the state. <br>Now, in clos’d field, each other from afar <br>They view; and, rushing on, begin the war. 1035 <br>They launch their spears; then hand to hand they meet; <br>The trembling soil resounds beneath their feet: <br>Their bucklers clash; thick blows descend from high, <br>And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly. <br>Courage conspires with chance, and both ingage 1040 <br>With equal fortune yet, and mutual rage. <br>As when two bulls for their fair female fight <br>In Sila’s shades, or on Taburnus’ height; <br>With horns adverse they meet; the keeper flies; <br>Mute stands the herd; the heifers roll their eyes, 1045 <br>And wait th’ event; which victor they shall bear, <br>And who shall be the lord, to rule the lusty year: <br>With rage of love the jealous rivals burn, <br>And push for push, and wound for wound return; <br>Their dewlaps gor’d, their sides are lav’d in blood; 1050 <br>Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow thro’ the wood: <br>Such was the combat in the listed ground; <br>So clash their swords, and so their shields resound. <br>Jove sets the beam; in either scale he lays <br>The champions’ fate, and each exactly weighs. 1055 <br>On this side, life and lucky chance ascends; <br>Loaded with death, that other scale descends. <br>Rais’d on the stretch, young Turnus aims a blow <br>Full on the helm of his unguarded foe: <br>Shrill shouts and clamors ring on either side, 1060 <br>As hopes and fears their panting hearts divide. <br>But all in pieces flies the traitor sword, <br>And, in the middle stroke, deserts his lord. <br>Now ’t is but death, or flight; disarm’d he flies, <br>When in his hand an unknown hilt he spies. 1065 <br>Fame says that Turnus, when his steeds he join’d, <br>Hurrying to war, disorder’d in his mind, <br>Snatch’d the first weapon which his haste could find. <br>’T was not the fated sword his father bore, <br>But that his charioteer Metiscus wore. 1070 <br>This, while the Trojans fled, the toughness held; <br>But, vain against the great Vulcanian shield, <br>The mortal-temper’d steel deceiv’d his hand: <br>The shiver’d fragments shone amid the sand. <br>Surpris’d with fear, he fled along the field, 1075 <br>And now forthright, and now in orbits wheel’d; <br>For here the Trojan troops the list surround, <br>And there the pass is clos’d with pools and marshy ground. <br>Æneas hastens, tho’ with heavier pace— <br>His wound, so newly knit, retards the chase, 1080 <br>And oft his trembling knees their aid refuse— <br>Yet, pressing foot by foot, his foe pursues. <br>Thus, when a fearful stag is clos’d around <br>With crimson toils, or in a river found, <br>High on the bank the deep-mouth’d hound appears, 1085 <br>Still opening, following still, where’er he steers; <br>The persecuted creature, to and fro, <br>Turns here and there, to scape his Umbrian foe: <br>Steep is th’ ascent, and, if he gains the land, <br>The purple death is pitch’d along the strand. 1090 <br>His eager foe, determin’d to the chase, <br>Stretch’d at his length, gains ground at ev’ry pace; <br>Now to his beamy head he makes his way, <br>And now he holds, or thinks he holds, his prey: <br>Just at the pinch, the stag springs out with fear; 1095 <br>He bites the wind, and fills his sounding jaws with air: <br>The rocks, the lakes, the meadows ring with cries; <br>The mortal tumult mounts, and thunders in the skies. <br>Thus flies the Daunian prince, and, flying, blames <br>His tardy troops, and, calling by their names, 1100 <br>Demands his trusty sword. The Trojan threats <br>The realm with ruin, and their ancient seats <br>To lay in ashes, if they dare supply <br>With arms or aid his vanquish’d enemy: <br>Thus menacing, he still pursues the course, 1105 <br>With vigor, tho’ diminish’d of his force. <br>Ten times already round the listed place <br>One chief had fled, and t’other giv’n the chase: <br>No trivial prize is play’d; for on the life <br>Or death of Turnus now depends the strife. 1110 <br>Within the space, an olive tree had stood, <br>A sacred shade, a venerable wood, <br>For vows to Faunus paid, the Latins’ guardian god. <br>Here hung the vests, and tablets were ingrav’d, <br>Of sinking mariners from shipwrack sav’d. 1115 <br>With heedless hands the Trojans fell’d the tree, <br>To make the ground inclos’d for combat free. <br>Deep in the root, whether by fate, or chance, <br>Or erring haste, the Trojan drove his lance; <br>Then stoop’d, and tugg’d with force immense, to free 1120 <br>Th’ incumber’d spear from the tenacious tree; <br>That, whom his fainting limbs pursued in vain, <br>His flying weapon might from far attain. <br>Confus’d with fear, bereft of human aid, <br>Then Turnus to the gods, and first to Faunus pray’d: 1125 <br>“O Faunus, pity! and thou Mother Earth, <br>Where I thy foster son receiv’d my birth, <br>Hold fast the steel! If my religious hand <br>Your plant has honor’d, which your foes profan’d, <br>Propitious hear my pious pray’r!” He said, 1130 <br>Nor with successless vows invok’d their aid. <br>Th’ incumbent hero wrench’d, and pull’d, and strain’d; <br>But still the stubborn earth the steel detain’d. <br>Juturna took her time; and, while in vain <br>He strove, assum’d Meticus’ form again, 1135 <br>And, in that imitated shape, restor’d <br>To the despairing prince his Daunian sword. <br>The Queen of Love, who, with disdain and grief, <br>Saw the bold nymph afford this prompt relief, <br>T’ assert her offspring with a greater deed, 1140 <br>From the tough root the ling’ring weapon freed. <br>Once more erect, the rival chiefs advance: <br>One trusts the sword, and one the pointed lance; <br>And both resolv’d alike to try their fatal chance. <br>Meantime imperial Jove to Juno spoke, 1145 <br>Who from a shining cloud beheld the shock: <br>“What new arrest, O Queen of Heav’n, is sent <br>To stop the Fates now lab’ring in th’ event? <br>What farther hopes are left thee to pursue? <br>Divine Æneas, (and thou know’st it too,) 1150 <br>Foredoom’d, to these celestial seats are due. <br>What more attempts for Turnus can be made, <br>That thus thou ling’rest in this lonely shade? <br>Is it becoming of the due respect <br>And awful honor of a god elect, 1155 <br>A wound unworthy of our state to feel, <br>Patient of human hands and earthly steel? <br>Or seems it just, the sister should restore <br>A second sword, when one was lost before, <br>And arm a conquer’d wretch against his conqueror? 1160 <br>For what, without thy knowledge and avow, <br>Nay more, thy dictate, durst Juturna do? <br>At last, in deference to my love, forbear <br>To lodge within thy soul this anxious care; <br>Reclin’d upon my breast, thy grief unload: 1165 <br>Who should relieve the goddess, but the god? <br>Now all things to their utmost issue tend, <br>Push’d by the Fates to their appointed end. <br>While leave was giv’n thee, and a lawful hour <br>For vengeance, wrath, and unresisted pow’r, 1170 <br>Toss’d on the seas, thou couldst thy foes distress, <br>And, driv’n ashore, with hostile arms oppress; <br>Deform the royal house; and, from the side <br>Of the just bridegroom, tear the plighted bride: <br>Now cease at my command.” The Thund’rer said; 1175 <br>And, with dejected eyes, this answer Juno made: <br>“Because your dread decree too well I knew, <br>From Turnus and from earth unwilling I withdrew. <br>Else should you not behold me here, alone, <br>Involv’d in empty clouds, my friends bemoan, 1180 <br>But, girt with vengeful flames, in open sight <br>Engag’d against my foes in mortal fight. <br>’T is true, Juturna mingled in the strife <br>By my command, to save her brother’s life— <br>At least to try; but, by the Stygian lake, 1185 <br>(The most religious oath the gods can take,) <br>With this restriction, not to bend the bow, <br>Or toss the spear, or trembling dart to throw. <br>And now, resign’d to your superior might, <br>And tir’d with fruitless toils, I loathe the fight. 1190 <br>This let me beg (and this no fates withstand) <br>Both for myself and for your father’s land, <br>That, when the nuptial bed shall bind the peace, <br>(Which I, since you ordain, consent to bless,) <br>The laws of either nation be the same; 1195 <br>But let the Latins still retain their name, <br>Speak the same language which they spoke before, <br>Wear the same habits which their grandsires wore. <br>Call them not Trojans: perish the renown <br>And name of Troy, with that detested town. 1200 <br>Latium be Latium still; let Alba reign <br>And Rome’s immortal majesty remain.” <br>Then thus the founder of mankind replies <br>(Unruffled was his front, serene his eyes): <br>“Can Saturn’s issue, and heav’n’s other heir, 1205 <br>Such endless anger in her bosom bear? <br>Be mistress, and your full desires obtain; <br>But quench the choler you foment in vain. <br>From ancient blood th’ Ausonian people sprung, <br>Shall keep their name, their habit, and their tongue. 1210 <br>The Trojans to their customs shall be tied: <br>I will, myself, their common rites provide; <br>The natives shall command, the foreigners subside. <br>All shall be Latium; Troy without a name; <br>And her lost sons forget from whence they came. 1215 <br>From blood so mix’d, a pious race shall flow, <br>Equal to gods, excelling all below. <br>No nation more respect to you shall pay, <br>Or greater off’rings on your altars lay.” <br>Juno consents, well pleas’d that her desires 1220 <br>Had found success, and from the cloud retires. <br>The peace thus made, the Thund’rer next prepares <br>To force the wat’ry goddess from the wars. <br>Deep in the dismal regions void of light, <br>Three daughters at a birth were born to Night: 1225 <br>These their brown mother, brooding on her care, <br>Indued with windy wings to flit in air, <br>With serpents girt alike, and crown’d with hissing hair. <br>In heav’n the Diræ call’d, and still at hand, <br>Before the throne of angry Jove they stand, 1230 <br>His ministers of wrath, and ready still <br>The minds of mortal men with fears to fill, <br>Whene’er the moody sire, to wreak his hate <br>On realms or towns deserving of their fate, <br>Hurls down diseases, death and deadly care, 1235 <br>And terrifies the guilty world with war. <br>One sister plague if these from heav’n he sent, <br>To fright Juturna with a dire portent. <br>The pest comes whirling down: by far more slow <br>Springs the swift arrow from the Parthian bow, 1240 <br>Or Cydon yew, when, traversing the skies, <br>And drench’d in pois’nous juice, the sure destruction flies. <br>With such a sudden and unseen a flight <br>Shot thro’ the clouds the daughter of the night. <br>Soon as the field inclos’d she had in view, 1245 <br>And from afar her destin’d quarry knew, <br>Contracted, to the boding bird she turns, <br>Which haunts the ruin’d piles and hallow’d urns, <br>And beats about the tombs with nightly wings, <br>Where songs obscene on sepulchers she sings. 1</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>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=479713" data-title="The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 12 de Publius Vergilius Maro" data-description="WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field, 
Their armies broken, and their courage quell’d, 
Himself become the mark of public spite, 
His honor question’d for the promis’d fight; 
The more he was with vulgar hate oppress’d, 5 
The more h..."></div>
</div>
</div>