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The Aeneid of Virgil
Book Nine
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ARGUMENT
Certified by Juno of the absence of AEneas, Turnus leads his forces
against the Trojans. When they entrench themselves within their
lines, he attempts to burn their ships, which are thereupon changed
by Cybele into nymphs, and float away (1-144). Turnus undaunted
harangues his men and beleaguers the camp (145-198). Nisus and
Euryalus scheme, and petition, to sally forth to find AEneas and a
rescue. Setting out with promise of rich rewards if successful, they
surprise the Latin Camp but are themselves in turn surprised and
slain (199-513). Their victims are buried; their heads are paraded
on pikes before the Trojan Camp, to the agony of the mother of
Euryalus (514-576). The allies assault the camp. Virgil invokes
Calliope to describe the fray (577-603). The collapse of a tower and
losses on both sides prelude Ascanius' baptism of fire. He kills his
man (604-765). The brothers Pandarus and Bitias open the camp-gates
in defiance. Bitias falls, and Pandarus, retreating, shuts Turnus
within the camp, who kills him, but failing to let in his friends
is eventually hard pressed (766-882). The Trojans rally round
Mnestheus and Serestus. Turnus plunges into the river and with
difficulty escapes by swimming (883-927).
I. While thus in distant quarter moves the scene,
Down to the daring Turnus from the skies
Comes Iris, sent by the Saturnian queen.
Him seated in a hallowed vale, where lies
His father's grove, Pilumnus', she espies.
There straight with rosy lips the daughter fair
Of Thaumas hails the hero: "Turnus, rise.
Behold what none of all the Gods would dare
To promise, rolling Time hath proffered without prayer.
II. "Fleet left and friends, AEneas to the court
Of Palatine Evander speeds his way,
Nay, the far towns of Corythus hath sought,
And arms the Lydian swains to meet the fray!
Now call for steel and chariot. Why delay?
Surprise the camp and capture it."--She said,
And straight on balanced pinions soared away,
Cleaving the bow. The warrior marked, and spread
His hands, and thus with prayer pursued her as she fled:
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III. "O Iris, Heaven's fair glory, who hath sent
Thee hither? whence this sudden light so clear?
I see the firmament asunder rent,
And planets wandering in the polar sphere.
Blest omens, hail! I follow thee, whoe'er
Thou art, that call'st to battle." He arose
With joy, and stepping to the streamlet near,
Scoops up the water in his palms, and bows
In suppliance to the Gods, and burdens Heaven with vows.
IV. Now all the host were marching on the meads,
Well-horsed, and panoplied in golden gear,
With broidered raiment. Brave Messapus leads
The van, the sons of Tyrrheus close the rear,
And Turnus in mid column shakes his spear.
Slow moves the host, as when his seven-fold head
Great Ganges lifts in silence, calm and clear,
Or Nile, whose flood the fruitful soil hath fed,
Ebbs from the fattened fields, and hides him in his bed.
V. Far off, the Teucrians from their camp descried
The gathering dust-cloud on the plains appear.
Then brave Caicus from a bastion cried,
"What dark mass, rolling towards us, have we here?
Arm, townsmen, arm! Bring quick the sword and spear,
And mount the battlements, and man the wall.
The foemen, ho!" And with a mighty cheer
The Teucrians, hurrying at the warning call,
Pour in through all the gates, and muster on the wall.
VI. So, parting, wise AEneas gave command,
Should chance surprise them, with their chief away,
To shun the field, nor battle hand to hand,
But safe behind their sheltering earthworks stay,
And, guarding wall and rampart, stand at bay.
So now, though passion and indignant hate
Prompt to engage, his mandate they obey,
And bar each inlet, and secure each gate,
And, armed, in sheltering towers their enemies await.
VII. Turnus, with twenty horsemen, left the rest
To lag behind, and near the town-gate drew
All unforeseen. A Thracian steed he pressed,
Dappled with white; a crest of scarlet hue
High o'er his golden helmet flamed in view.
Loudly he shrills in anger to his train,
"Who first with me will at the foemen--who?
See there!" and, rising hurls his spear amain,
Sign of the fight begun, and pricks along the plain.
VIII. With shouts his comrades welcome the attack,
And clamouring fiercely follow in his train.
They marvel at the Teucrian hearts so slack,
That none will dare to trust the open plain,
And fight like men, but in the camp remain,
And safe behind their sheltering rampart stay.
Now here, now there, fierce Turnus in disdain
Rides round the walls, and, searching for a way,
Where way is none, still strives an entrance to essay.
IX. As wolf, in ambush by the fold, sore beat
With winds, at midnight howls amid the rain.
The lambs beneath their mothers safely bleat.
He, mad with rage, and faint with famine's pain,
Thirsts for their blood, and ramps at them in vain;
So raves fierce Turnus, as his eyes survey
The walls and camp. Grief burns in every vein,
As round he looks for access and a way
To shake the Teucrians out, and strew them forth to slay.
X. The fleet, as by the flanking camp it lies,
Fenced by the river and the mounded sand,
He marks, then loudly to the burning cries,
And with a flaming pinestock fills his hand,
Himself aflame. His presence cheers the band.
All set to work, and strip the watchfires bare:
Each warrior arms him with a murky brand:
The smoking torch shoots up a pitchy glare,
And clouds of mingled soot the Fire-god flings in air.
XI. Say, Muse, what god from Teucrians turned the flame,
Such fiery havoc. O, the tale declare;
Old is its faith, but deathless is its fame.
When first AEneas did his fleet prepare
'Neath Phrygian Ida, through the seas to fare,
To Jove the Berecynthian queen divine
Spake thus, 'tis said, urging a suppliant's prayer:
"O Lord Olympian, hearken and incline.
Grant what thy mother asks, who made Olympus thine.
XII. "A wood, beloved for many a year, was mine,
A grove of sacrifice, on Ida's height,
Darksome with maple and the swart pitch-pine.
This wood, these trees, my ever-dear delight,
Gladly I gave to speed the Dardan's flight.
But doubts and fears my troubled mind assail.
O calm them; may a parent's prayer have might,
And this their birth upon our hills avail
To guide their voyage safe, and shield them from the gale."
XIII. Then spake her son, who wields the starry sphere,
"Mother, what would'st thou of the Fates demand?
What art thou seeking for these Teucrians here?
Shall vessels, fashioned by a mortal hand,
The gift of immortality command?
And shall AEneas sail the uncertain main,
Himself of safety certain, and his band?
Did ever God such privilege attain?
Nay, rather, when at length, Ausonian ports they gain,
XIV. "Their duty done, and Ocean's dangers o'er,
What ships soe'er shall have escaped, to bear
The Dardan chief to the Laurentian shore,
Shall lose their perishable form, and wear
The sea-nymphs' shape, like Galatea fair
And Doto, when they breast the deep." He spake,
And by his brother's Stygian river sware,
Whose pitchy torrent swells the infernal lake,
And with his awful nod made all Olympus shake.
XV. The day was come, the fated time complete,
When Turnus' insults bade the Mother rise
And ward the firebrands from her sacred fleet.
A sudden light now flashed upon their eyes,
A cloud from eastward ran athwart the skies,
With choirs of Ida, and a voice through air
Pealed forth, and filled both armies with surprise,
"Trojans, be calm; your needless pains forbear,
Nor arm to save these ships; their safety is my care.
XVI. "Sooner shall Turnus make the ocean blaze,
Than these my pines. Go, sea-nymphs, and be free,
Your mother bids you." Each at once obeys,
Their cables snapt, like dolphins in their glee,
They dip their beaks, and dive beneath the sea.
Hence, where before along the shore had stood
The brazen poops--O marvellous to see!--
So many now, with maiden forms endued,
Rise up, and reappear, and float upon the flood.
XVII. All stand aghast; amid the startled steeds
Messapus quails, and Tiber checks his tide,
And, hoarsely murmuring, from the deep recedes.
Yet fails not Turnus, prompt to cheer or chide.
"To Teucrians point these prodigies," he cried,
"They bide not, they, Rutulian sword and brand.
E'en Jove their wonted succour hath denied.
Barred is the sea, and half the world is banned;
Earth, too, is ours, such hosts Italia's chiefs command.
XVIII. "I fear not Fate, nor what the Gods can do.
Suffice for Venus and the Fates the day
When Trojans touched Ausonia. I have, too,
My Fates, these robbers of my bride to slay.
Not Atreus' sons alone, and only they,
Have known a sorrow and a smart so keen,
And armed for vengeance. But enough, ye say,
Once to have fallen? One trespass then had been
Enough, and made them loathe all womankind, I ween.
XIX. "Lo, these who think a paltry wall can save,
A narrow ditch can thwart us,--these, so bold,
With but a span betwixt them and the grave!
Saw they not Troy, which Neptune reared of old,
Sink down in ruin, as the flames uprolled?
But ye, my chosen, who with me will scale
Yon wall, and storm their trembling camp? Behold,
No aid divine nor ships of thousand sail,
Nor Vulcan's arms I need, o'er Trojans to prevail.
XX. "Nay; let Etrurians join them, one and all,
No raid, nor robbed Palladium they shall fear,
Nor sentries stabbed beneath the night's dark pall.
No horse shall hide us; by the daylight clear
Our flames shall ring their ramparts. Dream they here
To find such Danaan striplings, weak as they
Whom Hector baffled till the tenth long year?
But now, since near its ending draws the day,
Take rest, and bide prepared the dawning of the fray."
XXI. His outposts plants Messapus, set to guard
The gates with watchfires, and the walls invest.
Twice seven captains round the camp keep ward,
Each with a hundred warriors of the best,
With golden armour and a blood-red crest.
These to and fro pace sentinels, and share
The watch in turn; those, on the sward at rest,
Tilt the brass wine-bowl. Bright the watch-fires flare,
And games and festive mirth the wakeful night outwear.
XXII. Forth look the Trojans from their walls, and line
The heights in arms, and test with hurrying fear
The gates, and bridges to the bulwarks join,
And bring up darts and javelins. Mnestheus here,
There bold Serestus is at hand to cheer,
They, whom AEneas left to rule the host,
Should ill betide them, or the foe draw near.
Thus all in turn, where peril pressed the most,
Keep watch along the wall, dividing danger's post.
XXIII. Nisus, the bold, stood warder of the gate,
The son of Hyrtacus, whom Ida fair,
The huntress, on AEneas sent to wait,
Quick with light arrows and the flying spear.
Beside him stood Euryalus, his fere;
Scarce on his cheeks the down of manhood grew,
The comeliest youth that donned the Trojan gear.
Love made them one; as one, to fight they flew,
As one they guard the gates, companions tried and true.
XXIV. Then Nisus: "Is it that the Gods inspire,
Euryalus, this fever of the breast?
Or make we gods of but a wild desire?
Battle I seek, or some adventurous quest,
And scorn to dally with inglorious rest,
See yonder the Rutulians, stretched supine,
What careless confidence is theirs, oppressed
With wine and slumber; how the watch-fires shine,
Faint, few, and far between; what silence holds the line.
XXV. "Learn now the plan and purpose of my mind,
'AEneas should be summoned,' one and all,--
Camp, council,--cry, and messengers would find
To take sure tidings and our chief recall.
If thee the meed I ask for shall befall,--
Bare fame be mine--methink the pathway lies
By yonder mound to Pallanteum's wall."
Then, fired with zeal and smitten with surprise,
Thus to his ardent friend Euryalus replies:
XXVI. "Me, me would Nisus from such deeds debar?
Am I to send thee singly to thy fate?
Not thus my sire Opheltes, bred to war,
Brought up and taught me, when in evil strait
Was Troy, and Argives battered at her gate.
Not thus to great AEneas was I known,
His trusty follower through the paths of Fate.
Here dwells a soul that dares the light disown,
And counteth life well sold, to purchase such renown."
XXVII. "For _thee_ I feared not," Nisus made reply,
"'Twere shame, indeed, to doubt a friend so tried.
So may great Jove, or whosoe'er on high
With equal eyes this exploit shall decide,
Restore me soon in triumph to thy side.
But if--for divers hazards underlie
So bold a venture--evil chance betide,
Or angry deity my hopes bely,
Thee Heaven preserve, whose youth far less deserves to die.
XXVIII. "Mine be a friend to lay me, if I fall,
Rescued or ransomed, in my native ground;
Or, if hard fortune grudge a boon so small,
To make fit honour to my shade redound,
And o'er the lost one rear an empty mound.
Ne'er let a childless mother owe to me
A pang so keen, and such a cureless wound.
She, who, alone of mothers, dared for thee
Acestes' walls to leave, and braved the stormy sea."
XXIX. "My purpose holds and shifts not," he replies,
"These empty pretexts cannot shake me--no.
Hence, let us haste." And to the guard he cries,
Who straight march up, and forth the two friends go
To find the chief. All creatures else below
Lay wrapt in sleep, forgetting toil and care;
But sleepless still, in presence of the foe,
Troy's chosen chiefs urge council, what to dare,
Whom to AEneas send, the desperate news to bear.
XXX. There, in the middle of the camp and plain,
Each shield in hand, and leaning on his spear,
They stand; when lo! in eager haste the twain,
Craving an audience instantly, appear.
High matter theirs, and worth a pause to hear.
Then first Iulus greets the breathless pair,
And calls to Nisus. "Dardans, lend an ear,"
Outspake the son of Hyrtacus, "Be fair,
Nor rate by youthful years the proffered aid we bear.
XXXI. "See, hushed with wine and slumber, lies the foe.
Where by the sea-gate, parts the road in twain,
A stealthy passage from the camp we know.
Black roll the smoke-clouds, and the watch-fires wane.
Leave us to try our fortune, soon again
Yourselves shall see, from Pallanteum's town,
AEneas, rich with trophies of the slain.
Plain lies the path, for oft the chase hath shown
From darksome vales the town, and all the stream is known."
XXXII. "O Gods!" exclaimed Aletes, wise and old,
"Not yet ye mean to raze the Trojan race,
Who give to Troy such gallant hearts and bold."
So saying, he clasped them in a fond embrace,
And bathed in tears his features and his face.
"What gifts can match such valour? Deeds so bright
Heaven and your hearts with fairest meed shall grace.
The rest our good AEneas shall requite,
Nor young Ascanius e'er such services shall slight."
XXXIII. "Yea, gallant Nisus," adds Ascanius there,
"I, too, who count my father's safety mine,
Adjure thee, by the household gods I swear
Of old Assaracus and Teucer's line,
And hoary Vesta's venerable shrine,
Whate'er of fortune or of hopes remain,
To thee and thy safe-keeping I resign.
Bring back my sire in safety; care nor pain
Shall ever vex me more, if he return again.
XXXIV. "Two goblets will I give thee, richly wrought
Of sculptured silver, beauteous to behold,
The spoils my sire from sacked Arisbe brought,
With two great talents of the purest gold,
Two tripods, and a bowl of antique mould,
The gift at Carthage of the Tyrian queen.
Nay, more, if e'er Italia's realm I hold,
And share the spoils of conquest,--thou hast seen
The steed that Turnus rode, his arms of golden sheen,--
XXXV. "That steed, that shield, that crest of crimson hue,
I keep for thee,--thine, Nisus, from to-day.
Twelve lovely matrons and male captives too,
Each with his armour, shall my sire convey,
With all the lands that own Latinus' sway.
But thee, whose years the most with mine agree,
Brave youth! my heart doth welcome. Come what may,
In peace or war my comrade shalt thou be.
Thine are my thoughts, my deeds; fame tempts me but for thee."
XXXVI. "No time, I ween," Euryalus replies,
"Shall shame the promise of this bold design,
Come weal, come woe. One boon alone I prize
Beyond all gifts. A mother dear is mine,
A mother, sprung from Priam's ancient line.
Troy nor the walls of King Acestes e'er
Stayed her from following, when I crossed the brine.
Her of this risk--whate'er the risk I dare--
Weetless, I left behind, nor breathed a parting prayer.
XXXVII. "Night bear me witness; by thy hand I swear,
I cannot bear a parent's tears. But O!
Be thou her solace, comfort her despair;
This hope permit, and bolder will I go,
To face all hazards and confront the foe."
Grief smote the Dardans, and the tears ran down,
And young Iulus, pierced with kindred woe,
Outweeps them all; in filial love thus shown,
Touched to the heart, he traced the likeness of his own.
XXXVIII. "All, all," he cries, "that such a deed can claim,
I promise for thy guerdon. Mine shall be
Thy mother,--mine, Creusa save in name;
Nor small her praise to bear a son like thee.
Howe'er shall Fortune the event decree,
I swear--so swore my father--by my head,
What gifts I pledge, if thou return, to thee,
These, if thou fall, thy mother in thy stead,
These shall thy kinsmen keep, the heirlooms of the dead."
XXXIX. Weeping, the gilded falchion he untied,
Lycaon's work, with sheath of ivory fair.
To Nisus Mnestheus gave a lion's hide,
His helmet changed Aletes. Forth they fare,
And round them to the gates, with vows and prayer,
The band of chiefs their parting steps attend;
And, manlier than his years, Iulus fair
Full many a message to his sire would send.
Vain wish! his fruitless words the scattering breezes rend.
XL. So past the trench, upon the shadowy plain
Forth issuing, to the foemen's tents they creep,
Fatal to many, ere the camp they gain.
Warriors they see, who drank the wine-bowl deep,
Beside their tilted chariots stretched in sleep,
And reins, and wheels and wine-jars tost away,
And arms and men in many a mingled heap.
Then Nisus: "Up, Euryalus, and slay!
Haste, for the hour is ripe, and yonder lies the way.
XLI. "Watch thou, lest hand be lifted in the rear.
There, flanked with swaths of corpses, will I reap
Thy pathway; broad shall be the lane and clear."
So saying, he checks his voice, and, aiming steep,
Drives at proud Rhamnes. On a piled-up heap
Of carpets lay the warrior, and his breast
Heaved with hard breathing and the sounds of sleep:
Augur and king, whom Turnus loved the best.
Not all his augur's craft could now his doom arrest.
XLII. Three slaves beside him, lying heedless here
Amidst their arms, he numbers with the slain,
Then Remus' page, and Remus' charioteer,
Caught by their steeds. The weapon, urged amain,
Swoops down, and cleaves their drooping necks in twain.
Their master's head he severs with a blow,
And leaves the trunk, still heaving, on the plain,
And o'er the cushions and the ground below,
Wet with the warm, black gore, the spouting streams outflow.
XLIII. Lamus and Lamyras he slew outright,
And fair Serranus, as asleep he lay,
Tamed by the God; for long and late that night
The youth had gamed. Ah! happier, had his play
Outlived the night, and lasted till the day.
Like some starved lion, that on the teeming fold
Springs, mad with hunger, and the feeble prey,
All mute with terror, in his clutch doth hold,
And rends with bloody mouth, and riots uncontrolled,
XLIV. Such havoc wrought Euryalus, so flamed
His fury. Fadus and Herbesus died,
And Abaris, and many a wight unnamed,
Caught unaware. But Rhoetus woke, and tried
In fear behind a massive bowl to hide.
Full in the breast, or e'er the wretch upstood,
The shining sword-blade to the hilt he plied,
Then drew it back death-laden. Wine and blood
Gush out, the dying lips disgorge the crimson flood.
XLV. Thence, burning, to Messapus' camp he speeds,
Where faint the watch-fires flicker far away,
And tethered on the herbage graze the steeds,
When briefly thus speaks Nisus, fain to stay
The lust of battle and mad thirst to slay:
"Cease we; the light, our enemy, is near.
Vengeance is glutted; we have hewn our way."
Bowls, solid silver armour here and there
They leave behind untouched, and arras rich and rare.
XLVI. The arms and belt of Rhamnes, bossed with gold,
Which Caedicus, his friendship to attest,
Sent to Tiburtine Remulus of old,
Whose grandson took it, as a last bequest
(Rutulians thence these spoils of war possessed)--
These trophies seized Euryalus, and braced
The useless trappings on his valorous breast,
And on his head Messapus' helm he placed,
Light and with graceful plumes; and from the camp they haste.
XLVII. Meanwhile from out Laurentum rides a train
With news of Turnus, while the main array
With marshalled ranks is lingering on the plain,
Three hundred shieldsmen Volscens' lead obey.
Now to the ramparts they have found their way,
When lo, to leftward, hurrying from their raid,
They mark the youths amid the twilight grey.
His glittering helm Euryalus betrayed,
That flashed the moonbeams back, and pierced the glimmering shade.
XLVIII. Nor passed the sight unheeded. Shrill and loud
"Stand, who are ye in armour dight, and why?
What make ye there?" cries Volscens from the crowd,
"And whither wend ye?" Naught the youths reply,
But swiftly to the bordering forest fly,
And trust to darkness. Then around each way
The horsemen ride, all outlet to deny;
Circling, like huntsmen, closely as they may,
They watch the well-known turns, and wait the expected prey.
XLIX. Shagg'd with rough brakes and sable ilex, spread
The wood, and, glimmering in the twilight grey,
Through broken tracks a narrow pathway led.
The shadowy boughs, the cumbrous spoils delay
Euryalus, and fear mistakes the way.
Nisus, unheeding, through the foemen flies,
And gains the place,--called Alba now--where lay
Latinus' pastures; then with back-turned eyes
Stands still, and seeks in vain his absent friend, and cries:
L. "Where, in what quarter, have I left thee? Where,
Euryalus, shall I follow thee? What clue
Shall trace the mazes of this silvan snare,
The tangled path unravelling?" Back he flew,
Picking his footsteps with observant view,
And roamed the silent brushwood. Steeds he hears,
The noise, the signs of foemen who pursue.
A moment more, and, bursting on his ears,
There came a shout, and lo, Euryalus appears.
LI. Him, in false ways, amid the darkness, ta'en,
The gathering band with sudden rush o'erbear.
Poor Nisus sees him struggling, but in vain.
What should he do? By force of arms how dare
His friend to rescue? Shall he face them there,
And rush upon the foemen's swords, to die,
And welcome wounds that win a death so fair?
His spear he poises, and with upturned eye
And stalwart arm drawn back, invokes the Moon on high:
LII. "Come thou, Latonia, succour my distress!
Guardian of groves, bright glory of the sky,
If e'er with offerings for his son's success
My sire thine altars hath adorned, or I
Enriched them from the chase, and hung on high
Spoils in thy deep-domed temple, or arrayed
Thy roof with plunder; make this troop to fly,
And guide my weapons through the air." He prayed,
And, winged with strength, the steel went whistling through the shade.
LIII. It struck the shield of Sulmo at his side;
There broke the shaft and splintered. Down he rolled
Pierced through the midriff, and his life's warm tide
Poured from his bosom, and the long sobs told
Its heavings, ere the stiffening limbs grew cold.
All look around and tremble, when again
The youth another javelin, waxing bold,
Aimed from his ear-tip. Through the temples twain
Of Tagus whizzed the steel, and warmed within the brain.
LIV. Fierce Volscens raves with anger, nor espies
The wielder of the weapon, nor which way
To rush, aflame with fury. "Thou," he cries,
"Thy blood meanwhile the penalty shall pay
For both," and with his falchion bared to slay
Springs at Euryalus. Then, wild with fear,
Poor Nisus shouts, in frenzy of dismay,
Nor longer in the dark can hide, nor bear
A pang of grief so keen--to lose a friend so dear,
LV. "Me--me, behold the doer! mine the deed!
Kill me, Rutulians. By this hand they fell.
He could not--durst not. By the skies I plead,
By yon bright stars, that witnessed what befell,
He only loved his hapless friend too well."
Vain was his prayer; the weapon, urged amain,
Pierced through his ribs and snowy breast. Out swell
Dark streams of gore his lovely limbs to stain;
The sinking neck weighs o'er the shoulders of the slain.
LVI. So doth the purple floweret, dying, droop,
Smit by the ploughshare. So the poppy frail
On stricken stalk its languid head doth stoop,
And bows o'erladen with the drenching hail.
But onward now, through thickest ranks of mail,
Rushed Nisus. Volscens only will he slay;
He waits for none but Volscens. They assail
From right and left, and crowd his steps to stay.
He whirls his lightning brand, and presses to his prey.
LVII. Ere long he meets him clamouring, and down
His throat he drives the griding sword amain,
And takes his life, ere laying down his own.
Then, pierced he sinks upon his comrade slain,
And death's long slumber puts an end to pain.
O happy pair! if aught my verse ensure,
No length of time shall make your memory wane,
While, throned upon the Capitol secure,
The AEneian house shall reign, and Roman rule endure.
LVIII. Weeping, the victors took the spoils and prey,
And back dead Volscens to their camp they bore.
Nor less the wailing in the camp that day,
Brave Rhamnes found, and many a captive more,
Numa, Serranus, weltering in their gore.
Thick round the dead and dying, where the plain
Reeks freshly with the frothing blood, they pour.
Sadly they know Messapus' spoils again,
The trappings saved with sweat, the helmet of the slain.
LIX. Now, rising from Tithonus' saffron couch,
The Goddess of the dawn with orient ray
Sprinkled the earth, and 'neath the wakening touch
Of sunlight, all things stand revealed to-day.
Turnus himself, accoutred for the fray,
Wakes up his warriors with the morning light.
At once each captain marshals in array
His company, in brazen arms bedight,
And rumours whet their rage, and prick them to the fight.
LX. Nay more, aloft upon the javelin's end,
With shouts they bear--a miserable sight!--
The heads, the heads of Nisus and his friend.
On the walls' left--the river flanked their right--
The sturdy Trojans stand arrayed for fight,
And line the trenches and each lofty tower,
Sad, while the foemen, clamorous with delight,
March onward, with the heroes' heads before,
Well known--alas! too well--and dropping loathly gore.
LXI. Now Fame, winged herald, through the wildered town
Swift to Euryalus' mother speeds her way.
Life's heat forsakes her; from her hand drops down
The shuttle, and the task-work rolls away.
Forth with a shriek, like women in dismay,
Rending her hair, in frantic haste she flies,
And seeks the ramparts and the war's array,
Heedless of darts and dangers and surprise,
Heedless of armed men, and fills the heaven with cries.
LXII. "Thou--is it thou, Euryalus, my own?
Thou, the late solace of my age? Ah, why
So cruel? Could'st thou leave me here alone,
Nor let thy mother bid a last good-bye?
Now left a prey on Latin soil to lie
Of dogs and birds, nor I, thy mother, there
To wash thy wounds, and close thy lightless eye,
And shroud thee in the robe I wrought so fair,
Fain with the busy loom to soothe an old wife's care!
LXIII. "Where shall I follow thee? Thy corpse defiled,
Thy mangled limbs--where are they? Woe is me!
Is this then all of what was once my child?
Was it for this I roamed the land and sea?
Pierce _me_, Rutulians; hurl your darts at me,
Me first, if ye a mother's love can know.
Great Sire of Heaven, have pity! set me free.
Hurl with thy bolt to Tartarus below
This hateful head, that longs to quit a world of woe!"
LXIV. So wails the mother, weeping and undone,
And sorrow smites each warrior, as he hears,
Each groaning, as a father for his son.
Grief runs, like wildfire, through the Trojan peers,
And numbs their courage, and augments their fears.
Then, fain the spreading sorrow to allay,
Ilioneus and Iulus, bathed in tears
Call Actor and Idaeus; gently they
The aged dame lift up, and to her home convey.
LXV. Now terribly the brazen trumpet pealed
Its summons, and the war-shout rent the air.
On press the Volscians, locking shield to shield,
And fill the trenches, and the breastwork tear.
These plant their ladders for assault, where'er
A gap, just glimmering, shows the line less dense.
Vain hope! the Teucrians with their darts are there.
Stout poles they ply, and thrust them from the fence,
Trained by a lingering siege, and tutored to defence.
LXVI. Stones, too, they roll, to crush the serried shields:
Blithely the warriors bear the storm below,
Yet not for long; for, see, the penthouse yields.
Down on the midst, where thickest press the foe,
The Teucrians, rolling, with a crash let go
A ponderous mass, that opens to the light
The jointed shields, and lays the warriors low.
Nor care they longer in the dark to fight,
But vie with distant darts to sweep the rampart's height.
LXVII. Pine-stock in hand, Mezentius hurls the flame;
There, fierce Messapus rends the palisade,--
Tamer of steeds, from Neptune's loins he came,--
And shouts aloud for ladders to invade.
Aid me, Calliope; ye Muses, aid
To sing of Turnus and his deeds that day,
The deaths he wrought, the havoc that he made,
And whom each warrior singled for his prey;
Roll back the war's great scroll, the mighty leaves display.
LXVIII. Built high, with lofty gangways, stood a tower,
Fit post of vantage, which the Latins vied,
With utmost effort and with all their power,
To capture and destroy, while armed inside
With stones, the Trojans through the loopholes plied
Their missiles. Turnus, 'mid the foremost, cast
A blazing brand, and, fastening to the side,
Up went the flame; from floor to floor it passed,
Clung to and licked the posts, and maddened with the blast.
LXIX. Within 'twas hurrying and tumultuous fright,
As, crowding backward, they retreat before
The advancing flames, and vainly long for flight.
Lo! toppling suddenly, the tower went o'er,
And shook the wide air with reverberant roar.
Half-dead, the huge mass following amain,
They come to earth, stabbed by the darts they bore,
Or pierced by splinters through the breast. Scarce twain
Escape--Helenor one, and Lycus--from the slain.
LXX. Of these Helenor,--whom to Lydia's lord
By stealth his slave, the fair Licymnia, bore,
And sent to Ilium, where a simple sword
And plain, white shield, yet unrenowned, he wore,--
He, when he sees, around him and before,
The Latin hosts, as when in fierce disdain,
Hemmed round by huntsmen, in his rage the boar
O'erleaps the spears, so, where the thickest rain
The foemen's darts, springs forth Helenor to be slain.
LXXI. But fleeter far, young Lycus hastes to slip
Through swords, through foes, and gains the walls, and tries
To climb them, and a comrade's hand to grip.
With foot and spear behind him, as he flies,
Comes Turnus. Scornfully the victor cries,
"Mad fool! to fly, whom I have doomed to fall;
Think'st thou to baffle Turnus of his prize?"
Therewith he grasps him hanging, and withal
Down with his victim drags huge fragments of the wall.
LXXII. E'en so some snowy swan, or timorous hare
Jove's armour-bearer, swooping from the sky,
Grips in his talons, and aloft doth bear.
So, where apart the folded weanlings lie,
Swift at some lamb the warrior-wolf doth fly,
And leaves the mother, bleating in her woe.
Loud rings the noise of battle. With a cry
The foe press on; these fill the trench below,
These to the topmost towers the blazing firebrands throw.
LXXIII. Ilioneus with a rock's huge fragment quelled
Lucetius, creeping to the gate below
With fire. Asylas Corynaeus felled,
Liger Emathion, one skilled to throw
The flying dart, one famous with the bow.
Caenus--brief triumph!--made Ortygius fall,
With Dioxippus, Turnus lays him low,
Then Itys, Clonius, Promolus withal,
Sagaris, and Idas last, the warder of the wall.
LXXIV. There, slain by Capys, poor Privernus lay,
Grazed by Themilla's javelin; with a start
The madman flung his trusty shield away,
And clapped his left hand to the wounded part,
Fain, as he thought, to ease him of the smart.
Thereat, a light-winged arrow, unespied,
Whirred on the wind. It missed the warrior's heart,
But pierced his hand, and pinned it to his side,
And, entering, clave the lung, and with a gasp he died.
LXXV. With broidered scarf of Spanish crimson, stood
A comely youth, young Arcens was his name,
Sent by his father, from Symaethus' flood,
And nurtured in his mother's grove, he came,
Where, rich and kind, Palicus' altars flame.
His lance laid by, thrice whirling round his head
The whistling thong, Mezentius took his aim.
Clean through his temples hissed the molten lead,
And prostrate in the dust, the gallant youth lay dead.
LXXVI. Then first, 'tis said, in war Ascanius drew
His bow, wherewith in boyish days he plied
The flying game. His hand Numanus slew,
Called Remulus, to Turnus late allied,
For Turnus' youngest sister was his bride.
He, puffed with new-won royalty and proud,
Stalked in the forefront of the fight, and cried
With random clamour and big words and loud,
Fain by his noise to show his grandeur to the crowd.
LXXVII. "Think ye no shame, poor cowards, thus again
Behind your sheltering battlements to stand,
Twice-captured Phrygians! and to plant in vain
These walls, to shield you from the foemen's hand?
Lo, these the varlets who our wives demand!
What God, what madness blinded you, that e'er
Ye thought to venture to Italia's land?
No wily-worded Ithacan is near;
Far other foes than he or Atreus' sons are here.
LXXVIII. "Our babes are hardened in the frost and flood,
Strong is the stock and sturdy whence we came.
Our boys from morn till evening scour the wood,
Their joy is hunting, and the steed to tame,
To bend the bow, the flying shaft to aim.
Patient of toil, and used to scanty cheer,
Our youths with rakes the stubborn glebe reclaim,
Or storm the town. Through life we grasp the spear.
In war it strikes the foe, in peace it goads the steer.
LXXIX. "Age cannot stale, nor creeping years impair
Stout hearts as ours, nor make our strength decay.
Our hoary heads the heavy helmet bear.
Our joy is in the foray, day by day
To reap fresh plunder, and to live by prey.
Ye love to dance, and dally with the fair,
In saffron robes with purple flounces gay.
Your toil is ease, and indolence your care,
And tunics hung with sleeves, and ribboned coifs ye wear.
LXXX. "Go Phrygian women, for ye are not men!
Hence, to your Dindymus, and roam her heights
With Corybantian eunuchs! Get ye, then,
And hear the flute, harsh-grating, that invites
With twy-mouthed music to her lewd delights,
Where boxen pipe and timbrel from afar
Shriek forth the summons to her sacred rites.
Put by the sword, poor dotards as ye are,
Leave arms to men, like us, nor meddle with the war."
LXXXI. Such taunts Ascanius brooked not. Stung with pride,
A shaft he fitted to the horse-hair twine,
And, turning, stood with outstretched arms, and cried:
"Bless, Jove omnipotent, this bold design:
Aid me, and yearly offerings shall be thine.
A milk-white steer--I bind me to the vow--
Myself will lead, the choicest, to thy shrine,
Tall as his mother, and with gilded brow,
And butting horns, and hoofs, that spurn the sand e'en now."
LXXXII. Jove heard, and leftward, where the sky was blue,
Thundered aloud. At once the fateful bow
Twanged; with a whirr the fateful arrow flew,
And pierced the head of Remulus. "Now go,
And teach thy proud tongue to insult a foe,
And scoff at Trojan valour. _This_ reply
Twice-captured Phrygians to thy taunts bestow."
Ascanius spoke; the Teucrians with a cry,
Press on, their joyous hearts uplifting to the sky.
LXXXIII. Meanwhile, Apollo from his cloudy car
The Ausonian host, and leaguered town descries,
And calls the youthful conqueror from afar:
"Hail to thy maiden prowess; yonder lies
Thy path, brave boy, to glory and the skies.
O sons of Gods, and sire of Gods to be,
All wars shall cease beneath the race to rise
From great Assaracus. Nor thine, nor thee
Shall narrow Troy contain; so stands the Fate's decree."
LXXXIV. He spake, and through the breathing air shot down,
And sought Ascanius, now a god no more,
But shaped like aged Butes, whilom known
The servant of the Dardan king, who bore
Anchises' shield, and waited at his door,
Then left to guard Ascanius. Such in view
Apollo seemed; such clanging arms he wore;
Such were his hoary tresses, voice, and hue,
And these his words, as near the fiery youth he drew:
LXXXV "Enough, to live, and see Numanus bleed,
Child of AEneas! This, thy valour's due,
Great Phoebus grants, nor stints a rival's meed.
Now cease."--He spake, and vanished from their view.
His arms divine the Dardan chieftains knew,
And heard the quiver rattle in his flight.
So, warned by Phoebus' presence, back they drew
The fiery youth, then plunged into the fight.
Death seems a welcome risk, and danger a delight.
LXXXVI. Shouts fill the walls and outworks; casque and shield
Clash; bows are bent, and javelins hurled amain:
Fierce grows the fight, and weapons strew the field.
So fierce what time the Kid-star brings the rain,
The storm, from westward rising, beats the plain:
So thick with hail, the clouds, asunder riven,
Pour down a deluge on the darkened main,
When Jove, upon his dreaded south-wind driven
Stirs up the watery storm, and rends the clouds of heaven.
LXXXVII. Pandarus and Bitias, whom in Ida's grove
The nymph Iaera to Alcanor bare,
Tall as their mountains or the pines of Jove,
Fling back the gate committed to their care,
And bid the foemen enter, if they dare.
With waving plumes, and armed from top to toe,
In front, beside the gateway, stand the pair,
Tall as twin oaks, with nodding crests, that grow
Where Athesis' sweet stream or Padus' waters flow.
LXXXVIII. Up rush the foemen to the open gate,
Quercens, Aquicolus, in armour bright,
Brave Haemon, Tmarus, eager and elate,
In troops they come, in troops they turn in flight,
Or fall upon the threshold, slain outright.
Now fiercer swells the discord, louder grows
The noise of strife, as, hastening to unite,
The sons of Troy their banded ranks oppose,
And battle hand to hand and, sallying, charge the foes.
LXXXIX. Elsewhere to Turnus, as he raged, and marred
The ranks, came tidings of the foe, elate
With new-wrought carnage, and the gates unbarred.
Forth from his work he rushes, grim with hate,
To seek the brothers, and the Dardan gate.
Here brave Antiphates, the first in view
(The bastard offspring of Sarpedon great,
Borne by a Theban) with his dart he slew;
Swift through the yielding air the Italian cornel flew.
XC. Down through his throat into the chest it passed.
Out from the dark pit gushed a foaming tide;
The cold steel, warming in the lung, stood fast.
Then Merops, Erymas, Aphidnus died,
And Bitias, fierce with flaming eyes of pride.
No dart for him; no dart his life had ta'en.
A spear phalaric, thundering, pierced his side.
Nor bulls' tough hides, nor corselet's twisted chain,
Twice linked with golden scales the monstrous blow sustain.
XCI. Prone falls the giant in a heap. Earth groans,
His shield above him thunders. Such the roar,
When falls the solid pile of quarried stones,
Sunk in the sea off Baiae's echoing shore;
So vast the ruin, when the waves close o'er,
And the black sands mount upward, as the block,
Dashed headlong, settles on the deep-sea floor,
And Prochyta and Arime's steep rock,
Piled o'er Typhoeus, quake and tremble with the shock.
XCII. Now Mars armipotent the Latins lends
Fresh heart and strength, but Fear and black Dismay
And Flight upon the Teucrian troops he sends.
From right and left they hurry to the fray,
And o'er each spirit comes the War-God's sway.
But when brave Pandarus saw his brother's fate,
And marked the swerving fortune of the day,
He set his broad-built shoulders to the gate;
The groaning hinges yield, and backward rolls the weight.
XCIII. Full many a friend without the camp he leaves,
Sore straitened in the combat; these, the rest,
Saved like himself, he rescues and receives.
Madman! who, blind to Turnus, as he pressed
Among them, made the dreaded foe his guest.
Fierce as a tiger in the fold, he preys.
Loud ring his arms; his helmet's blood-red crest
Waves wide; strange terrors from his eyes outblaze,
And on his dazzling shield the living lightning plays.
XCIV. That hated form, those giant limbs too plain
The Trojans see, and stand aghast with fear.
Then, fired with fury for his brother slain,
Forth leaping, shouts huge Pandarus with a jeer,
"No Queen Amata's bridal halls are here;
No Ardea this; around the camps the foe.
No flight for thee." He, smiling, calm of cheer,
"Come, if thou durst; full soon shall Priam know
Thou too hast found a new Achilles to thy woe."
XCV. He spake. Then Pandarus a javelin threw,
Cased in its bark, with hardened knots and dried.
The breezes caught the missile as it flew;
Saturnian Juno turned the point aside,
And fixed it in the gate. "Ha! bravely tried!
Not so _this_ dart shalt thou escape; not so
Send I the weapon and the wound." He cried,
And, sword in hand, uprising to the blow,
Between the temples clave the forehead of his foe.
XCVI. The beardless cheeks, so fearful was the gash,
Gape wide. Aloud his clanging arms resound.
Earth groans beneath, as prone, amid the splash
Of blood and brains, he sprawls upon the ground,
And right and left hangs, severed by the wound,
His dying head. In terror, strewn afar,
The Trojans fly. Then, then had Turnus found
Time and the thought to burst the town-gate's bar,
That day had seen the last of Trojans and the war.
XCVII. But lust of death, and vengeance unappeased
Urged on the conqueror. Phalaris he slew,
Then hamstrung Gyges, and their javelins seized,
And hurled them at their comrades, as they flew,
For Juno nerved and strengthened him anew.
Here Halys fell, and hardy Phlegeus there,
Pierced through his shield. Alcander down he threw,
Prytanis, Noemon, Halius unaware,
As on the walls they stood, and roused the battle's blare.
XCVIII. Slain, too, was Lynceus, as he ran for aid,
Cheering his friends. Back-handed, with fierce sway,
His right knee bent, he swung the sweeping blade,
And head and helmet tumbled far away.
Fell Clytius, Amycus expert to slay
The wood-deer, and the venomed barb to wing,
And Creteus, too, who loved the minstrel's lay,
The Muses' friend, whose joy it was to sing
Of steeds, and arms and men, and wake the lyre's sweet string.
XCIX. Then meet at length, their kinsmen's slaughter known,
Brave Mnestheus, and Serestus fierce, and see
Their friends in flight, and foemen in the town.
Then Mnestheus cries: "Friends, whither would ye flee?
What other walls, what further town have we?
Shame on the thought, shall then a single foe,
One man alone, O townsmen! ay, and he
Cooped thus within your ramparts, work such woe,
Such deaths--and unavenged? and lay your choicest low?
C. "Is yours no pity, sluggard souls? no shame
For Troy's old gods, and for your native land,
And for the great AEneas, and his name?"
Fired by his words, they gather heart, and stand,
Shoulder to shoulder, rallying in a band.
Backward, but slowly he retreats, too proud
To turn, and seeks the ramparts hard at hand,
Girt by the stream; while, clamouring aloud,
Fiercer the foe press on, and larger grows the crowd.
CI. As when an angry lion, held at bay,
And pressed with galling javelins, half in fright,
But grim and glaring, step by step gives way,
Too wroth to turn, too valorous for flight,
And fain, but impotent, to wreak his spite
Against his armed assailants; even so,
Slowly and wavering, Turnus quits the fight,
Boiling with rage; yet twice he charged the foe,
Twice round the walls in rout they fled before his blow.
CII. But now new hosts come swarming from the town,
Nor Juno dares his failing force to stay,
For Jove in wrath sent heavenly Iris down,
Stern threats to bear, should Turnus disobey,
And longer in the Trojan camp delay.
No more his shield, nor strength of hand avail
To ward the storm; so thick the javelins play.
Loud rings his helmet with the driving hail;
Rent with the volleyed stones, the solid brass-plates fail.
CIII. Reft are his plumes, and shattered by the blows
The shield-boss. Faster still the darts they pour,
And thundering Mnestheus towers amid his foes.
Trembling with pain, exhausted, sick, and sore,
He gasps for breath. Sweat streams from every pore,
And, black with dust, from all his limbs descends.
Headlong, at length, he plunges from the shore,
Clad all in arms. The yellow river bends,
And bears him, cleansed from blood, triumphant to his friends.
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