Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  Allace, the hevy byrdyng of warldly geir,

  That nevir hour may suffir nor permyt

  Thar possessour in rest nor peax to syt.

  Allace, the miserabill chance and hard estait

  Of kyngly honour sa mysfortunate:

  The chance of kyngis standis onderlowt,

  To mekill dreid ay subiect, and in dowt

  From thar estait to dekey suddanly,

  That all quyet and eyss is thame deny.

  O Turnus, quhat avalit the to steir

  In huge bargan so and feir of weir

  All Italy with sik deray atanys,

  And to perturbe the strangis Eneadanys,

  Constrenyng thame hard batal to assay?

  Or quhat avalis now, I pray the say,

  Fortill haue brokkyn, violate or schent

  The haly promyss and the bandis gent

  Of peax and concord oblisit and sworn?

  Quhou was thi mynd to rent and all to torn

  With samekill impaciens on this wyss,

  That the lyst move the weir, but myne avyss,

  With tha pepill, sa strang, bald and sage,

  That beyn discendit of the goddys lynnage,

  And at command of Iove the god of thundir

  Ar hyddir careit? and forto mak sic blundir,

  That wilfully, but motyve, so belyve

  Enforsyt the thame from our cost to dryve?

  And forto brek the band that promyst we

  Of our douchtir till our gude son Ene?

  And with thy hand hard bargan rayss and steir,

  Quhen I planely denyit to move weir?

  Quhou was sa gret foly and dotage

  Involuyt in thy mynd with fury rage?

  Quhou oft, quhen thou to awfull batale wend

  Amyd thy rowtis, and on thy steid ascend

  In schynand armour arrayt all at rycht,

  I assayt the to withdraw from fycht,

  And feill tymys defendit the and forbad

  To go the way that thou begunnyn had,

  And all efferit, quhen thou wald depart,

  Amyd the et the stoppit with sair hart!

  Bot all for nocht; no thyng mycht styntyng the.

  Quhat I haue sufferit sen syne, quhou standis with me,

  Our cyte wallys wytnessyng fut het,

  With tenementis and biggyngis half doun bet,

  And the large feldis strowit quhite of banys,

  And haill the pissans of Italianys

  All wastit and distroyit thus, allake!

  The huge slauchtir and myschews wrake,

  And all the fludis walxyn red or brovn

  Of mannys quelling gret and occisioun,

  The lang abasit quakyng feirfull dreid

  And hard laubour, quhilk in extreme neid

  I in myne age sa oft hess ondertane,

  In sa feill dangeris quhar remed was nane.

  Bot now, Turnus, heir thou lyggis ded:

  Quhar is the nobill renovn of thy outhed?

  And quhar is thyne excellent hie curage?

  Quhiddir is went thy strenth and vassallage?

  Quhar is the staitly bewty of thy face?

  Quhar is thy schynand figur now, allace?

  Of thy fair vissage quhidder ar gone but weir

  Thy plesand forret schaply and eyn cleir?

  Ha, quhou feill terys and wofull dolouris smart

  Sall thou, Turnus, rendir to Dawnus hart!

  And with quhou large wepyng, duyll and wa

  Ourfleit sal all the cite of Ardea!

  Bot thai sal nocht behald the with sik lak

  Througyrd with schamefull wond caucht in thi bak,

  Ne noyt the of na cowardyss in thar mynd,

  Nor that thou was degenerit owt of kynd,

  And to thy wofull fader, will of red,

  At lest this salbe solace of thy ded,

  All thocht thy harmys doith hym soir smart,

  That gret Eneas swerd hess persyt thy hart.”

  And sayand thus, with terys of piete

  Hys chekis baith and face ourchargit he:

  Syne, turnand hym towart the mekill rowt,

  The reuthfull corps of this ilk Turnus stowt

  Bad turss away and cary furth onon

  Ontill hys faderis cite wobygon,

  And commandit to do the body cald

  All funerall pomp, eftir the vsage ald.

  Quhou Turnus corps till Ardea was sent,

  Quhilk was by suddand fyre brynt doun and schent.

  The Rutilianys onon all in a rowt

  This ded corps, that slayn lay, start abowt;

  The gentill body of this stowt ongkeir

  Thai haue adressit and laid on a rich beir,

  And with hym eik feill takynnys by the way,

  Reft from Troianys in the bargan, bair thai,

  Baith helmys, horss, swerdis and other geir,

  Scheildis, gittarnys and mony stalwart speir.

  Syne eftir this hys wery cart furth went,

  Of Troian slauchter and hait blude all bysprent.

  Furth haldis wepand Metiscus, the carter,

  As he that in the craft was not to leir,

  Ledand the steid bedowyn all of swete

  And chekis wait of flotterand terys grete,

  Quhilk steyd had careit Turnus oft tofor

  As victor hame with gret triumphe and glor

  Full pompusly, apon ane other wyss,

  Efter fervent slauchter of his ennymyss.

  ondir otheris, about hym inveroun,

  Baris thar armour and scheildis turnyt dovn;

  The remanent syne of the haill barnage

  Followys wepand, knycht, swane, man and page,

  With habundans of mony trigland teyr

  Wetand thar brestis, wedis and other geir;

  And thus wery furth went thai euery wycht

  Amyd the dirk silens of the nyght,

  Betand thame self with wondir drery cheir.

  And Kyng Latyn with all thame with hym wer

  Towart hys palyce gan return onon

  With mynd trublit, trist and wobygon

  For sa excelland ded corps as was slane.

  Terys all sammyn furth ettis eueryane —

  Baith agit men, matronys and childer lyte

  The cite fyllis with womentyng and syte.

  Dawnus, hys fader (na wyss wittand tho

  He suld remane to se sik duyll and wo,

  Nor that his son hys stalwart spreit had ald

  And maid end in the lattir bargan bald,

  That thus was brocht to tovn ded by his feris

  With sik plente of bittir wepand terys),

  The sammyn tyme with other dyseyss was socht,

  At mekill sad dolour and hevy thocht.

  For as the Latyn pepill war ourset

  Into batall by Troianys, and dovn bet,

  And Turnus be his hait and recent ded

  Had with hys blude littit the grund all red,

  A suddan fyre within the wallys hie

  Ombeset halyly Ardea cite;

  The biggyng of this fader wobegon,

  Brynt and doun bet, of reky flammys schone,

  And all returnys intill assys red;

  The fyry sparkis into every sted

  Twynkland vpspryngis to the starnys on hie,

  That now na hope of help may fundyn be,

  Quhidder so it was onto the goddis lykyng,

  Or that the fatis befor list schaw sum syng

  Of Turnus deth, in horribill batal slane.

  And quhen the pepill saw remed was nane,

  Belyfe the wofull trublit citesanys

  Thar drery brestis betand all atanys,

  Gan fast bewaill with petuus wepand face

  Of this onhappy chance the wrachit cace;

  In lang rabill the wemen and matronys

  With all thar forss fled reuthfully atonys

  From the bald flammys and brym blesys stowt.

  And lyke as that of emottis the blak ro
wt,

  That ithandly laubouris and byssy be,

  Had beldit, vnder the ruyt of a heich tre,

  Intill a clift thar byke and duellyng sted,

  To hyd thar langsum wark and wyntyr bred;

  Gyf so betyde thai feill the ax smyte

  Apon the treis schank, and tharon byte,

  So that the crop doun weltis to the grund,

  That with the felloun rusch and grysly sond

  Thar small cavernys all tobrok and rent is;

  Than spedely this litill rowt furth sprentis

  All will of red, fleand thai wait nocht quhar,

  Tursand thar byrdyngis affraytly heir and thar —

  Or lyke as that on the howss syde the snaill,

  Schakand hir coppit schell or than hir taill,

  Fleand the byrnand heit that scho doith feill,

  A lang tyme gan do wrassill and to wreill,

  Thristand fast with hir feit onto the wall,

  And it hir hed with forss and strenthis all

  Frawart the fervent flammys fast withdrawys;

  Scho scaldis, and with mony wrikis and thrawys

  Presys forto eschew the feirfull heit —

  Nane other wyss in sa feill perrellis gret

  Thir woful citesanys gan thame self slyng,

  Ruschand with trublit mynd intill a lyng

  Baith heir and thar, and wist not quhar away.

  Bot maist of all, allace and weil away!

  With reuthfull vocis cryand to the hevyn,

  The agit kyng Dawnus with wofull stevyn

  Gan on the goddis abuf clepe and call.

  And tho amyd the flambis furthwithall

  Ardea the fowll, quham a heron clepe we,

  Betand hir weyngis, thai behaldyn fle

  Furth of the fyre heich vp in the air,

  That baith the name and takyn our alquhar

  Baris of this cite Ardea the ald,

  Quhilum with wallis and towris hie ontald

  Stud weirly wrocht, as strenth of gret defens,

  That now is changit and full quyte goyn hens

  With weyngis wyde fleand baith vp and doun,

  Now bot a fowle, was ayr a ryall tovn.

  Astonyst of this nyce and new cace

  And of the wonderus mervellis in that place

  (Quhilk semyt no thing litill fortobe)

  As thocht thai send war by the goddis hie,

  The pepill all confusyt still dyd stand,

  Thir byrdyngis on thar schuldris caryand,

  And movit nowther fut, tung nor mouth:

  And Kyng Dawnus, for this affray onkouth

  With ardent luf smyttin and hait desyre

  Of hys cheif sete distroyt and brynt in fyre,

  The hard dolour and the sorow smert

  Haldis full closs, deip gravyn in hys hart.

  Fra that Dawnus his son Turnus saw ded,

  Huge lamentatioun maid he in that sted.

  Amyd all this deray and gret effeir,

  Fame, of dyseyss forrydar and messynger,

  Com hurland with huge movyng fast to tovn

  And with large clamour fyllys inveroun

  Thar myndis all, quhou ane ded corps new than

  Was cumand at hand with mony wofull man,

  And Turnus lyfless laid with mortal wond,

  In feld discomfist, slane and brocht to grund.

  Than euery wight, trublit and wobegon,

  The blak blesand fyre brandis mony on,

  As was the gyss, hess hynt into thar handis;

  Of schynand flammys glitteris all the landis;

  Thus thai recuntyrrit thame that cumand weir,

  And sammyn ionyt cumpaneis in feir.

  Quham alsfast as the matronys gan espy,

  Thai smait thar handis and rasyt vp a cry,

  That to the sternys went thar wofull beir.

  Bot fra Dawnus the corps of hys son deir

  Beheld, he gan stynt and arrest hys paiss,

  And syne, half deill enragit, in a rayss,

  With huge sorow smyte, in ruschis he

  Amyd the rowt, that reuth was forto se,

  And apon Turnus corps hym strekis doun,

  Enbrasyng it ongrouf all in a swoun,

  And, alsfast as he spek mycht, hess furth braid

  With wordis lamentabill, and thus wyss he said:

  “Son, the dyseyss of thy fader thus drest,

  And of my febill eild the reuthfull rest

  Now me byreft, quhy hess thou so, allace,

  Into sa gret perrellys and in sik cace

  Me catchit thus, and dryve quhidder?” quod he,

  “And vndir cruell bargan, as I may se,

  Now fynaly thus venquyst and ourcum,

  Quhar is thy worthy valour now becum?

  Quhar hess the douchty constans of thy spreit

  Me careit thus from rest and all quyet?

  Is this the notabill honour and lovyng

  Of thy manhed, and glory of thy ryng?

  Is this the gret wyrschip of thyne empyre?

  O my deir son, quhilum thou bald syre,

  Bryngis thou ws hame sikkyn triumphe as this?

  Is this the rest and eyss thou dyd promyss

  To thy fader, sa tryst and wobegone,

  And oft ourset with ennemyss mony one?

  Is this the meith and finale term or end

  Of all laubouris, as we desyrit and wend?

  O ways me, wrachit and wofull wyght!

  Quhou hastely doun fallyn from the hight

  Thir slyddir wardly chancis dryvis fast!

  With quhou gret fard ourrollyt and down cast

  So hastely beyn thir fatis, behald!

  He that was laitly sa stowt, heich and bald,

  Renownyt with gret honour of chevelry

  And haldyn gret throu owt all Italy,

  Quham the Troianys sa awfull felt in armys

  And dred sa oft hys furour, wrocht thame harmys,

  Myne awyn Turnus, lo now apon sik wyss

  Ane lamentabill and wofull corps thou lyis:

  Now dum and spechless that hed liggis thar,

  Quhilum in all Italy nane sa fair,

  Nor nane mair gracius into eloquens,

  Nor nane so byg but harnes, nor at defens!

  Son, quhar is now thy schynand lustyhed,

  Thy fresch figour, thy vissage quhite and red,

  Thy plesand bewte, and thyne eyn twan

  With thar sweit blenkand lukis mony ane,

  Thy gracyus glitterand semly nek lang,

  Thy vocis sovn, quhilk as a trumpet rang?

  The glor of Mars in batale or in stowr

  Is conquest with sik aventouris sowr:

  Had thou sic wyll thy selvyn to submyt

  To fervent bargan and to dedis byt,

  Quhen thou departit of this sted fra me,

  Forto return with sik pompe as we se?

  O haitfull deth! that only, quhar thou lykis,

  With thy revengeabill wapynnys sa sair strikis,

  That thou thir prowd myndis brydill may;

  To all pepill elyke and common ay

  Thou haldis evyn and baris thi ceptre wand,

  Eternaly obseruand thy cunnand,

  Quhilk gret and small doun thryngis, and nane rakkis,

  And stalwart folkis to febill equale makkis,

  The common pepill with the capitanys,

  And outh and age assemblys baith attanys.

  Allace, detestabill deth, dyrk and obscur!

  Quhat chance onworthy or mysaventur

  Hess the constrenyt my child me to byreif,

  And with a cruell wond thus ded to leif?

  O systir Amata, happy queyn,” quod he,

  “Be glaid of sa thankfull chance hapnyt the,

  And of thyne awyn slauchtir be blith in hart,

  Quharby thou hass sa gret dolour astart,

  And fled sa huge occasions of myscheif,

  Sa hard and chargeand huge wo and greif!

 
O goddis abuf, quhat ettill e mor to do

  Onto me wrachit fader? sen ellys, lo,

  My son he haue byreft, and Ardea

  My cite, into flambis brynt, alssua

  Consumyt is and turnyt in assys red,

  With weyngis fleys a fowle in euery sted.

  Bot ha, Turnus, mar trist and wo am I

  For thy maste petuus slauchter sa bludy:

  Wantit this last myschance it or sik thing

  To thyne onweldy fader, auld Dawnus kyng.

  Bot sikkyrly, with sic conditioun ay

  Thir warldly thyngis turnys and writhis away,

  That quham the furyus Forton lyst infest

  And eftir lang quyet bryng to onrest,

  Brayand apon that catyve for the nanys,

  With all hir forss assaleis scho attanys,

  And, with all kynd of torment, in hir greif

  Constrenys hym with stundys of myscheif.”

  Thus said he, wepand sadly, as man schent,

  With large flude of teris hys face bysprent,

  Drawand the sobbys hard and sychis smart,

  Throw rageand dolour, deip owt from hys hart;

  Lyke so as quhar Iovis byg fowle, the ern,

  With hir strang tallonys and hir punsys stern

  Lychtyng, had claucht the litill hynd calf yng,

  Torryng the skyn, and maid the blude owt spryng;

  The moder, this behaldand, is all ourset

  With sorow for slauchter of hir tendir get.

  Kyng Latyn till Eneas send message

  For peax, and eyk hys douchteris mariage.

  The nixt day followyng with hys bemys brycht

  The warld on breid illumnyt hess of lycht:

  The kyng Latinus tho seand, but let,

  Italyanys discumfyt and ourset

  By the fatale aventour of weir,

  And weill persavit quhou and quhat maner

  The forton haill turnyt to strang Enee;

  And in hys mynd revoluyt eik hess he

  The huge dowt of batall and deray,

  Full mony feirfull chance and gret effray,

  Hys confideratioun and hys sworn band,

  The wedlok promyst and the ferm cunnand

  And spousal of hys douchtir hecht withall:

  Of all the rowt ontill hym gart he call

  A thousand worthy men walit at rycht,

  The quhilkis the Troian duke and dowchty knycht,

  Quham he desyrit, suld convoy to town;

  In robbys lang also, or traill syde govn,

  With thame he ionyt oratouris infeir

  And to thame gaif feill strait commandis seir,

  And forthir eik, quhen thai depart can,

  Of hys fre will thame chargit euery man

  That, sen be favouris and admonysyngis

  Of the goddis, be mony feirfull syngis,

  Expedient it was the kyn Troian

  Conioyn and myddill with blude Italian,

  At tharfor glaidly to thame gang wald thai,