Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  Before Apollo’s porch of Parian stone;

  Accepts the presents vow’d for victory,

  And hangs the monumental crowns on high.

  Vast crowds of vanquish’d nations march along,

  Various in arms, in habit, and in tongue.

  Here, Mulciber assigns the proper place

  For Carians, and th’ ungirt Numidian race;

  Then ranks the Thracians in the second row,

  With Scythians, expert in the dart and bow.

  And here the tam’d Euphrates humbly glides,

  And there the Rhine submits her swelling tides,

  And proud Araxes, whom no bridge could bind;

  The Danes’ unconquer’d offspring march behind,

  And Morini, the last of humankind.

  These figures, on the shield divinely wrought,

  By Vulcan labor’d, and by Venus brought,

  With joy and wonder fill the hero’s thought.

  Unknown the names, he yet admires the grace,

  And bears aloft the fame and fortune of his race.

  BOOK IX

  While these affairs in distant places pass’d,

  The various Iris Juno sends with haste,

  To find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought,

  The secret shade of his great grandsire sought.

  Retir’d alone she found the daring man,

  And op’d her rosy lips, and thus began:

  “What none of all the gods could grant thy vows,

  That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows.

  Aeneas, gone to seek th’ Arcadian prince,

  Has left the Trojan camp without defense;

  And, short of succors there, employs his pains

  In parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains.

  Now snatch an hour that favors thy designs;

  Unite thy forces, and attack their lines.”

  This said, on equal wings she pois’d her weight,

  And form’d a radiant rainbow in her flight.

  The Daunian hero lifts his hands eyes,

  And thus invokes the goddess as she flies:

  “Iris, the grace of heav’n, what pow’r divine

  Has sent thee down, thro’ dusky clouds to shine?

  See, they divide; immortal day appears,

  And glitt’ring planets dancing in their spheres!

  With joy, these happy omens I obey,

  And follow to the war the god that leads the way.”

  Thus having said, as by the brook he stood,

  He scoop’d the water from the crystal flood;

  Then with his hands the drops to heav’n he throws,

  And loads the pow’rs above with offer’d vows.

  Now march the bold confed’rates thro’ the plain,

  Well hors’d, well clad; a rich and shining train.

  Messapus leads the van; and, in the rear,

  The sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear.

  In the main battle, with his flaming crest,

  The mighty Turnus tow’rs above the rest.

  Silent they move, majestically slow,

  Like ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow.

  The Trojans view the dusty cloud from far,

  And the dark menace of the distant war.

  Caicus from the rampire saw it rise,

  Black’ning the fields, and thick’ning thro’ the skies.

  Then to his fellows thus aloud he calls:

  “What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls?

  Arm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears

  And pointed darts! the Latian host appears.”

  Thus warn’d, they shut their gates; with shouts ascend

  The bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend:

  For their wise gen’ral, with foreseeing care,

  Had charg’d them not to tempt the doubtful war,

  Nor, tho’ provok’d, in open fields advance,

  But close within their lines attend their chance.

  Unwilling, yet they keep the strict command,

  And sourly wait in arms the hostile band.

  The fiery Turnus flew before the rest:

  A piebald steed of Thracian strain he press’d;

  His helm of massy gold, and crimson was his crest.

  With twenty horse to second his designs,

  An unexpected foe, he fac’d the lines.

  “Is there,” he said, “in arms, who bravely dare

  His leader’s honor and his danger share?”

  Then spurring on, his brandish’d dart he threw,

  In sign of war: applauding shouts ensue.

  Amaz’d to find a dastard race, that run

  Behind the rampires and the battle shun,

  He rides around the camp, with rolling eyes,

  And stops at ev’ry post, and ev’ry passage tries.

  So roams the nightly wolf about the fold:

  Wet with descending show’rs, and stiff with cold,

  He howls for hunger, and he grins for pain,

  (His gnashing teeth are exercis’d in vain,)

  And, impotent of anger, finds no way

  In his distended paws to grasp the prey.

  The mothers listen; but the bleating lambs

  Securely swig the dug, beneath the dams.

  Thus ranges eager Turnus o’er the plain.

  Sharp with desire, and furious with disdain;

  Surveys each passage with a piercing sight,

  To force his foes in equal field to fight.

  Thus while he gazes round, at length he spies,

  Where, fenc’d with strong redoubts, their navy lies,

  Close underneath the walls; the washing tide

  Secures from all approach this weaker side.

  He takes the wish’d occasion, fills his hand

  With ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand.

  Urg’d by his presence, ev’ry soul is warm’d,

  And ev’ry hand with kindled firs is arm’d.

  From the fir’d pines the scatt’ring sparkles fly;

  Fat vapors, mix’d with flames, involve the sky.

  What pow’r, O Muses, could avert the flame

  Which threaten’d, in the fleet, the Trojan name?

  Tell: for the fact, thro’ length of time obscure,

  Is hard to faith; yet shall the fame endure.

  ‘T is said that, when the chief prepar’d his flight,

  And fell’d his timber from Mount Ida’s height,

  The grandam goddess then approach’d her son,

  And with a mother’s majesty begun:

  “Grant me,” she said, “the sole request I bring,

  Since conquer’d heav’n has own’d you for its king.

  On Ida’s brows, for ages past, there stood,

  With firs and maples fill’d, a shady wood;

  And on the summit rose a sacred grove,

  Where I was worship’d with religious love.

  Those woods, that holy grove, my long delight,

  I gave the Trojan prince, to speed his flight.

  Now, fill’d with fear, on their behalf I come;

  Let neither winds o’erset, nor waves intomb

  The floating forests of the sacred pine;

  But let it be their safety to be mine.”

  Then thus replied her awful son, who rolls

  The radiant stars, and heav’n and earth controls:

  “How dare you, mother, endless date demand

  For vessels molded by a mortal hand?

  What then is fate? Shall bold Aeneas ride,

  Of safety certain, on th’ uncertain tide?

  Yet, what I can, I grant; when, wafted o’er,

  The chief is landed on the Latian shore,

  Whatever ships escape the raging storms,

  At my command shall change their fading forms

  To nymphs divine, and plow the wat’ry way,

  Like Dotis and the daughters of the sea.”

  To seal his s
acred vow, by Styx he swore,

  The lake of liquid pitch, the dreary shore,

  And Phlegethon’s innavigable flood,

  And the black regions of his brother god.

  He said; and shook the skies with his imperial nod.

  And now at length the number’d hours were come,

  Prefix’d by fate’s irrevocable doom,

  When the great Mother of the Gods was free

  To save her ships, and finish Jove’s decree.

  First, from the quarter of the morn, there sprung

  A light that sign’d the heav’ns, and shot along;

  Then from a cloud, fring’d round with golden fires,

  Were timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs;

  And, last, a voice, with more than mortal sounds,

  Both hosts, in arms oppos’d, with equal horror wounds:

  “O Trojan race, your needless aid forbear,

  And know, my ships are my peculiar care.

  With greater ease the bold Rutulian may,

  With hissing brands, attempt to burn the sea,

  Than singe my sacred pines. But you, my charge,

  Loos’d from your crooked anchors, launch at large,

  Exalted each a nymph: forsake the sand,

  And swim the seas, at Cybele’s command.”

  No sooner had the goddess ceas’d to speak,

  When, lo! th’ obedient ships their haulsers break;

  And, strange to tell, like dolphins, in the main

  They plunge their prows, and dive, and spring again:

  As many beauteous maids the billows sweep,

  As rode before tall vessels on the deep.

  The foes, surpris’d with wonder, stood aghast;

  Messapus curb’d his fiery courser’s haste;

  Old Tiber roar’d, and, raising up his head,

  Call’d back his waters to their oozy bed.

  Turnus alone, undaunted, bore the shock,

  And with these words his trembling troops bespoke:

  “These monsters for the Trojans’ fate are meant,

  And are by Jove for black presages sent.

  He takes the cowards’ last relief away;

  For fly they cannot, and, constrain’d to stay,

  Must yield unfought, a base inglorious prey.

  The liquid half of all the globe is lost;

  Heav’n shuts the seas, and we secure the coast.

  Theirs is no more than that small spot of ground

  Which myriads of our martial men surround.

  Their fates I fear not, or vain oracles.

  ‘T was giv’n to Venus they should cross the seas,

  And land secure upon the Latian plains:

  Their promis’d hour is pass’d, and mine remains.

  ‘T is in the fate of Turnus to destroy,

  With sword and fire, the faithless race of Troy.

  Shall such affronts as these alone inflame

  The Grecian brothers, and the Grecian name?

  My cause and theirs is one; a fatal strife,

  And final ruin, for a ravish’d wife.

  Was ‘t not enough, that, punish’d for the crime,

  They fell; but will they fall a second time?

  One would have thought they paid enough before,

  To curse the costly sex, and durst offend no more.

  Can they securely trust their feeble wall,

  A slight partition, a thin interval,

  Betwixt their fate and them; when Troy, tho’ built

  By hands divine, yet perish’d by their guilt?

  Lend me, for once, my friends, your valiant hands,

  To force from out their lines these dastard bands.

  Less than a thousand ships will end this war,

  Nor Vulcan needs his fated arms prepare.

  Let all the Tuscans, all th’ Arcadians, join!

  Nor these, nor those, shall frustrate my design.

  Let them not fear the treasons of the night,

  The robb’d Palladium, the pretended flight:

  Our onset shall be made in open light.

  No wooden engine shall their town betray;

  Fires they shall have around, but fires by day.

  No Grecian babes before their camp appear,

  Whom Hector’s arms detain’d to the tenth tardy year.

  Now, since the sun is rolling to the west,

  Give we the silent night to needful rest:

  Refresh your bodies, and your arms prepare;

  The morn shall end the small remains of war.”

  The post of honor to Messapus falls,

  To keep the nightly guard, to watch the walls,

  To pitch the fires at distances around,

  And close the Trojans in their scanty ground.

  Twice seven Rutulian captains ready stand,

  And twice seven hundred horse these chiefs command;

  All clad in shining arms the works invest,

  Each with a radiant helm and waving crest.

  Stretch’d at their length, they press the grassy ground;

  They laugh, they sing, (the jolly bowls go round,)

  With lights and cheerful fires renew the day,

  And pass the wakeful night in feasts and play.

  The Trojans, from above, their foes beheld,

  And with arm’d legions all the rampires fill’d.

  Seiz’d with affright, their gates they first explore;

  Join works to works with bridges, tow’r to tow’r:

  Thus all things needful for defense abound.

  Mnestheus and brave Seresthus walk the round,

  Commission’d by their absent prince to share

  The common danger, and divide the care.

  The soldiers draw their lots, and, as they fall,

  By turns relieve each other on the wall.

  Nigh where the foes their utmost guards advance,

  To watch the gate was warlike Nisus’ chance.

  His father Hyrtacus of noble blood;

  His mother was a huntress of the wood,

  And sent him to the wars. Well could he bear

  His lance in fight, and dart the flying spear,

  But better skill’d unerring shafts to send.

  Beside him stood Euryalus, his friend:

  Euryalus, than whom the Trojan host

  No fairer face, or sweeter air, could boast-

  Scarce had the down to shade his cheeks begun.

  One was their care, and their delight was one:

  One common hazard in the war they shar’d,

  And now were both by choice upon the guard.

  Then Nisus thus: “Or do the gods inspire

  This warmth, or make we gods of our desire?

  A gen’rous ardor boils within my breast,

  Eager of action, enemy to rest:

  This urges me to fight, and fires my mind

  To leave a memorable name behind.

  Thou see’st the foe secure; how faintly shine

  Their scatter’d fires! the most, in sleep supine

  Along the ground, an easy conquest lie:

  The wakeful few the fuming flagon ply;

  All hush’d around. Now hear what I revolve-

  A thought unripe- and scarcely yet resolve.

  Our absent prince both camp and council mourn;

  By message both would hasten his return:

  If they confer what I demand on thee,

  (For fame is recompense enough for me,)

  Methinks, beneath yon hill, I have espied

  A way that safely will my passage guide.”

  Euryalus stood list’ning while he spoke,

  With love of praise and noble envy struck;

  Then to his ardent friend expos’d his mind:

  “All this, alone, and leaving me behind!

  Am I unworthy, Nisus, to be join’d?

  Thinkist thou I can my share of glory yield,

  Or send thee unassisted to the field?

  Not so
my father taught my childhood arms;

  Born in a siege, and bred among alarms!

  Nor is my youth unworthy of my friend,

  Nor of the heav’n-born hero I attend.

  The thing call’d life, with ease I can disclaim,

  And think it over-sold to purchase fame.”

  Then Nisus thus: “Alas! thy tender years

  Would minister new matter to my fears.

  So may the gods, who view this friendly strife,

  Restore me to thy lov’d embrace with life,

  Condemn’d to pay my vows, (as sure I trust,)

  This thy request is cruel and unjust.

  But if some chance- as many chances are,

  And doubtful hazards, in the deeds of war-

  If one should reach my head, there let it fall,

  And spare thy life; I would not perish all.

  Thy bloomy youth deserves a longer date:

  Live thou to mourn thy love’s unhappy fate;

  To bear my mangled body from the foe,

  Or buy it back, and fun’ral rites bestow.

  Or, if hard fortune shall those dues deny,

  Thou canst at least an empty tomb supply.

  O let not me the widow’s tears renew!

  Nor let a mother’s curse my name pursue:

  Thy pious parent, who, for love of thee,

  Forsook the coasts of friendly Sicily,

  Her age committing to the seas and wind,

  When ev’ry weary matron stay’d behind.”

  To this, Euryalus: “You plead in vain,

  And but protract the cause you cannot gain.

  No more delays, but haste!” With that, he wakes

  The nodding watch; each to his office takes.

  The guard reliev’d, the gen’rous couple went

  To find the council at the royal tent.

  All creatures else forgot their daily care,

  And sleep, the common gift of nature, share;

  Except the Trojan peers, who wakeful sate

  In nightly council for th’ indanger’d state.

  They vote a message to their absent chief,

  Shew their distress, and beg a swift relief.

  Amid the camp a silent seat they chose,

  Remote from clamor, and secure from foes.

  On their left arms their ample shields they bear,

  The right reclin’d upon the bending spear.

  Now Nisus and his friend approach the guard,

  And beg admission, eager to be heard:

  Th’ affair important, not to be deferr’d.

  Ascanius bids ’em be conducted in,

  Ord’ring the more experienc’d to begin.