Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  But hold the camp and save the town beneath the ramparts’ shield.

  Therefore, though shame and anger bade go forth and join the play,

  They bolt and bar the gates no less and all his word obey;

  And armed upon the hollow towers abide the coming foe.

  But Turnus, flying forward fast, outwent the main host slow,

  And with a score of chosen knights is presently at hand

  Before the town: borne on he was on horse of Thracian land,

  White-flecked, and helmeted was he with ruddy-crested gold.

  “Who will be first with me, O youths, play with the foe to hold?

  Lo, here!” he cried; and on the air a whirling shaft he sent,

  The first of fight, and borne aloft about the meadows went.

  His fellows take it up with shouts, and dreadful cry on rolls

  As fast they follow, wondering sore at sluggard Teucrian souls, —

  That men should shun the battle pitched, nor dare the weapon-game,

  But hug their walls. So round the walls, high-horsed, with heart aflame,

  He rides about, and tries a way where never was a way:

  E’en as a wolf the sheep-fold full besetteth on a day,

  And howleth round about the garth, by wind and rain-drift beat,

  About the middle of the night, while safe the lamb-folk bleat

  Beneath their mothers: wicked-fierce against them safe and near

  He rageth; hunger-madness long a-gathering him doth wear,

  With yearning for that blood beloved to wet his parchèd jaws.

  E’en so in that Rutulian duke to flame the anger draws,

  As he beholdeth walls and camp: sore burnt his hardy heart

  For shifts to come at them; to shake those Teucrians shut apart

  From out their walls and spread their host about the meadows wide.

  So on the ships he falls, that lay the campment’s fence beside,

  Hedged all about with garth and mound and by the river’s flood,

  And to the burning crieth on his folk of joyous mood,

  And eager fills his own right hand with branch of blazing fir:

  Then verily they fall to work whom Turnus’ gaze doth stir,

  And all the host of them in haste hand to the black torch lays.

  They strip the hearths; the smoky brand sends forth pitch-laden blaze,

  And starward soot-bemingled flame drave Vulcan as he burned.

  Say, Muse, what God from Teucrian folk such sore destruction turned?

  Who drave away from Trojan keels so mighty great a flame?

  Old is the troth in such a tale, but never dies its fame.

  What time Æneas first began on Phrygian Ida’s steep

  To frame his ships, and dight him there to ride upon the deep,

  The Berecynthian Mother-Queen spake, as the tale doth fare,

  Unto the Godhead of great Jove:

  “Son, grant unto my prayer

  That which thy lovèd mother asks from heaven all tamed to peace:

  A wood of pines I have, beloved through many years’ increase.

  There is a thicket on my height wherein men worship me,

  Dim with the blackening of the firs and trunks of maple-tree:

  These to the Dardan youth in need of ship-host grudged I nought,

  But in my anxious soul as now is born a troubling thought.

  Do off my dread, and let, I pray, a mother’s prayers avail,

  That these amid no shattering sea or whirling wind may fail;

  Let it avail them that my heights first brought them unto birth.”

  Answered her son, that swayeth still the stars that rule the earth:

  “O mother, whither call’st thou Fate? what wouldst thou have them be?

  Shall keels of mortal fashioning gain immortality?

  And shall Æneas well assured stray every peril through?

  Shall this be right? hath any God the power such things to do?

  No less when they have done their work, and safe in Italy

  Lie in the haven, which soe’er have overpassed the sea,

  And borne the Duke of Dardan men to that Laurentine home,

  From such will I take mortal shape, and bid them to become

  Queens of the sea-plain, such as are Doto the Nereus child,

  And Galatea, whose bosoms cleave the foaming waters wild.”

  He spake and swore it by the flood his Stygian Brother rules,

  And by its banks that reek with pitch o’er its black whirling pools,

  And with the bowing of his head did all Olympus shake.

  And now the promised day was come, nor will the Parcæ break

  The time fulfilled; when Turnus’ threat now bade the Mother heed

  That she from those her holy ships should turn the fire at need.

  Strange light before the eyes of men shone forth; a mighty cloud

  Ran from the dawning down the sky, and there was clashing loud

  Of Ida’s hosts, and from the heavens there fell a voice of fear,

  That through Rutulia’s host and Troy’s fulfillèd every ear:

  “Make no great haste, O Teucrian men, these ships of mine to save!

  Nor arm thereto! for Turnus here shall burn the salt sea wave

  Sooner than these, my holy pines. But ye — depart, go free!

  The Mother biddeth it: depart, Queens, Goddesses, of sea!”

  Straightway the ships brake each the chain that tied them to the bank,

  And, as the dolphins dive adown, with plunging beaks they sank

  Down to the deeps, from whence, O strange! they come aback once more;

  As many brazen beaks as erst stood fast beside the shore,

  So many shapes of maidens now seaward they wend their ways.

  Appalled were those Rutulian hearts; yea, feared with all amaze,

  Messapus sat mid frighted steeds: the rough-voiced stream grew black;

  Yea, Tiberinus from the deep his footsteps drew aback.

  But Turnus of the hardy heart, his courage nothing died;

  Unmoved he stirs their souls with speech, unmoved he falls to chide:

  “These portents seek the Teucrians home; the very Jupiter

  Snatches their wonted aid from them, that might not bide to bear

  Rutulian fire and sword: henceforth the sea-plain lacketh road

  For Teucrian men: their flight is dead, and half the world’s abode

  Is reft from them: and earth, forsooth, upon our hands it waits,

  With thousands of Italian swords. For me, I fear no Fates:

  For if the Phrygians boast them still of answering words of God,

  Enough for Venus and the Fates that Teucrian men have trod

  The fair Ausonia’s fruitful field: and answering fates have I:

  A wicked folk with edge of sword to root up utterly,

  For stolen wife: this grief hath grieved others than Atreus’ sons,

  And other folk may run to arms than those Mycenian ones.

  — Enough one downfall is, say ye? — Enough had been one sin.

  Yea, I had deemed all womankind your hatred well might win.

  — Lo, these are they to whom a wall betwixt the sword and sword,

  The little tarrying of a ditch, — such toys the death to ward! —

  Give hearts of men! What, saw they not the war-walls of Troy-town,

  The fashioning of Neptune’s hand, amid the flame sink down?

  But ye, my chosen, who is dight with me to break the wall,

  That we upon their quaking camp with point and edge may fall?

  No need I have of Vulcan’s arms or thousand ships at sea

  Against these Teucrians; yea, though they should win them presently,

  The Tuscan friendship: deeds of dusk and deedless stolen gain

  Of that Palladium, and the guards of topmost castle slain,

  Let them not fear: we shall not lurk in horse’s dusky womb:
/>   In open day to gird your walls with wildfire is the doom.

  Let them not deem they have to put the Danaans to the proof,

  Pelasgian lads that Hector’s hand for ten years held aloof.

  — But come, since all the best of day is well-nigh worn to end,

  Joy in our good beginning, friends, and well your bodies tend,

  And bide in hope and readiness the coming of the fight.”

  Therewith Messapus hath the charge with outguards of the night

  To keep the gates, and all the town with watch-fires round to ring:

  Twice seven are chosen out to hold the town inleaguering

  Of Rutuli: an hundred youths, they follow each of these;

  A purple-crested folk that gleam with golden braveries:

  They pace the round, they shift the turn, or scattered o’er the grass

  Please heart and soul with wine, and turn the empty bowl of brass:

  The watch-fires shine around in ring; through sport and sleeplessness

  Their warding weareth night away.

  The Trojans from their walls of war look down on all these things;

  They hold the heights in arms, and search the great gate’s fastenings

  With hurrying fear; or, spear in hand, gangway to battlement

  They yoke. There Mnestheus urged the work; there hot Serestus went;

  They whom Æneas, if perchance the time should call thereto,

  Had made first captains of the host, lords of all things to do.

  So all the host along the walls the peril shareth out,

  Falling to watch, and plays its part in turn and turn about.

  Nisus was warder of the gate, the eager under shield,

  The son of Hyrtacus, whom erst did huntress Ida yield

  Unto Æneas’ fellowship, keen with the shaft and spear.

  Euryalus, his friend, stood by, than whom none goodlier

  Went with Æneas or did on the battle-gear of Troy:

  Youth’s bloom unshorn was on his cheek, scarce was he but a boy.

  Like love the twain had each for each; in battle side by side

  They went; and now as gatewards twain together did abide.

  Now Nisus saith: “Doth very God so set the heart on fire,

  Euryalus, or doth each man make God of his desire?

  My soul is driving me to dare the battle presently,

  Or some great deed; nor pleased with peace at quiet will it be.

  Thou seest how those Rutulian men trust in their warding keep;

  How wide apart the watch-fires shine; how slack with wine and sleep

  Men lie along; how far and wide the hush o’er all things lies.

  Note now what stirreth in my mind, what thoughts in me arise:

  They bid call back Æneas now, fathers, and folk, and all,

  And send out men to bear to him sure word of what doth fall.

  Now if the thing I ask for thee they promise, — for to me

  The deed’s fame is enough, — meseems beneath yon mound I see

  A way whereby to Palianteum in little space to come.”

  Euryalus, by mighty love of glory smitten home,

  Stood all amazed, then answered thus his fiery-hearted friend:

  “O Nisus, wilt thou yoke me not to such a noble end?

  And shall I send thee unto deeds so perilous alone?

  My sire Opheltes, wise in war, nourished no such an one,

  Reared mid the terror of the Greeks and Troy-town’s miseries;

  Nor yet with thee have I been wont to deedless deeds like these,

  Following Æneas’ mighty heart through Fortune’s furthest way.

  Here is a soul that scorns the light, and deems it good to pay

  With very life for such a fame as thou art brought anear.”

  Saith Nisus: “Nay, I feared of thee no such a thing, I swear,

  No such ill thought; so may he bring thy friend back with the prize,

  Great Jove, or whosoe’er beholds these things with equal eyes.

  But if some hap (thou seest herein how many such may fall),

  If any hap, if any God bear me the end of all,

  Fain were I thou wert left: thine age is worthier life-day’s gain;

  Let there be one to buy me back snatched from amidst the slain,

  And give me earth: or if e’en that our wonted fortune ban,

  Do thou the rites, and raise the tomb unto the missing man;

  Nor make me of thy mother’s woe the fashioner accurst:

  She who, O friend, alone of all our many mothers durst

  To follow thee, nor heeded aught of great Acestes’ town.”

  He said: “For weaving of delay vain is thy shuttle thrown;

  Nor is my heart so turned about that I will leave the play:

  Let us be doing!”

  Therewithal he stirs the guards, and they

  Come up in turn, wherewith he leaves the warding-stead behind,

  And goes with Nisus, and the twain set forth the prince to find.

  All other creatures, laid asleep o’er all the earthly soil,

  Let slip the cares from off their hearts, forgetful of their toil,

  But still the dukes of Trojan men and chosen folk of war

  Held counsel of that heavy tide that on the kingdom bore,

  What was to do, or who would go Æneas’ messenger.

  There shield on arm, and leaned upon the length of shafted spear,

  They stand amid their stronghold’s mead: in eager haste the twain,

  Nisus and young Euryalus, the presence crave to gain,

  For matters great and worth the time: straight doth Iulus take

  Those hurried men to him, and bids that Nisus speech should wake.

  Then saith the son of Hyrtacus: “Just-hearted, hearken now,

  Folk of Æneas, neither look upon the things we show

  As by our years. The Rutuli slackened by wine and sleep

  Lie hushed, and we have seen whereby upon our way to creep,

  E’en by the double-roaded gate that near the sea-strand lies:

  Their fires are slaked, and black the smoke goes upward to the skies.

  If ye will suffer us to use this fortune that doth fall

  We will go seek Æneas now and Pallanteum’s wall:

  Ye shall behold him and his spoils from mighty victory wrought

  Come hither presently: the way shall fail our feet in nought,

  For we have seen the city’s skirts amid the valleys dim

  In daily hunt, whereby we learned the river’s uplong brim.”

  Then spake Aletes weighty-wise, heart-ripe with plenteous eld:

  “Gods of our fathers, under whom the weal of Troy is held,

  Ye have not doomed all utterly the Teucrian folk undone,

  When ye for us such souls of youth, such hardy hearts have won.”

  So saying by shoulder and by hand he took the goodly twain,

  While all his countenance and cheeks were wet with plenteous rain,

  “What gifts may I deem worthy, men, to pay such hearts athirst

  For utmost glory? certainly the fairest and the first

  The Gods and your own hearts shall grant: the rest your lord shall give,

  Godly Æneas; and this man with all his life to live,

  Ascanius here, no memory of such desert shall lack.”

  “But I,” Ascanius breaketh in, “whose father brought aback

  Is all my heal — Nisus, I pray by those great Gods of mine,

  By him of old, Assaracus, by hoary Vesta’s shrine,

  Bring back my father! whatsoe’er is left with me today

  Of Fate or Faith, into your breasts I give it all away.

  O give me back the sight of him, and grief is all gone by.

  Two cups of utter silver wrought and rough with imagery

  I give you, which my father took from wracked Arisbe’s hold;

  Two tripods eke, two talents’ weight of fire-bepro
ven gold;

  A beaker of the time agone, Sidonian Dido’s gift.

  But if we hap to win the day and spoil of battle shift,

  If we lay hand on Italy and staff of kingship bear, —

  Ye saw the horse that bore today gold Turnus and his gear,

  That very same, the shield withal, and helm-crest ruddy dyed,

  Thy gifts, O Nisus, from the spoil henceforth I set aside.

  Moreover of the mother-folk twice six most excellent

  My sire shall give, and captive men with all their armament,

  And therewithal the kingly field, Latinus’ garden-place.

  But thou, O boy most worshipful, whom nigher in the race

  Mine own years follow, thee I take unto mine inmost heart,

  Embracing thee my very friend in all to have a part;

  Nor any glory of my days without thee shall I seek,

  Whether I fashion peace or war; all that I do or speak

  I trust to thee.”

  In answer thus Euryalus ‘gan say:

  “No day henceforth of all my life shall prove me fallen away

  From this my deed: only may fate in kindly wise befall,

  Nor stand against me: now one gift I ask thee over all:

  I have a mother born on earth from Priam’s ancient race,

  Who wretched in the land of Troy had no abiding-place,

  Nor in Acesta’s steadfast wall; with me she still must wend:

  Her, who knows nought of this my risk, whatever may be the end

  Unto thy safeguard do I leave: Night and thy right hand there

  Be witness that my mother’s tears I had no heart to bear.

  But solace thou her lack, I pray; comfort her desert need;

  Yea let me bear this hope with me, and boldlier shall I speed

  Amid all haps.”

  Touched to the heart the Dardans might not keep

  Their tears aback, and chief of all did fair Iulus weep,

  The image of his father’s love so flashed upon his soul:

  And therewithal he spake the word:

  “All things I duly answer for worthy thy deed of fame;

  Thy mother shall my mother be, nor lack but e’en the name

  To be Creusa: store of thanks no little hath she won

  That bore thee. Whatsoever hap thy valorous deed bear on,

  By this my head, whereon my sire is wont the troth to plight,

  Whatever I promised thee come back, with all things wrought aright,

  Thy mother and thy kin shall bide that very same reward.”

  So spake he, weeping, and did off his shoulder-girded sword

  All golden, that with wondrous craft Lycaon out of Crete