by Virgil
and weave them willow-shields; or melt and mould
corselets of brass or shining silver greaves;
none now for pruning-hook or sacred plough
have love or care: but old, ancestral swords
for hardier tempering to the smith they bring.
Now peals the clarion; through the legions pass
the watchwords: the impatient yeoman takes
his helmet from the idle roof-tree hung;
while to his chariot the master yokes
the mettled war-horse, dons a shining shield
and golden mail, and buckles his good sword.
Virgins of Helicon, renew my song!
Instruct me what proud kings to battle flown
with following legions throng the serried plain.
Tell me what heroes and illustrious arms
Italia’s bosom in her dawning day
benignant bore: for your celestial minds,
have memory of the past, but faint and low
steals glory’s whisper on a mortal ear.
Foremost in fight, from shores Etrurian came
Mezentius, scornful rebel against Heaven,
his people all in arms; and at his side
Lausus his heir (no fairer youth than he,
save Turnus of Laurentum), Lausus, skilled
o break proud horses and wild beasts to quell;
who from Agylla’s citadel in vain
led forth his thousand warriors: worthy he
to serve a nobler sire, and happier far
he had ne’er been born Mezentius’ son.
Next after these, conspicuous o’er the plain,
with palm-crowned chariot and victorious steeds,
rode forth well-moulded Aventinus, sprung
from shapely Hercules; upon the shield
his blazon was a hundred snakes, and showed
his father’s hydra-cincture serpentine;
him deep in Aventine’s most secret grove
the priestess Rhea bore — a mortal maid
clasped in a god’s embrace the wondrous day
when, flushed with conquest of huge Geryon,
the lord of Tiryns to Laurentum drove,
and washed in Tiber’s wave th’ Iberian kine.
His followers brandished pointed pikes and staves,
or smooth Sabellian bodkin tipped with steel;
but he, afoot, swung round him as he strode
a monstrous lion-skin, its bristling mane
and white teeth crowning his ferocious brow:
for garbed as Hercules he sought his King.
Then came twin brethren, leaving Tibur’s keep
(named from Tiburtus, brother of them twain)
Catillus and impetuous Coras, youth
of Argive seed, who foremost in the van
pressed ever where the foemen densest throng:
as when two centaurs, children of the cloud,
from mountain-tops descend in swift career,
the snows of Homole and Othrys leaving,
while crashing thickets in their pathway fall.
Nor was Praeneste’s founder absent there,
by Vulcan sired, among the herds and hinds,
and on a hearth-stone found (so runs the tale
each pious age repeats) King Caeculus
with rustic legions gathered from afar:
from steep Praeneste and the Gabian vale
to Juno dear, from Anio’s cold stream,
from upland Hernic rocks and foaming rills,
from rich Anagnia’s pastures, and the plain
whence Amasenus pours his worshipped wave.
Not all of armor boast, and seldom sound
the chariot and shield; but out of slings
they hurl blue balls of lead, or in one hand
a brace of javelins bear; pulled o’er their brows
are hoods of tawny wolf-skin; as they march
the left foot leaves a barefoot track behind,
a rawhide sandal on the right they wear.
Messapus came, steed-tamer, Neptune’s son,
by sword and fire invincible: this day,
though mild his people and unschooled in war,
he calls them to embattled lines, and draws
no lingering sword. Fescennia musters there,
Aequi Falisci, and what clans possess
Soracte’s heights, Flavinia’s fruitful farms,
Ciminian lake and mountain, and the groves
about Capena. Rank on rank they move,
loud singing of their chieftain’s praise: as when
a flock of snowy swans through clouded air
return from feeding, and make tuneful cry
from their long throats, while Asia’s rivers hear,
and lone Cayster’s startled moorland rings:
for hardly could the listening ear discern
the war-cry of a mail-clad host; the sound
was like shrill-calling birds, when home from sea
their soaring flock moves shoreward like a cloud.
Then, one of far-descended Sabine name,
Clausus advanced, the captain of a host,
and in himself an equal host he seemed;
from his proud loins the high-born Claudian stem
through Latium multiplies, since Roman power
with Sabine first was wed. A cohort came
from Amiternum and the olden wall
of Cures, called Quirites even then;
Eretum answered and Mutusca’s hill
with olives clad, Velinus’ flowery field,
nomentum’s fortress, the grim precipice
of Tetrica, Severus’ upland fair,
Casperia, Foruli, Himella’s waves,
Tiber and Fabaris, and wintry streams
of Nursia; to the same proud muster sped
Tuscan with Latin tribes, and loyal towns
beside whose walls ill-omened Allia flows.
As numerous they moved as rolling waves
that stir smooth Libyan seas, when in cold floods
sinks grim Orion’s star; or like the throng
of clustering wheat-tops in the summer sun,
near Hermus or on Lycia’s yellowing plain:
shields clashed; their strong tramp smote the trembling ground.
Now Agamemnon’s kinsman, cruel foe
to the mere name of Troy, Halaesus, yokes
the horses of his car and summons forth
a thousand savage clans at Turnus’ call :
rude men whose mattocks to the Massic hills
bring Bacchus’ bounty, or by graybeard sires
sent from Auruncan upland and the mead
of Sidicinum; out of Cales came
its simple folk; and dwellers by the stream
of many-shoaled Volturnus, close-allied
with bold Saticulan or Oscan swains.
Their arms are tapered javelins, which they wear
bound by a coiling thong; a shield conceals
the left side, and they fight with crooked swords.
Nor shalt thou, Oebalus, depart unsung,
whom minstrels say the nymph Sebethis bore
to Telon, who in Capri was a king
when old and gray; but that disdaining son
quitted so small a seat, and conquering sway
among Sarrastian folk and those wide plains
watered by Sarnus’ wave, became a king
over Celenna, Rufrae, Batulum,
and where among her apple-orchards rise
Abella’s walls. All these, as Teutons use,
hurl a light javelin; for helm they wear
stripped cork-tree bark; the crescent of their shields
is gleaming bronze, and gleaming bronze the sword.
Next Ufens, mountain-bred, from Nersae came
to join the war; of goodly fame was he
for prosperous arms: his Aequian people show
no gentle mien,
but scour the woods for prey,
or, ever-armed, across the stubborn glebe
compel the plough; though their chief pride and joy
are rapine, violence, and plundered store.
Next after these, his brows and helmet bound
with noble olive, from Marruvium came
a priest, brave Umbro, ordered to the field
by King Archippus: o’er the viper’s brood,
and venomed river-serpents he had power
to scatter slumber with wide-waving hands
and wizard-songs. His potent arts could soothe
their coiling rage and heal the mortal sting:
but ‘gainst a Trojan sword no drug had he,
nor could his drowsy spells his flesh repair,
nor gathered simples from the Marsic hills.
Thee soon in wailing woods Anguitia mourned,
thee, Fucinus, the lake of crystal wave,
thee, many a mountain-tarn!
Next, Virbius in martial beauty rode,
son of Hippolytus, whose mother, proud
Aricia, sent him in his flower of fame
out of Egeria’s hills and cloudy groves
where lies Diana’s gracious, gifted fane.
For legend whispers that Hippolytus,
by step-dame’s plot undone, his life-blood gave
to sate his vengeful father, and was rent
in sunder by wild horses; but the grave
to air of heaven and prospect of the stars
restored him; — for Diana’s love and care
poured out upon him Paeon’s healing balm.
But Jove, almighty Sire, brooked not to see
a mortal out of death and dark reclimb
to light of life, and with a thunderbolt
hurled to the Stygian river Phoebus’ son,
who dared such good elixir to compound.
But pitying Trivia hid Hippolytus
in her most secret cave, and gave in ward
to the wise nymph Egeria in her grove;
where he lived on inglorious and alone,
ranging the woods of Italy, and bore
the name of Virbius. ‘T is for this cause
the hallowed woods to Trivia’s temple vowed
forbid loud-footed horses, such as spilled
stripling and chariot on the fatal shore,
scared by the monsters peering from the sea.
Yet did the son o’er that tumultuous plain
his battle-chariot guide and plunging team.
Lo, Turnus strides conspicuous in the van,
full armed, of mighty frame, his lordly head
high o’er his peers emerging! His tall helm
with flowing triple crest for ensign bears
Chimaera, whose terrific lips outpour
volcanic fires; where’er the menace moves
of her infernal flames and wrathful frown,
there wildest flows the purple flood of war.
On his smooth shield deep graven in the gold
is horned Io — wondrous the device! —
a shaggy heifer-shape the maiden shows;
Argus is watching her, while Inachus
pours forth his river from the pictured urn.
A storm of tramping troops, to Turnus sworn,
throngs all the widespread plain with serried shields:
warriors of Argos, and Auruncan bands,
Sicani, Rutuli, Sacranian hosts,
Labicum’s painted shields; all who till
thy woodland vales, O Tiber! or the shore
Numicius hallows; all whose ploughs upturn
Rutulia’s hills, or that Circaean range
where Jove of Anxur guards, and forests green
make fair Feronia glad; where lie the fens
of Satura, and Ufens’ icy wave
through lowland valleys seeks his seaward way.
Last came Camilla, of the Volscians bred,
leading her mail-clad, radiant chivalry;
a warrior-virgin, of Minerva’s craft
of web and distaff, fit for woman’s toil,
no follower she; but bared her virgin breast
to meet the brunt of battle, and her speed
left even the winds behind; for she would skim
an untouched harvest ere the sickle fell,
nor graze the quivering wheat-tops as she ran;
or o’er the mid-sea billows’ swollen surge
so swiftly race, she wet not in the wave
her flying feet. For sight of her the youth
from field and fortress sped, and matrons grave
stood wondering as she passed, well-pleased to see
her royal scarf in many a purple fold
float off her shining shoulder, her dark hair
in golden clasp caught fast, and how she bore
for arms a quiver of the Lycian mode,
and shepherd’s shaft of myrtle tipped with steel.
BOOK VIII
When Turnus from Laurentum’s bastion proud
published the war, and roused the dreadful note
of the harsh trumpet’s song; when on swift steeds
the lash he laid and clashed his sounding arms;
then woke each warrior soul; all Latium stirred
with tumult and alarm; and martial rage
enkindled youth’s hot blood. The chieftains proud,
Messapus, Ufens, and that foe of Heaven,
Mezentius, compel from far and wide
their loyal hosts, and strip the field and farm
of husbandmen. To seek auxiliar arms
they send to glorious Diomed’s domain
the herald Venulus, and bid him cry:
“Troy is to Latium come; Aeneas’ fleet
has come to land. He brings his vanquished gods,
and gives himself to be our destined King.
Cities not few accept him, and his name
through Latium waxes large. But what the foe
by such attempt intends, what victory
is his presumptuous hope, if Fortune smile,
Aetolia’s lord will not less wisely fear
than royal Turnus or our Latin King.”
Thus Latium’s cause moved on. Meanwhile the heir
of great Laomedon, who knew full well
the whole wide land astir, was vexed and tossed
in troubled seas of care. This way and that
his swift thoughts flew, and scanned with like dismay
each partial peril or the general storm.
Thus the vexed waters at a fountain’s brim,
smitten by sunshine or the silver sphere
of a reflected moon, send forth a beam
of flickering light that leaps from wall to wall,
or, skyward lifted in ethereal flight,
glances along some rich-wrought, vaulted dome.
Now night had fallen, and all weary things,
all shapes of beast or bird, the wide world o’er,
lay deep in slumber. So beneath the arch
of a cold sky Aeneas laid him down
upon the river-bank, his heart sore tried
by so much war and sorrow, and gave o’er
his body to its Iong-delayed repose.
There, ‘twixt the poplars by the gentle stream,
the River-Father, genius of that place,
old Tiberinus visibly uprose;
a cloak of gray-green lawn he wore, his hair
o’erhung with wreath of reeds. In soothing words
thus, to console Aeneas’ cares, he spoke:
“Seed of the gods! who bringest to my shore
thy Trojan city wrested from her foe,
a stronghold everlasting, Latium’s plain
and fair Laurentum long have looked for thee.
Here truly is thy home. Turn not away.
Here the true guardians of thy hearth shall be.
Fear not the gathering war. The wrath o
f Heaven
has stilled its swollen wave. A sign I tell:
Lest thou shouldst deem this message of thy sleep
a vain, deluding dream, thou soon shalt find
in the oak-copses on my margent green,
a huge sow, with her newly-littered brood
of thirty young; along the ground she lies,
snow-white, and round her udders her white young.
There shall thy city stand, and there thy toil
shall find untroubled rest. After the lapse
of thrice ten rolling years, Ascanius
shall found a city there of noble name,
White-City, Alba; ‘t is no dream I sing!
But I instruct thee now by what wise way
th’ impending wars may bring thee victory:
receive the counsel, though the words be few:
within this land are men of Arcady,
of Pallas’ line, who, following in the train
of King Evander and his men-at-arms,
built them a city in the hills, and chose
(honoring Pallas, their Pelasgian sire),
the name of Pallanteum. They make war
incessant with the Latins. Therefore call
this people to thy side and bind them close
in federated power. My channel fair
and shaded shore shall guide thee where they dwell,
and thy strong oarsmen on my waters borne
shall mount my falling stream. Rise, goddess-born,
and ere the starlight fade give honor due
to Juno, and with supplicating vow
avert her wrath and frown. But unto me
make offering in thy victorious hour,
in time to come. I am the copious flood
which thou beholdest chafing at yon shores
and parting fruitful fields: cerulean stream
of Tiber, favored greatly of high Heaven.
here shall arise my house magnificent,
a city of all cities chief and crown.”
So spake the river-god, and sank from view
down to his deepest cave; then night and sleep
together from Aeneas fled away.
He rose, and to the orient beams of morn
his forehead gave; in both his hollowed palms
he held the sacred waters of the stream,
and called aloud: “O ye Laurentian nymphs,
whence flowing rills be born, and chiefly thou,
O Father Tiber, worshipped stream divine,
accept Aeneas, and from peril save!
If in some hallowed lake or haunted spring
thy power, pitying my woes, abides,
or wheresoe’er the blessed place be found
whence first thy beauty flows, there evermore
my hands shall bring thee gift and sacrifice.
O chief and sovereign of Hesperian streams,
O river-god that hold’st the plenteous horn,
