by Virgil
in chilling rivers, till they bear right well
the current’s bitter cold. Our slender lads
hunt night and day and rove the woods at large,
or for their merriment break stubborn steeds,
or bend the horn-tipped bow. Our manly prime
in willing labor lives, and is inured
to poverty and scantness; we subdue
our lands with rake and mattock, or in war
bid strong-walled cities tremble. Our whole life
is spent in use of iron; and we goad
the flanks of bullocks with a javelin’s end.
Nor doth old age, arriving late, impair
our brawny vigor, nor corrupt the soul
to frail decay. But over silvered brows
we bind the helmet. Our unfailing joy
is rapine, and to pile the plunder high.
But ye! your gowns-are saffron needlework
or Tyrian purple; ye love shameful ease,
or dancing revelry. Your tunics fiow
long-sleeved, and ye have soft caps ribbon-bound.
Aye, Phrygian girls are ye, not Phrygian men!
Hence to your hill of Dindymus! Go hear
the twy-mouthed piping ye have loved so long.
The timbrel, hark! the Berecynthian flute
calls you away, and Ida’s goddess calls.
Leave arms to men, true men! and quit the sword!”
Of such loud insolence and words of shame
Ascanius brooked no more, but laid a shaft
athwart his bowstring, and with arms stretched wide
took aim, first offering suppliant vow to Jove:
“Almighty Jupiter, thy favor show
to my bold deed! So to thy shrine I bear
gifts year by year, and to thine altars lead
a bull with gilded brows, snow-white, and tall
as his own dam, what time his youth begins
to lower his horns and fling the sand in air.”
The Father heard, and from a cloudless sky
thundered to leftward, while the deadly bow
resounded and the arrow’s fearful song
hissed from the string; it struck unswervingly
the head of Remulus and clove its way
deep in the hollows of his brow. “Begone!
Proud mocker at the brave! Lo, this reply
twice-vanquished Phrygians to Rutulia send.”
Ascanius said no more. The Teucrians
with deep-voiced shout of joy applaud, and lift
their exultation starward. Then from heaven
the flowing-haired Apollo bent his gaze
upon Ausonia’s host, and cloud-enthroned
looked downward o’er the city, speaking thus
to fair Iulus in his victory:
“Hail to thy maiden prowess, boy! This way
the starward path to dwelling-place divine.
O sired of gods and sire of gods to come,
all future storms of war by Fate ordained
shall into peace and lawful calm subside
beneath the offspring of Assaracus.
No Trojan destinies thy glory bound.”
So saying, from his far, ethereal seat
he hied him down, and, cleaving the quick winds
drew near Ascanius. He wore the guise
of aged Butes, who erewhile had borne
Anchises, armor and kept trusty guard
before his threshold, but attended now
Ascanius, by commandment of his sire.
Clad in this graybeard’s every aspect, moved
apollo forth, — his very voice and hue,
his hoary locks and grimly sounding shield, —
and to the flushed Iulus spoke this word:
“Child of Aeneas, be content that now
Numanus unavenged thine arrows feels.
Such dawn of glory great Apollo’s will
concedes, nor envies thee the fatal shaft
so like his own. But, tender youth, refrain
hereafter from this war!” So said divine
Apollo, who, while yet he spoke, put by
his mortal aspect, and before their eyes
melted to viewless air. The Teucrians knew
the vocal god with armament divine
of arrows; for his rattling quiver smote
their senses as he fled. Obedient
to Phoebus’ voice they held back from the fray
Iulus’ fury, and their eager souls
faced the fresh fight and danger’s darkest frown.
From tower to tower along the bastioned wall
their war-cry flew: they bend with busy hand
the cruel bow, or swing the whirling thong
of javelins. The earth on every side
is strewn with spent shafts, the reverberant shield
and hollow helmet ring with blows; the fight
more fiercely swells; not less the bursting storm
from watery Kid-stars in the western sky
lashes the plain, or multitudinous hail
beats upon shallow seas, when angry Jove
flings forth tempestuous and-boundless rain,
and splits the bellied clouds in darkened air.
The brothers Pandarus and Bitias,
of whom Alcanor was the famous sire,
on Ida born, and whom Iaera bred
in sacred wood of Jove, an oread she,
twin warriors, like their native hills and trees
of stature proud, now burst those portals wide
to them in ward consigned, and sword in hand
challenge the foe to enter. Side by side,
steel-clad, their tall heads in bright crested helms,
to left and right, like towers, the champions stand
as when to skyward, by the gliding waves
of gentle Athesis or Padus wide,
a pair of oaks uprise, and lift in air
their shaggy brows and nodding crests sublime.
In burst the Rutules where the onward way
seemed open wide; Quercens no tarrying knows,
nor proud Aquiculus in well-wrought arms;
Tmarus sweeps on impetuous, and the host
of Haemon, child of Mars. Some routed fly;
some lay their lives-down at the gate. Wild rage
o’erflows each martial breast, and gathered fast
the Trojans rally to one point, and dare
close conflict, or long sallies o’er the plain.
To Turnus, who upon a distant field
was storming with huge havoc, came the news
that now his foe, before a gate thrown wide,
was red with slaughter. His own fight he stays,
and speeds him, by enormous rage thrust on,
to those proud brethren at the Dardan wall.
There first Antiphates, who made his war
far in the van (a Theban captive’s child
to great Sarpedon out of wedlock born),
he felled to earth with whirling javelin:
th’ Italic shaft of cornel lightly flew
along the yielding air, and through his throat
pierced deep into the breast; a gaping wound
gushed blood; the hot shaft to his bosom clung.
Then Erymas and Merops his strong hand
laid low: Aphidnus next, then came the turn
of Bitias, fiery-hearted, furious-eyed:
but not by javelin, — such cannot fall
by flying javelin, — the ponderous beam
of a phalaric spear, with mighty roar,
like thunderbolt upon him fell; such shock
neither the bull’s-hides of his double shield
nor twofold corselet’s golden scales could stay
but all his towering frame in ruin fell.
Earth groaned, and o’er him rang his ample shield.
so crashes down from Baiae’s storied shore
a rock-built mole,
whose mighty masonry,
piled up with care, men cast into the sea;
it trails its wreckage far, and fathoms down
lies broken in the shallows, while the waves
whirl every way, and showers of black sand
are scattered on the air: with thunder-sound
steep Prochyta is shaken, and that bed
of cruel stone, Inarime, which lies
heaped o’er Typhoeus by revenge of Jove.
Now to the Latins Mars, the lord of war,
gave might and valor, and to their wild hearts
his spur applied, but on the Teucrians breathed
dark fear and flight. From every quarter came
auxiliar hosts, where’er the conflict called,
and in each bosom pulsed the god of war.
When Pandarus now saw his brother’s corse
low Iying, and which way the chance and tide
of battle ran, he violently moved
the swinging hinges of the gate, and strained
with both his shoulders broad. He shut outside
not few of his own people, left exposed
in fiercest fight but others with himself
he barred inside and saved them as they fled;
nor noted, madman, how the Rutule King
had burst in midmost of the line, and now
stood prisoned in their wall, as if he were
some monstrous tiger among helpless kine.
His eyeballs strangely glared; his armor rang
terrific, his tall crest shook o’er his brows
blood-red, and lightnings glittered from his shield
familiar loomed that countenance abhorred
and frame gigantic on the shrinking eyes
of the Aeneadae. Then Pandarus
sprang towering forth, all fever to revenge
his brother’s slaughter. “Not this way,” he cried
“Amata’s marriage-gift! No Ardea here
mews Turnus in his fathers’ halls. Behold
thy foeman’s castle! Thou art not allowed
to take thy leave.” But Turnus looked his way,
and smiled with heart unmoved. “Begin! if thou
hast manhood in thee, and meet steel with steel!
Go tell dead Priam thou discoverest here
Achilles!” For reply, the champion tall
hurled with his might and main along the air
his spear of knotted wood and bark untrimmed.
But all it wounded was the passing wind,
for Saturn’s daughter turned its course awry,
and deep in the great gate the spear-point drove.
“Now from the stroke this right arm means for thee
thou shalt not fly. Not such the sender of
this weapon and this wound.” He said, and towered
aloft to his full height; the lifted sword
clove temples, brows, and beardless cheeks clean through
with loudly ringing blow; the ground beneath
shook with the giant’s ponderous fall, and, lo,
with nerveless limbs, and brains spilt o’er his shield,
dead on the earth he lay! in equal halves
the sundered head from either shoulder swung.
In horror and amaze the Trojans all
dispersed and fled; had but the conqueror thought
to break the barriers of the gates and call
his followers through, that fatal day had seen
an ending of the Teucrians and their war.
But frenzied joy of slaughter urged him on,
infuriate, to smite the scattering foe.
First Phaleris he caught; then cut the knees
of Gyges; both their spears he snatched away
and hurled them at the rout; ‘t was Juno roused
his utmost might of rage. Now Halys fell,
and Phegeus, whom he pierced right through the shield:
next, at the walls and urging reckless war,
Alcander, Halius, and Noemon gave
their lives, and Prytanis went down. In vain
Lynceus made stand and called his comrades brave:
for Turnus from the right with waving sword
caught at him and lopped off with one swift blow
the head, which with its helmet rolled away.
Next Amycus, destroyer of wild beasts,
who knew full well to smear a crafty barb
with venomed oil; young Clytius he slew,
son of the wind-god; then on Cretheus fell,
a follower of the muses and their friend:
Cretheus, whose every joy it was to sing,
and fit his numbers to the chorded Iyre;
steeds, wars, armed men were his perpetual song.
At last the Teucrian chiefs had heard the tale
of so much slaughter; and in council met
are Mnestheus and Serestus bold, who see
their comrades routed and the conquering foe
within the gates. Cries Mnestheus, “Whither fly?
What open way is yonder or what wall?
Beyond these ramparts lost what stronger lie?
Shall one lone man here in your walls confined,
make havoc unavenged and feed the grave
with your best warriors? 0 cowards vile!
For your sad country and her ancient gods
and for renowned Aeneas, can ye feel
no pity and no shame?” Enflamed to fight
by words like these, they close the line, and stand
in strong array. So Turnus for a space
out of the battle step by step withdrew
to make the river-bank his rearguard strong;
whereat the Teucrians, shouting loud, swept on
the fiercer, and in solid mass pressed round.
as when a troop of hunters with keen spears
encircle a wild lion, who in fear,
but glaring grim and furious, backward falls,
valor and rage constrain him ne’er to cease
fronting the foe; yet not for all his ire
can he against such serried steel make way:
so Turnus backward with a lingering step
unwilling drew, and wrath his heart oterflowed.
for twice already had he cloven a path
into the foe’s mid-press, and twice had driven
their flying lines in panic through the town.
But now the whole throng from the camp he sees
massed to the onset. Nor will Juno now
dare give him vigor to withstand, for Jove
had sent aerial Iris out of heaven
with stern commandment to his sister-queen
that Turnus from the Teucrian walls retire.
Therefore the warrior’s shield avails no more,
nor his strong arm; but he is overthrown
by general assault. Around his brows
his smitten helmet rings; the ponderous mail
cracks under falling stones; the haughty plumes
are scattered from his head, nor can the boss
of his stout shield endure; the Trojans hurl
redoubled rain of spears; and with them speeds
Mnestheus like thunderbolt. The hero’s flesh
dissolves in sweat; no room to breathe has he;
his limbs are spent and weary; his whole frame
shakes with his gasping breath: then bounding fort
with all his harness on, headlong he plunged
into the flowing stream; its yellow tide
embraced him as he fell, and gentle waves
restored him smiling to his friends in arms,
with all the gore and carnage washed away.
BOOK X
Meanwhile Olympus, seat of sovereign sway,
threw wide its portals, and in conclave fair
the Sire of gods and King of all mankind
summoned th’ immortals to his starry court,
w
hence, high-enthroned, the spreading earth he views —
and Teucria’s camp and Latium’s fierce array.
Beneath the double-gated dome the gods
were sitting; Jove himself the silence broke:
“O people of Olympus, wherefore change
your purpose and decree, with partial minds
in mighty strife contending? I refused
such clash of war ‘twixt Italy and Troy.
Whence this forbidden feud? What fears
seduced to battles and injurious arms
either this folk or that? Th’ appointed hour
for war shall be hereafter — speed it not! —
When cruel Carthage to the towers of Rome
shall bring vast ruin, streaming fiercely down
the opened Alp. Then hate with hate shall vie,
and havoc have no bound. Till then, give o’er,
and smile upon the concord I decree!”
Thus briefly, Jove. But golden Venus made
less brief reply. “O Father, who dost hold
o’er Man and all things an immortal sway!
Of what high throne may gods the aid implore
save thine? Behold of yonder Rutuli
th’ insulting scorn! Among them Turnus moves
in chariot proud, and boasts triumphant war
in mighty words. Nor do their walls defend
my Teucrians now. But in their very gates,
and on their mounded ramparts, in close fight
they breast their foes and fill the moats with blood.
Aeneas knows not, and is far away.
Will ne’er the siege have done? A second time
above Troy’s rising walls the foe impends;
another host is gathered, and once more
from his Aetolian Arpi wrathful speeds
a Diomed. I doubt not that for me
wounds are preparing. Yea, thy daughter dear
awaits a mortal sword! If by thy will
unblest and unapproved the Trojans came
to Italy, for such rebellious crime
give them their due, nor lend them succor, thou,
with thy strong hand! But if they have obeyed
unnumbered oracles from gods above
and sacred shades below, who now has power
to thwart thy bidding, or to weave anew
the web of Fate? Why speak of ships consumed
along my hallowed Erycinian shore?
Or of the Lord of Storms, whose furious blasts
were summoned from Aeolia? Why tell
of Iris sped from heaven? Now she moves
the region of the shades (one kingdom yet
from her attempt secure) and thence lets loose
Alecto on the world above, who strides
in frenzied wrath along th’ Italian hills.
No more my heart now cherishes its hope
of domination, though in happier days
