by Virgil
strode forth, exulting in his burnished arms
(Him Dryope, the nymph, to Faunus bore),
and dared oppose Aeneas’ rage. But he
drew back his lance and, charging, crushed at once
corselet and ponderous shield; then off he struck
the supplicating head, which seemed in vain
preparing speech; while o’er the reeking corpse
the victor stood, and thrusting it away
spoke thus with wrathful soul: “Now lie thou there,
thou fearsome sight! No noble mother’s hand
shall hide thee in the ground, or give those limbs
to their ancestral tomb. Thou shalt be left
to birds of ravin; or go drifting far
along yon river to engulfing seas,
where starving fishes on those wounds shall feed.”
Antceus next and Lucas he pursues,
though all in Turnus’ van; and Numa bold
and Camers tawny-tressed, the son and heir
of Volscens the stout-hearted, whose domain
surpassed the richest of Ausonia’s lords,
when over hushed Amyclae he was king.
Like old Aegaeon of the hundred arms,
the hundred-handed, from whose mouths and breasts
blazed fifty fiery blasts, as he made war
with fifty sounding shields and fifty swords
against Jove’s thunder; — so Aeneas raged
victorious o’er the field, when once his steel
warmed to its work. But lo, he turns him now
where come Niphaeus’ bold-advancing wheels
and coursers four, who, when at furious speed
they faced his giant stride and dreadful cry,
upreared in panic, and reversing spilled
their captain to the ground, and bore away
the chariot to the river’s distant shore.
Meanwhile, with two white coursers to their car,
the brothers Lucagus and Liger drove
into the heart of battle: Liger kept
with skilful hand the manage of the steeds;
bold Lucagus swung wide his naked sword.
Aeneas, by their wrathful brows defied,
brooked not the sight, but to the onset flew,
huge-looming, with adverse and threatening spear.
Cried Liger, “Not Achilles’ chariot, ours!
Nor team of Diomed on Phrygia’s plain!
The last of life and strife shall be thy meed
upon this very ground.” Such raving word
flowed loud from Liger’s lip: not with a word
the Trojan hero answered him, but flung
his whirling spear; and even as Lucagus
leaned o’er the horses, goading them with steel,
and, left foot forward, gathered all his strength
to strike — the spear crashed through the under rim
of his resplendent shield and entered deep
in the left groin; then from the chariot fallen,
the youth rolled dying on the field, while thus
pious Aeneas paid him taunting words:
“O Lucagus, thy chariot did not yield
because of horses slow to fly, or scared
by shadows of a foe. It was thyself
leaped o’er the wheel and fled.” So saying, he grasped
the horses by the rein. The brother then,
spilled also from the car, reached wildly forth
his helpless hands: “O, by thy sacred head,
and by the parents who such greatness gave,
good Trojan, let me live! Some pity show
to prostrate me!” But ere he longer sued,
Aeneas cried, “Not so thy language ran
a moment gone! Die thou! Nor let this day
brother from brother part!” Then where the life
hides in the bosom, he thrust deep his sword.
Thus o’er the field of war the Dardan King
moved on, death-dealing: like a breaking flood
or cloudy whirlwind seemed his wrath. Straightway
the boy Ascanius from the ramparts came,
his warriors with him; for the siege had failed.
Now Jupiter to Juno thus began:
“O ever-cherished spouse and sister dear,
surely ‘t is Venus — as thy mind misgave —
whose favor props — O, what discernment thine!
Yon Trojan power; not swift heroic hands,
or souls of fury facing perilous war!”
Juno made meek reply: “O noblest spouse!
Why vex one sick at heart, who humbly fears
thy stern command? If I could claim to-day
what once I had, my proper right and due,
love’s induence, I should not plead in vain
to thee, omnipotent, to give me power
to lead off Turnus from the fight unscathed,
and save him at his father Daunus’ prayer.
Aye, let him die! And with his loyal blood
the Teucrians’ vengeance feed! Yet he derives
from our Saturnian stem, by fourth remove
sprung from Pilumnus. Oft his liberal hands
have heaped unstinted offering at thy shrine.”
Thus in few words th’ Olympian King replied:
“If for the fated youth thy prayer implores
delay and respite of impending doom,
if but so far thou bidst me interpose, —
go — favor Turnus’ flight, and keep him safe
in this imperilled hour; I may concede
such boon. But if thy pleading words intend
some larger grace, and fain would touch or change
the issue of the war, then art thou fed
on expectation vain.” With weeping eyes
Juno made answer: “Can it be thy mind
gives what thy words refuse, and Turnus’ life,
if rescued, may endure? Yet afterward
some cruel close his guiltless day shall see —
or far from truth I stray! O, that I were
the dupe of empty fears! and O, that thou
wouldst but refashion to some happier end
the things by thee begun — for thou hast power!”
She ceased; and swiftly from the peak of heaven
moved earthward, trailing cloud-wrack through the air,
and girdled with the storm. She took her way
to where Troy’s warriors faced Laurentum’s line.
There of a hollow cloud the goddess framed
a shape of airy, unsubstantial shade,
Aeneas’ image, wonderful to see,
and decked it with a Dardan lance and shield,
a crested helmet on the godlike head;
and windy words she gave of soulless sound,
and motion like a stride — such shapes, they say,
the hovering phantoms of the dead put on,
or empty dreams which cheat our slumbering eyes.
Forth to the front of battle this vain shade
stalked insolent, and with its voice and spear
challenged the warrior. At it Turnus flew,
and hurled a hissing spear with distant aim;
the thing wheeled round and fled. The foe forthwith,
thinking Aeneas vanquished, with blind scorn
flattered his own false hope: “Where wilt thou fly,
Aeneas? Wilt thou break a bridegroom’s word?
This sword will give thee title to some land
thou hast sailed far to find!” So clamoring loud
he followed, flashing far his naked sword;
nor saw the light winds waft his dream away.
By chance in covert of a lofty crag
a ship stood fastened and at rest; her sides
showed ready bridge and stairway; she had brought
Osinius, king of Clusium. Thither came
Aeneas’ counte
rfeit of flight and fear,
and dropped to darkness. Turnus, nothing loth,
gave close chase, overleaping every bar,
and scaling the high bridge; but scarce he reached
the vessel’s prow, when Juno cut her loose,
the cables breaking, and along swift waves
pushed her to sea. Yet in that very hour
Aeneas to the battle vainly called
the vanished foe, and round his hard-fought path
stretched many a hero dead. No longer now
the mocking shadow sought to hide, but soared
visibly upward and was Iost in cloud,
while Turnus drifted o’er the waters wide
before the wind. Bewildered and amazed
he looked around him; little joy had he
in his own safety, but upraised his hands
in prayer to Heaven: “O Sire omnipotent!
Didst thou condemn me to a shame like this?
Such retribution dire? Whither now?
Whence came I here? What panic wafts away
this Turnus — if ‘t is he? Shall I behold
Laurentum’s towers once more? But what of those
my heroes yonder, who took oath to me,
and whom — O sin and shame! — I have betrayed
to horrible destruction? Even now
I see them routed, and my ears receive
their dying groans. What is this thing I do?
Where will the yawning earth crack wide enough
beneath my feet? Ye tempests, pity me!
On rocks and reef— ‘t is Turnus’ faithful prayer,
let this bark founder; fling it on the shoals
of wreckful isles, where no Rutulian eye
can follow me, or Rumor tell my shame.”
With such wild words his soul tossed to and fro,
not knowing if to hide his infamy
with his own sword and madly drive its blade
home to his heart, or cast him in the sea,
and, swimming to the rounded shore, renew
his battle with the Trojan foe. Three times
each fatal course he tried; but Juno’s power
three times restrained, and with a pitying hand
the warrior’s purpose barred. So on he sped
o’er yielding waters and propitious tides,
far as his father Daunus’ ancient town.
At Jove’s command Mezentius, breathing rage,
now takes the field and leads a strong assault
against victorious Troy. The Tuscan ranks
meet round him, and press hard on him alone,
on him alone with vengeance multiplied
their host of swords they draw. As some tall cliff,
projecting to the sea, receives the rage
of winds and waters, and untrembling bears
vast, frowning enmity of seas and skies, —
so he. First Dolichaon’s son he slew,
Hebrus; then Latagus and Palmus, though
they fled amain; he smote with mighty stone
torn from the mountain, full upon the face
of Latagus; and Palmus he let lie
hamstrung and rolling helpless; he bestowed
the arms on his son Lausus for a prize,
another proud crest in his helm to wear;
he laid the Phrygian Euanthus Iow;
and Mimas, Paris’ comrade, just his age, —
born of Theano’s womb to Amycus
his sire, that night when royal Hecuba,
teeming with firebrand, gave Paris birth:
one in the city of his fathers sleeps;
and one, inglorious, on Laurentian strand.
As when a wild boar, harried from the hills
by teeth of dogs (one who for many a year
was safe in pine-clad Vesulus, or roamed
the meres of Tiber, feeding in the reeds)
falls in the toils at last, and stands at bay,
raging and bristling, and no hunter dares
defy him or come near, but darts are hurled
from far away, with cries unperilous:
not otherwise, though righteous is their wrath
against Mezentius, not a man so bold
as face him with drawn sword, but at long range
they throw their shafts and with loud cries assail;
he, all unterrified, makes frequent stand,
gnashing his teeth, and shaking off their spears.
From ancient Corythus had Acron come,
a Greek, who left half-sung his wedding-song,
and was an exile; him Mezentius saw
among long lines of foes, with flaunting plumes
and purple garments from his plighted spouse.
Then as a starving lion when he prowls
about high pasture-lands, urged on his way
by maddening hunger (if perchance he see
a flying she-goat or tall-antlered stag)
lifts up his shaggy mane, and gaping wide
his monstrous jaws, springs at the creature’s side,
feeding foul-lipped, insatiable of gore:
so through his gathered foes Mezentius
flew at his prey. He stretched along the ground
ill-fated Acron, who breathed life away,
beating the dark dust with his heels, and bathed
his broken weapons in his blood. Nor deigned
Mezentius to strike Orodes down
as he took flight, nor deal a wound unseen
with far-thrown spear; but ran before his face,
fronting him man to man, nor would he win
by sleight or trick, but by a mightier sword.
Soon on the fallen foe he set his heel,
and, pushing hard, with heel and spear, cried out:
“Look ye, my men, where huge Orodes lies,
himself a dangerous portion of this war!”
With loyal, Ioud acclaim his peers reply;
but thus the dying hero: “Victor mine,
whoe’er thou art, I fall not unavenged!
Thou shalt but triumph for a fleeting hour.
Like doom for thee is written. Speedily
thou shalt this dust inhabit, even as I!”
Mezentius answered him with wrathful smile:
“Now die! What comes on me concerns alone
the Sire of gods and Sovereign of mankind.”
So saying, from the wounded breast he plucked
his javelin: and on those eyes there fell
inexorable rest and iron slumber,
and in unending night their vision closed.
Then Caedicus cut down Alcathous,
Sacrator slew Hydaspes, Rapo smote
Parthenius and Orses stout and strong;
Messapus, good blade cut down Clonius
and Ericetes, fierce Lycaon’s child;
the one from an unbridled war-horse thrown,
the other slain dismounted. Then rode forth
Agis the Lycian, but bold Valerus,
true to his valiant breeding, hurled him down;
having slain Thronius, Salius was slain
by skilled Nealces, of illustrious name
for spear well cast and far-surprising bow.
Thus Mars relentless holds in equal scale
slaughters reciprocal and mutual woe;
the victors and the vanquished kill or fall
in equal measure; neither knows the way
to yield or fly. Th’ Olympians Iook down
out of Jove’s house, and pity as they see
the unavailing wrath of either foe,
and burdens measureless on mortals laid.
Lo! Venus here, Saturnian Juno yon,
in anxious watch; while pale Tisiphone
moves on infuriate through the battling lines.
On strode Mezentius o’er the gory plain,
and swollen with rage waved wide-his awful spear.
Like ta
ll Orion when on foot he goes
trough the deep sea and lifts his shoulders high
above the waves; or when he takes his path
along the mountain-tops, and has for staff
an aged ash-tree, as he fixes firm
his feet in earth and hides his brows in cloud; —
so Ioomed Mezentius with his ponderous arms.
To match him now, Aeneas, Iooking down
the long array of war, came forth in arms
to challenge and defy. But quailing not,
a mass immovable, the other stood
waiting his noble foe, and with a glance
measured to cast his spear the space between.
“May this right hand”, he said, “and this swift spear
which here I poise, be favoring gods for me!
The spoils from yonder robber’s carcase stripped
I vow to hang on thee, my Lausus, thou
shalt stand for trophy of Aeneas slain.”
He said, and hurled from far the roaring spear,
which from the shield glanced off, and speeding still
smote famed Antores ‘twixt the loin and side —
antores, friend of Hercules, who came
from Argos, and had joined Evander’s cause,
abiding in Italia. Lo, a wound
meant for another pierced him, and he lay,
ill-fated! Iooking upward to the light,
and dreaming of dear Argos as he died.
Then good Aeneas hurled his spear; it passed
through hollow orb of triple bronze, and through
layers of flax and triple-twisted hides;
then in the lower groin it lodged, but left
its work undone. Aeneas, not ill-pleased
to see the Tuscan wounded, swiftly drew
the falchion from his thigh, and hotly pressed
his startled foe. But Lausus at the sight
groaned loud, so much he loved his father dear,
and tears his cheek bedewed. O storied youth!
If olden worth may win believing ear,
let not my song now fail of thee to sing,
thy noble deeds, thy doom of death and pain!
Mezentius, now encumbered and undone,
fell backward, trailing from the broken shield
his foeman’s spear. His son leaped wildly forth
to join the fray; and where Aeneas’ hand
lifted to strike, he faced the thrusting sword
and gave the hero pause. His comrades raised
applauding cries, as shielded by his son
the father made retreat; their darts they hurl,
and vex with flying spears the distant foe:
Aeneas, wrathful, stands beneath his shield.
As when the storm-clouds break in pelting hail,
the swains and ploughmen from the furrows fly,
and every traveller cowers in sure defence
of river-bank or lofty shelving crag,
