Complete Works of Virgil

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,