Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

in adverse war, how on himself they call

  to keep his pledge, and with indignant eyes

  gaze all his way, fierce rage implacable

  swells his high heart. As when on Libyan plain

  a lion, gashed along his tawny breast

  by the huntsman’s grievous thrust, awakens him

  unto his last grim fight, and gloriously

  shaking the great thews of his maned neck,

  shrinks not, but crushes the despoiler’s spear

  with blood-sprent, roaring mouth, — not less than so

  burns the wild soul of Turnus and his ire.

  Thus to the King he spoke with stormful brow:

  “The war lags not for Turnus’ sake. No cause

  constrains the Teucrian cowards and their King

  to eat their words and what they pledged refuse.

  On his own terms I come. Bring forward, sire,

  the sacrifice, and seal the pact I swear:

  either to deepest hell this hand shall fling

  yon Trojan runaway — the Latins all

  may sit at ease and see! — and my sole sword

  efface the general shame; or let him claim

  the conquest, and Lavinia be his bride.”

  To him Latinus with unruffled mind

  thus made reply: “O youth surpassing brave!

  The more thy sanguinary valor burns

  beyond its wont, the more with toilsome care

  I ponder with just fear what chance may fall,

  weighing it well. Thy father Daunus’ throne,

  and many a city by thy sword subdued,

  are still thy own. Latinus also boasts

  much golden treasure and a liberal hand.

  Other unwedded maids of noble stem

  in Latium and Laurentine land are found.

  Permit me, then, to tell thee without guile

  things hard to utter; let them deeply fill

  thy listening soul. My sacred duty ’twas

  to plight my daughter’s hand to nonesoe’er

  of all her earlier wooers — so declared

  the gods and oracles; but overcome

  by love of thee, by thy dear, kindred blood,

  and by the sad eyes of my mournful Queen,

  I shattered every bond; I snatched away

  the plighted maiden from her destined lord,

  and took up impious arms. What evil case

  upon that deed ensued, what hapless wars,

  thou knowest, since thyself dost chiefly bear

  the cruel burden. In wide-ranging fight

  twice-conquered, our own city scarce upholds

  the hope of Italy. Yon Tiber’s wave

  still runs warm with my people’s blood; the plains

  far round us glisten with their bleaching bones.

  Why tell it o’er and o’er? What maddening dream

  perverts my mind? If after Turnus slain

  I must for friendship of the Trojan sue,

  were it not better to suspend the fray

  while Turnus lives? For what will be the word

  of thy Rutulian kindred — yea, of all

  Italia, if to death I give thee o’er —

  (Which Heaven avert!) because thou fain wouldst win

  my daughter and be sworn my friend and son?

  Bethink thee what a dubious work is war;

  have pity on thy father’s reverend years,

  who even now thy absence daily mourns

  in Ardea, his native land and thine.”

  But to this pleading Turnus’ frenzied soul

  yields not at all, but rather blazes forth

  more wildly, and his fever fiercer burns

  beneath the healer’s hand. In answer he,

  soon as his passion gathered voice, began:

  “This keen solicitude for love of me,

  I pray, good sire, for love of me put by!

  And let me traffic in the just exchange

  of death for glory. This right hand, O King,

  can scatter shafts not few, nor do I wield

  untempered steel. Whene’er I make a wound

  blood follows. For my foeman when we meet

  will find no goddess-mother near, with hand

  to hide him in her woman’s skirt of cloud,

  herself in dim, deluding shade concealed.”

  But now the Queen, whose whole heart shrank in fear

  from these new terms of duel, wept aloud,

  and like one dying clasped her fiery son:

  “O Turnus, by these tears-if in thy heart

  thou honorest Amata still — O thou

  who art of our distressful, dark old age

  the only hope and peace, the kingly name

  and glory of Latinus rests in thee;

  thou art the mighty prop whereon is stayed

  our falling house. One favor I implore:

  give o’er this fight with Trojans. In such strife

  thy destined doom is destined to be mine

  by the same fatal stroke. For in that hour

  this hated life shall cease, nor will I look

  with slave’s eyes on Aeneas as my son.”

  Lavinia heard her mother’s voice, and tears

  o’erflowed her scarlet cheek, where blushes spread

  like flame along her warm, young face and brow:

  as when the Indian ivory must wear

  ensanguined crimson stain, or lilies pale

  mingled with roses seem to blush, such hues

  her virgin features bore; and love’s desire

  disturbed his breast, as, gazing on the maid,

  his martial passion fiercer flamed; whereon

  in brief speech he addressed the Queen: “No tears!

  No evil omen, mother, I implore!

  Make me no sad farewells, as I depart

  to the grim war-god’s game! Can Turnus’ hand

  delay death’s necessary coming? Go,

  Idmon, my herald, to the Phrygian King,

  and tell him this — a word not framed to please:

  soon as Aurora from her crimson car

  flushes to-morrow’s sky, let him no more

  against the Rutule lead the Teucrian line;

  let Teucrian swords and Rutule take repose,

  while with our own spilt blood we twain will make

  an end of war; on yonder mortal field

  let each man woo Lavinia for his bride.”

  So saying, he hied him to his lordly halls,

  summoned his steeds, and with pleased eye surveyed

  their action proud: them Orithyia, bride

  of Boreas, to Sire Pilumnus gave,

  which in their whiteness did surpass the snow

  in speed the wind. The nimble charioteers

  stood by and smote with hollowed hand and palm

  the sounding chests, or combed the necks and manes.

  But he upon his kingly shoulders clasped

  his corselet, thick o’erlaid with blazoned gold

  and silvery orichalch; he fitted him

  with falchion, shield, and helm of purple plume,

  that falchion which the Lord of Fire had made

  for Daunus, tempering in the Stygian wave

  when white it glowed; next grasped he the good spear

  which leaned its weight against a column tall

  in the mid-court, Auruncan Actor’s spoil,

  and waved it wide in air with mighty cry:

  “O spear, that ne’er did fail me when I called,

  the hour is come! Once mighty Actor’s hand,

  but now the hand of Turnus is thy lord.

  Grant me to strike that carcase to the ground,

  and with strong hand the corselet rip and rend

  from off that Phrygian eunuch: let the dust

  befoul those tresses, tricked to curl so fine

  with singeing steel and sleeked with odorous oil.”

  Such frenzy goads him: his impassion
ed brow

  is all on flame, the wild eyes flash with fire.

  Thus, bellowing loud before the fearful fray,

  some huge bull proves the fury of his horns,

  pushing against a tree-trunk; his swift thrusts

  would tear the winds in pieces; while his hoofs

  toss up the turf and sand, rehearsing war.

  That self-same day with aspect terrible

  Aeneas girt him in the wondrous arms

  his mother gave; made sharp his martial steel,

  and roused his heart to ire; though glad was he

  to seal such truce and end the general war.

  Then he spoke comfort to his friends; and soothed

  Iulus’ fear, unfolding Heaven’s intent;

  but on Latinus bade his heralds lay

  unyielding terms and laws of peace impose.

  Soon as the breaking dawn its glory threw

  along the hills, and from the sea’s profound

  leaped forth the horses of the sun-god’s car,

  from lifted nostrils breathing light and fire,

  then Teucrian and Rutulian measured out

  a place for duel, underneath the walls

  of the proud city. In the midst were set

  altars of turf and hearth-stones burning bright

  in honor of their common gods. Some brought

  pure waters and the hallowed flame, their thighs

  in priestly skirt arrayed, and reverend brows

  with vervain bound. Th’ Ausonians, spear in hand,

  out from the city’s crowded portals moved

  in ordered column: next the Trojans all,

  with Tuscan host in various martial guise,

  equipped with arms of steel, as if they heard

  stern summons to the fight. Their captains, too,

  emerging from the multitude, in pride

  of gold and purple, hurried to and fro:

  Mnestheus of royal stem, Asilas brave;

  and Neptune’s offspring, tamer of the steed,

  Messapus. Either host, at signal given,

  to its own ground retiring, fixed in earth

  the long shafts of the spears and stacked the shields.

  Then eagerly to tower and rampart fly

  the women, the infirm old men, the throng

  of the unarmed, and sit them there at gaze,

  or on the columned gates expectant stand.

  But Juno, peering from that summit proud

  which is to-day the Alban (though that time

  nor name nor fame the hallowed mountain knew),

  surveyed the plain below and fair array

  of Trojan and Laurentine, by the walls

  of King Latinus. Whereupon straightway

  with Turnus’ sister she began converse,

  goddess with goddess; for that nymph divine

  o’er Alba’s calm lakes and loud rivers reigns;

  Jove, the high monarch of th’ ethereal sky,

  gave her such glory when he stole away

  her virgin zone. “O nymph”, she said, “who art

  the pride of flowing streams, and much beloved

  of our own heart! thou knowest thou alone

  hast been my favorite of those Latin maids

  that to proud Jove’s unthankful bed have climbed;

  and willingly I found thee place and share

  in our Olympian realm. So blame not me,

  but hear, Juturna, what sore grief is thine:

  while chance and destiny conceded aught

  of strength to Latium’s cause, I shielded well

  both Turnus and thy city’s wall; but now

  I see our youthful champion make his war

  with fates adverse. The Parcae’s day of doom

  implacably impends. My eyes refuse

  to Iook upon such fight, such fatal league.

  If for thy brother’s life thou couldst be bold

  to venture some swift blow, go, strike it now!

  ‘T is fit and fair! Some issue fortunate

  may tread on sorrow’s heel.” She scarce had said,

  when rained the quick tears from Juturna’s eyes.

  Three times and yet again her desperate hand

  smote on her comely breast. But Juno cried,

  “No tears to-day! But haste thee, haste and find

  what way, if way there be, from clutch of death

  to tear thy brother free; arouse the war;

  their plighted peace destroy. I grant thee leave

  such boldness to essay.” With this command

  she left the nymph dismayed and grieving sore.

  Meanwhile the kings ride forth: Latinus first,

  looming tall-statured from his four-horse car;

  twelve rays of gold encircle his bright brow,

  sign of the sun-god, his progenitor;

  next Turnus, driving snow-white steeds, is seen, —

  two bread-tipped javelins in his hand he bears;

  Aeneas, of Rome’s blood the source and sire,

  with star-bright shield and panoply divine,

  far-shining comes; Ascanius by his side —

  of Roman greatness the next hope is he.

  To camp they rode, where, garbed in blameless white,

  with youngling swine and two-year sheep unshorn,

  the priest before the flaming altars drove

  his flock and offering: to the rising sun

  all eyes are lifted, as with careful hand

  the salted meal is scattered, while with knives

  they mark each victim’s brow, outpouring wine

  from shallow bowls, the sacrifice to bless.

  Then good Aeneas, his sword drawn, put forth

  this votive prayer: “O Sun in heaven; and thou,

  Italia, for whom such toils I bear,

  be witness of my orison. On thee,

  Father omnipotent, I call; on thee,

  his Queen Saturnia, — now may she be

  more gracious to my prayer! O glorious Mars,

  beneath whose godhead and paternity

  all wars begin and end, on thee I call;

  hail, all ye river-gods and haunted springs;

  hail, whatsoever gods have seat of awe

  in yonder distant sky, and ye whose power

  is in the keeping of the deep, blue sea:

  if victory to Ausonian Turnus fall,

  then let my vanquished people take its way

  unto Evander’s city! From these plains

  Iulus shall retire — so stands the bond;

  nor shall the Trojans with rebellious sword

  bring after-trouble on this land and King.

  But if on arms of ours success shall shine,

  as I doubt not it shall (may gods on high

  their will confirm!), I purpose not to chain

  Italian captive unto Teucrian lord,

  nor seek I kingly power. Let equal laws

  unite in federation without end

  the two unconquered nations; both shall share

  my worshipped gods. Latinus, as my sire,

  shall keep his sword, and as my sire receive

  inviolable power. The Teucrians

  shall build my stronghold, but our citadel

  shall bear forevermore Lavinia’s name.”

  Aeneas thus: then with uplifted eyes

  Latinus swore, his right hand raised to heaven:

  “I too, Aeneas, take the sacred vow.

  By earth and sea and stars in heaven I swear,

  by fair Latona’s radiant children twain,

  and two-browed Janus; by the shadowy powers

  of Hades and th’ inexorable shrines

  of the Infernal King; and may Jove hear,

  who by his lightnings hallows what is sworn!

  I touch these altars, and my lips invoke

  the sacred altar-fires that ‘twixt us burn:

  we men of Italy will make this peace

  inviolate
, and its bond forever keep,

  let come what will; there is no power can change

  my purpose, not if ocean’s waves o’erwhelm

  the world in billowy deluge and obscure

  the bounds of heaven and hell. We shall remain

  immutable as my smooth sceptre is”

  (By chance a sceptre in his hand he bore),

  “which wears no more light leaf or branching shade;

  for long since in the grove ‘t was plucked away

  from parent stem, and yielded to sharp steel

  its leaves and limbs; erewhile ‘t was but a tree,

  till the wise craftsman with fair sheath of bronze

  encircled it and laid it in the hands

  of Latium’s royal sires.” With words like these

  they swore the bond, in the beholding eyes

  of gathered princes. Then they slit the throats

  of hallowed victims o’er the altar’s blaze,

  drew forth the quivering vitals, and with flesh

  on loaded chargers heaped the sacrifice.

  But to Rutulian eyes th’ approaching joust

  seemed all ill-matched; and shifting hopes and fears

  disturbed their hearts the closer they surveyed

  th’ unequal risks: still worse it was to see

  how Turnus, silent and with downcast eyes,

  dejectedly drew near the place of prayer,

  worn, pale, and wasted in his youthful bloom.

  The nymph Juturna, with a sister’s fear,

  noted the growing murmur, and perceived

  how all the people’s will did shift and change;

  she went from rank to rank, feigning the shape

  of Camers, scion of illustrious line,

  with heritage of valor, and himself

  dauntless in war; unceasingly she ran

  from rank to rank, spreading with skilful tongue

  opinions manifold, and thus she spoke:

  “Will ye not blush, Rutulians, so to stake

  one life for many heroes? Are we not

  their match in might and numbers? O, behold

  those Trojan sons of Heaven making league

  with exiled Arcady; see Tuscan hordes

  storming at Turnus. Yet we scarce could find

  one foe apiece, forsooth, if we should dare

  fight them with half our warriors. Of a truth

  your champion brave shall to those gods ascend

  before whose altars his great heart he vows;

  and lips of men while yet on earth he stays

  will spread his glory far. Ourselves, instead,

  must crouch to haughty masters, and resign

  this fatherland upon whose fruitful fields

  we dwell at ease.” So speaking, she inflamed

  the warriors’ minds, and through the legions ran

  increasing whisper; the Laurentine host

  and even Latium wavered. Those who late