by Virgil
As when Ægeon, hundred-armed, they say,
And hundred-handed, would the Sire withstand,
And fifty mouths, and fifty maws each way
Shot flames against Jove’s thunder, and each hand 685
Clashed on a sounding shield, or bared a glittering brand,
LXXVIII . So raves Æneas, victor of the war,
His sword now warmed, and many a foeman dies.
Now at Niphæus, in his four-horse car
Breasting the battle, in hot haste he flies.
Scared stand the steeds, in terror and surprise,
So dire his gestures, as he strides amain,
So fierce his looks, so terrible his cries;
Then, turning, from his chariot on the plain 694
Fling their ill-fated lord, and gallop to the main.
LXXIX . With two white steeds into the midmost dashed
Bold Lucagus and Liger, brethren twain.
Around him Lucagus his broad sword flashed
His brother wheeled the horses with the rein.
Fired at the sight, Æneas in disdain
Rushed on them, towering with uplifted spear.
“No steeds of Diomede, nor Phrygian plain,”
Cries Liger, “nor Achilles’ car are here. 703
This field shall end the war, thy fatal hour is near.”
LXXX . So fly his words, but not in words the foe
Makes answer, but his javelin hurls with might.
As o’er the lash proud Lucagus bends low
To prick the steeds, and planting for the fight
His left foot forward, stands in act to smite,
Clean through the nether margin of his shield
The Dardan shaft goes whistling in its flight,
And thrills his groin upon the left. He reeled, 712
And from the chariot fell half-lifeless on the field.
LXXXI . Then bitterly Æneas mocked him: “Lo,
Proud Lucagus! no lagging steeds have played
Thy chariot false, nor shadows of the foe
Deceived thy horses, and their hearts dismayed.
’Tis thou — thy leap has lost the car!” He said
And snatched the reins. The brother in despair
Slipped down, and spread his hapless hands, and prayed:
“O by thyself, great son of Troy, forbear; 721
By those who bore thee such, have pity on my prayer.”
LXXXII . More would he, but Æneas: “Nay, not so
Thou spak’st erewhile. Die now, and take thy way,
And join thy brother, brotherlike, below.”
Deep in the breast he stabbed him as he lay,
And bared the life’s recesses to the day.
Such deaths the Dardan dealt upon the plain,
Like storm or torrent, full of rage to slay.
And now at length Ascanius and his train 730
Burst forth, and leave their camp, long leaguered, but in vain.
LXXXIII . Great Jove meanwhile to Juno spake and said,
“Sweet spouse and sister, thou hast deemed aright,
’Tis Venus, sure, who doth the Trojans aid,
Not courage, strength and patience in the fight.”
Then Juno meekly: “Dearest, why delight
With cruel words to vex me, sad with fear
And sick at heart? Had still my love the might
It had and should have; were I still so dear, 739
Not thou, with all thy power, should’st then refuse to hear,
LXXXIV . “But safe should Turnus from the fight once more
Return to greet old Daunus. Be it so,
And let him die, and shed his righteous gore
To glut the vengeance of his Teucrian foe,
Albeit his name celestial birth doth show,
Fourth in succession from Pilumnus, yea,
Though oft his hand thy sacred shrines below
Hath heaped his gifts.” She ended, and straightway 748
Brief answer made the Sire, who doth Olympus sway:
LXXXV . “If but a respite for the youth be sought,
A little time of tarrying, ere he die,
And thus thou read’st the purport of my thought,
Take then awhile thy Turnus; let him fly
And ‘scape his present fates; thus far may I
Indulge thee. But if aught beneath thy prayer
Lie veiled of purpose or of hopes more high,
To change the war’s whole aspect, then beware, 757
For idle hopes thou feed’st, as empty as the air.”
LXXXVI . Then She with tears: “What if thy heart should give
The pledge and promise, that thy lips disdain,
And Turnus by thy warrant still should live?
Now death awaits him guiltless, or in vain
I read the Fates. Ah! may I merely feign
An empty fear, and better thoughts advise
Thee — for thou can’st — to spare him and refrain!”
So saying, arrayed in storm-clouds, through the skies 766
Down to Laurentum’s camp and Ilian lines she flies.
LXXXVII . Then straight the Goddess from a hollow cloud —
Strange sight to see! — a thin and strengthless shade
Shaped like the great Æneas, and endowed
With Dardan arms, and fixed the shield, and spread
The plume and crest as on his godlike head.
And empty words, a soulless sound, she gave,
And feigned the fashion of the warrior’s tread.
Thus ghosts are said to glide above the grave; 775
Thus oft delusive dreams the slumbering sense enslave.
LXXXVIII . Proud stalks the phantom, gladdening in the van,
With darts provokes him, and with words defies.
Forth rushed fierce Turnus, hurling as he ran
His whistling spear. The shadow turns and flies.
Then Turnus, glorying in his fancied prize,
“Where now, Æneas, from thy plighted bride?
The land thou soughtest o’er the deep, it lies
Here, and this hand shall give it thee.” He cried, 784
And waved his glittering sword, and chased him, nor espied
LXXXIX . The winds bear off his triumph. — Hard at hand,
With steps let down and gangway ready laid,
Moored by the rocks, a vessel chanced to stand,
Which brave Osinius, Clusium’s king, conveyed.
Here, as in haste, for shelter plunged the shade.
On Turnus pressed, and with a bound ascends
The lofty gangways, dauntless nor delayed.
The bows scarce reached, the rope Saturnia rends, 793
And down the refluent tide the loosened ship descends.
XC . Loud calls Æneas for his absent foe,
And many a hero-body — all who dare
To meet him — hurries to the shades below.
No more the phantom lingers in his lair,
But, soaring, melts into the misty air.
Turnus a storm-wind o’er the deep sea blows.
Backward he looks, and of events unware,
And all unthankful to escape his foes. 802
Up to the stars of heaven his hand and voice he throws.
XCI . “Great Sire, was I so guilty in thy sight,
To make thee deem such punishment my due?
Whence came I? Whither am I borne? What flight
Is this? and how do I return, and who?
Again Laurentum’s city shall I view?
What of that band, who followed me, whom I —
Shame on me — left a shameful death to rue?
E’en now I see them scattered, — see them fly, — 811
And see them fall; and hear the groans of those that die.
XCII . “What am I doing? Where can Earth for me
Gape deep enough? Ye winds that round me roar,
Pity I crave, on rocks amid the sea —
>
’Tis Turnus, I, a willing prayer who pour —
Dash me this ship, or drive it on the shore,
‘Mid ruthless shoals, where no Rutulian eyes
May see my shame, nor prying Fame explore.”
Thus he, and, tost in spirit, as he cries, 820
This plan and that in turn his wavering thoughts devise:
XCIII . Madly to grasp the dagger in his hand,
And through his ribs drive home the naked blade,
Or plunge into the deep, and swim to land,
And, armed, once more the Teucrian foes invade.
Thrice, but in vain, each venture he essayed.
Thrice Heaven’s high queen, in pity fain to save,
Held back the youth, and from his purpose stayed.
And borne along by favouring tide and wave, 829
On to his father’s town the level deep he clave.
XCIV . Jove prompting, fierce Mezentius now the fight
Takes up, and charges at the Teucrian foes.
And, hurrying up, the Tuscan troops unite.
All against one — one only — these and those
Their gathered hate and crowding darts oppose.
Unmoved he stands, as when a rocky steep
In ocean, bare to every blast that blows,
Around whose base the savage waves upleap, 838
Braves all the threats of heaven, and buffets of the deep.
XCV . Hebrus he slew, from Dolichaon sprung,
Then Latagus, then Palmus, as he fled.
Full in the face of Latagus he flung
A monstrous stone, that stretched him with the dead.
Palmus, with severed hamstring, next he sped,
And rolled him helpless. Lausus takes his gear;
The shining crest he fits upon his head,
And dons the breastplate. ‘Neath the conqueror’s spear 847
Phrygian Evanthes falls, and Paris’ friend and peer,
XCVI . Young Mimas, whom to Amycus that night
Theano bore, when, big with Ilion’s bane,
Queen Hecuba brought Paris forth to light.
Now Paris sleeps upon his native plain,
But Mimas on a foreign shore is slain.
As when a wild-boar, hounded from the hill,
Who long on pine-clad Venulus hath lain,
Or in Laurentum’s marish fed his fill, 856
Now in the toils caught fast, before his foes stands still,
XCVII . And snorts with rage, and rears his bristling back;
None dares approach him, but aloof they wait,
Safe-shouting, and with distant darts attack;
E’en so, of those who burn with righteous hate,
None dares against Mezentius try his fate.
But cries are hurled, and distant missiles plied,
While he, undaunted, but in desperate strait,
Gnashes his teeth, and from his shield’s tough hide 865
Shakes off the darts in showers, and shifts from side to side.
XCVIII . From ancient Corythus came Acron there,
A Greek, in exile from his half-won bride.
Him, dealing havoc in the ranks, elsewhere
Mezentius marked; the purple plumes he eyed,
The robe his loved one for her lord had dyed.
As when a lion, prowling to and fro,
Sore pinched with hunger, round the fold, hath spied
A stag tall-antlered, or a timorous roe, 874
Ghastly he grins, erect his horrid mane doth show;
XCIX . Prone o’er his victim, to the flesh he clings,
And laps the gore; so, burning in his zeal,
The fierce Mezentius at his foemen springs.
Poor Acron falls, and earth with dying heel
Spurns, and the red blood stains the splintered steel.
Orodes fled; Mezentius marks his flight,
And scorns with lance a covert wound to deal,
But face to face confronts him in the fight, 883
Courage, not craft, prevails, and might o’ermatches might.
C . With foot and spear upon him, “See,” he cries,
“Their champion; see the great Orodes slain!”
All shout applause, but, dying, he replies,
“Strange foe, not long thy triumph shall remain;
Like fate awaits thee, on the self-same plain.”
“Die!” said Mezentius, with a smile of spite,
“Jove cares for me,” and plucked the shaft again.
Grim rest and iron slumber seal his sight; 892
The drooping eyelids close on everlasting night.
CI . Now Cædicus made great Alcathous fall,
Sacrator killed Hydaspes; Rapo too
Parthenius and Orses, strong and tall;
Messapus Clonius, whom his steed o’erthrew,
And, foot to foot, Lycaon’s son he slew,
Brave Ericetes. Valerus with a blow
Felled Agis, Lycia’ s warrior. Salius flew
At Thronius, but Nealces lays him low, 901
Skilled with the flying dart and far-deceiving bow.
CII . Stern Mars, impartial, weighs in equal scale
The mutual slaughter, and the ghastly fight
Raves, as in turn they perish or prevail,
Vanquished or victor, for none dreams of flight.
From Heaven the gods look pitying on the sight,
Such fruitless hate, such scenes of mortal woe.
Here Venus, there great Juno, filled with spite,
Sits watching. Pale Tisiphone below 910
Fierce amid thousands raves, and bids the discord grow.
CIII . His massive spear Mezentius, flown with pride,
Shakes in his fury, as he towers amain,
Like huge Orion, when with ample stride
He cleaves the deep-sea, where the Nereids reign,
And lifts his lofty shoulders o’er the main,
Or when, uprooting from the mountain head
An aged ash, he stalks along the plain,
And hides his forehead in the clouds; so dread 919
Mezentius clangs his arms, so terrible his tread.
CIV . Æneas marks him in the files of fight
Far off, and hastes to meet him in advance.
Dauntless he waits, collected in his might,
The noble foe, then, measuring at a glance
The space his arm can cover with the lance;
“May this right hand, my deity,” cried he,
“And this poised javelin aid the doubtful chance.
The spoils, from this false pirate stript, to thee 928
My Lausus, I devote; his trophy shalt thou be.”
CV . So saying, from far his whistling shaft he threw.
Wide glanced the missile, by the tough shield bent,
And finding famed Antores, as it flew,
‘Twixt flank and bowels pierced a deadly rent.
He, friend of Hercules, from Argos sent,
With king Evander, ‘neath Italian skies,
Had fixed his home. Alas! a wound unmeant
Hath laid him low. To heaven he lifts his eyes, 937
And of sweet Argos dreams, his native land, and dies.
CVI . His javelin then the good Æneas cast;
Flying it pierced the hollow disk, and through
The plates of brass, thrice welded firm and fast,
And linen folds, and triple bull-hides flew,
And in the groin, with failing force but true,
Lodged deep. At once Æneas, for his eye
Glistens with joy, the Tuscan’s blood to view,
His trusty sword unfastening from his thigh, 946
Springs at the faltering foe, and bids Mezentius die.
CVII . Love for his sire stirred Lausus, and the tears
Rolled down, and heavily he groaned. Thy fate,
Brave youth! thy prowess, if the far-off years
Shall give due credence t
o a deed so great,
My verse at least shall spare not to relate.
While backward limped Mezentius, spent and slow,
His shield still cumbered with the javelin’s weight,
Forth sprang the youth, and grappled with the foe, 955
And ‘neath Æneas’ sword, uplifted for the blow,
CVIII . Slipped in, and checked him. Onward press the train
With shouts, to shelter the retreating sire,
And distant arrows on the foeman rain.
Safe-covered stands Æneas, thrilled with ire.
As when the storm-clouds in a deluge dire
Pour down the hail, and all the ploughmen fly,
And scattered hinds from off the fields retire,
And rock or stream-side shields the passer-by, 964
Till sunshine calls to toil, and reawakes the sky;
CIX . So, whelmed with darts, the Trojan chief defies
The cloud of war, till all its storms abate,
And chides and threatens Lausus. “Fool,” he cries,
“Why rush to death, and dare a deed too great?
Rash youth! thy love betrays thee.” ’Twas too late;
Rage blinds poor Lausus, and he scorns to stay.
Then fiercer waxed the Dardan’s wrath, and Fate
The threads had gathered, for their forceful sway 973
Hilt-deep within his breast the falchion urged its way.
CX . It pierced the shield, light armour and the vest,
Wrought by his mother with fine golden thread,
And drenched with gore the tunic and the breast.
Sweet life, departing, left the limbs outspread,
And the sad spirit to the ghost-world fled.
But when the son of great Anchises scanned
The face, the pallid features of the dead,
Deeply he groaned, and stretched a pitying hand. 982
Grief for his own dear sire his noble soul unmanned.
CXI . “Alas! what meed, to match such worth divine,
Can good Æneas give thee? Take to-day
The arms wherein thou joyed’st; they are thine.
Thy corpse — if aught can please the senseless clay —
Back to thy parents’ ashes I repay.
Poor youth! thy solace be it to be slain
By great Æneas.” Then his friends’ delay
