by Virgil
LVII . “Though greater than the great Achilles he,
Though, like Achilles, Vulcan’s arms he wear,
Fain will I meet him. Lo, to you, to thee,
Latinus, father of the bride so fair,
I, Turnus, I, in prowess past compare,
Devote this life. Æneas calls but me,
So let him, rather than that Drances bear
The smart, if death the wrathful gods decree, 505
Or, if ’tis glory’s field, usurp the victor’s fee.”
LVIII . While thus, with wrangling and contentious doubt,
They urged debate, Æneas his array
Moved from the camp. Behold, a trusty scout
Back, through Latinus’ palace, speeds his way,
And fills the town with tumult and dismay.
The Trojans — see! — the Trojans, — down they swarm
From Tiber. See the meadows far away
Alive with foes! Rage, turmoil and alarm 514
In turns distract the town. “Arm,” cry the young men, “arm!”
LIX . The old men weep and mutter. Clamours rend
The startled skies, and discord reigns supreme,
E’en as when birds on lofty woods descend
In flocks, or in Padusa’s fishful stream
The swans sing hoarsely, and the wild-fowl scream
Along the babbling waters. Turnus straight
The moment snatched. “Ah! townsmen, sooth, ye deem
This hour an hour to chatter and debate; 523
Sit on, and praise sweet peace, while foemen storm the gate.”
LX . He spake, and from the council dashed with speed.
“Go, Volusus,” he cries, “and arm amain
The Volscians; hither the Rutulians lead.
Messapus, go, with horsemen in thy train,
And Coras, with thy brother scour the plain.
Let these all entrance at the gate forestall,
And man the turrets; let the rest remain
In arms, and wait my bidding.” One and all, 532
The townsmen throng the streets, and hurry to the wall.
LXI . Then, sore distrest, the aged king proclaims
The council closed, and for a happier tide
Puts off debate; and oft himself he blames,
Who welcomed not Æneas to his side,
Nor graced his city with a Dardan’s bride.
But hark! to battle peals the clarion’s call.
These by the gate dig trenches, those provide
Sharp stakes and stones. Along the girdling wall 541
Pale boys and matrons stand: the last hour cries for all.
LXII . To Pallas’ rock-built temple rides the queen,
Bearing her gifts. The matrons march in line,
And by her side is fair Lavinia seen,
The war’s sad authoress, with down-dropt eyne.
They, entering in, with incense fume the shrine,
And from the threshold pour the mournful strain:
“O strong in arms, Tritonian maid divine!
Break thou the Phrygian robber’s spear in twain, 550
And ‘neath the gates strike down and stretch him on the plain.”
LXIII . Now in hot haste fierce Turnus dons the mail,
Eager for battle. On his breast he laced
The corselet, rough with many a brazen scale.
Around his legs the golden greaves he placed,
His brow yet bare, and at his side he braced,
The trusty sword. All golden is the glow
Of burnished arms, as down the height in haste
He flies exulting to the field below. 559
High leaps his heart, and hope anticipates the foe.
LXIV . So, free at length, his tether snapt in twain,
Swift from his stall, in eager joy, the steed
Bounds forth and, master of the open plain,
Now seeks the mares that in the pastures feed,
Now towards the well-known river scours the mead,
Wont there to cool his glowing sides, and neighs
With head erect and glories in his speed,
While o’er his collar and his shoulders plays 568
The waving mane, flung loose in many a wandering maze.
LXV . Him meets Camilla, with her Volscian train,
And by the gate dismounting then and there
(Down likewise leap her followers to the plain),
“Turnus,” she cries, “if confidence can e’er
Befit the brave, I venture and I swear
Singly to face yon Trojans in the fray,
And stem the Tuscan cavalry. My care
Shall be the war’s first hazards to essay; 577
Thou guard the walls afoot, and by the ramparts stay.”
LXVI . Then he, with eyes fixt on the wondrous maid,
“O glory of Italia, virgin bright!
What praise can match thee? how shall thanks be paid?
But now, since naught can daunt thee nor affright,
Share thou my labour, and divide the fight.
Yonder Æneas, so the news hath flown,
So spies report, hath sent his horsemen light
To scour the fields, while o’er the mountains’ crown 586
Himself through devious ways is marching to the town.
LXVII . “Deep in a hollow, where the wood’s dark shade
Two cross-ways hides, an ambush I prepare,
And armed men shall the double pass blockade.
Thou take the shock of battle, and o’erbear
The Tuscan horse. Messapus shall be there,
Tiburtus’ band, and Latins in array
To aid, and thine shall be the leader’s care.”
He spake, and cheered Messapus to the fray, 595
And Latium’s federate chiefs, and spurred upon his way.
LXVIII . There lies a winding valley, fit for snares
And stratagems, shut in on either hand
By wooded slopes. A narrow pathway fares
Along the gorge, and on the hill-tops, planned
For safety, flat but hidden spreads the land.
Rightward or leftward there is room to bear
The shock of arms, or on the ridge to stand,
And roll down rocks upon the foe. ’Twas there 604
Young Turnus, screened by woods, lies crouching in his lair.
LXIX . Meanwhile Latonia in the realms of air
Fleet Opis, sister of her sacred train,
Addressed in sorrowing accents, “Maiden fair,
See how Camilla to the fatal plain
Goes forth, in quest of battle. See, in vain
Our arms she wears, the quiver and the bow.
Dearest is she of all that own my reign,
Nor new-born is Diana’s love, I trow; 613
No fit of fondness this, or fancy known but now
LXX . “When tyrant Metabus his people’s hate
Drove from Privernum, for his deeds of shame.
His babe he bore, the partner of his fate,
Through war and battle, and, her mother’s name
Casmilla changed, Camilla she became.
To lonely woods and hill-tops fain to fly,
Fierce swords and Volscians all around, he came
Where Amasenus, with its waves bank-high, 622
Athwart him foamed; so vast a deluge rent the sky.
LXXI . “Prepared to plunge, he pauses, sore assailed
By love, and terror for a charge so dear.
All means revolving, this at last prevailed.
Fire-dried and knotted, an enormous spear
Of seasoned oak the warrior chanced to bear.
To the mid shaft the tender babe he ties,
Swathed in the covering of a cork-tree near,
Then lifts the load, and, poising, ere it flies, 631
The ponderous lance, looks up, and thus invokes the skies:
LXXII . “‘O Queen
of woods, Latonia, virgin fair!
To thee my daughter I devote this day,
Thy handmaid. See, thus early through the air
She bears thy weapons. Make her thine, I pray,
And safely through the doubtful air convey.’
So prayed the sire, and nerved him for the throw,
Then aimed, and launched the missile on its way.
The babe forlorn, while roars the stream below, 640
Link’d to the shaft, is borne across the current’s flow.
LXXIII . “In plunges Metabus, the foemen near,
And Trivia’s gift, safe landing from the wave,
Plucks from the grass, — the maiden and the spear.
No town is his, to shelter and to save,
His savage mood no shelter deigns to crave.
A shepherd’s life on lonely hills he leads,
In tangled covert, or in woodland cave.
The milk of beasts supplies his daughter’s needs, 649
And from the wild-mare’s teats her tender lips he feeds.
LXXIV . “And when the tottering infant first essayed
To plant her footsteps, to her hands he strung
A lance, and o’er the shoulders of the maid
The light-wing’d arrows and the bow he slung.
For golden coif and trailing mantle, hung
A tiger’s spoils. Her tiny hand e’en then
Hurled childish darts; e’en then the tough hide, swung
Around her temples, as she roamed the plain, 658
Brought down the snowy swan, or swift Strymonian crane.
LXXV . “Full many a Tuscan mother far and near
Has wooed Camilla for her son in vain.
Contented with Diana year by year,
She loves her silvan weapon, free and fain
To live a maiden-huntress, pure of stain.
And O! had battle, and the toils of fight
Not lured her thus to combat on the plain,
And match her prowess with the Teucrians’ might, 667
Mine were the maiden still, my darling and delight.
LXXVI . “Now, since well-nigh the fatal threads are spun,
Go, Nymph, to Latin frontiers wing thy way,
Where evil omens mark the fight begun.
Take, too, this quiver; who the maid shall slay, —
Trojan or Latin — with his blood shall pay
Myself the armour and the corpse will bear,
Wrapt in a cloud, and in her country lay.”
She spake, and, girt with whirlwind, and the blare 676
Of sounding arms, the Nymph glides down the yielding air.
LXXVII . Meanwhile, the Trojans and the Tuscan train,
In marshalled squadrons, to the walls draw near,
Steeds neigh, and chafe, and prance upon the plain,
And lances bristling o’er the field appear.
Messapus, too, and Latium’s hosts are here,
Coras, Catillus, and Camilla leads
Her troops to aid. All couch the levelled spear,
And whirl the dart. Hot waxes on the meads 685
The tramp of hurrying hosts, the snorting of the steeds.
LXXVIII . Each halts within a spear-cast of the foe,
Then, spurring, forward with a shout they dash,
And, darkening heaven, shower the darts like snow.
In front, Tyrrhenus and Aconteus rash
Cross spears, the first to grapple. With a crash,
Steed against steed, went ruining. Breast and head
Shocked and were shattered. Like the lightning’s flash,
And loud as missile from an engine sped, 694
Hurled far, Aconteus falls, and with a gasp lies dead.
LXXIX . This breaks the line; the Latins turn and fly,
Their shields behind them. On the Trojans go,
Asilas first. And now the gates are nigh;
Once more, with shouts, the Latins face the foe;
These, scared in turn, the slackened reins forego.
So shifts the fight, as on the winding strand
The swelling ocean, with alternate flow,
Foams on the rocks, and curls along the sand, 703
Now sucks the shingle back, and, ebbing, leaves the land.
LXXX . Twice the fierce Tuscans, spurring o’er the fields,
Drive the Rutulians to their walls in flight.
Twice, driven backward, from behind their shields
The victors see the rallying foes unite.
But when the third time, in the fangs of fight,
Man singling man, both armies met to close,
Loud were the groans, and fearful was the sight,
Arms splashed with gore, steeds, riders, friends and foes, 712
Blent in the deadly broil, and fierce the din uprose.
LXXXI . Lo, here, Orsilochus, too faint with fear
To meet fierce Remulus, a distant dart
Hurls at his steed. Beneath the charger’s ear
The shaft stands fixt; the beast, with sudden start,
His breast erect, and maddened by the smart,
Rears up, and flings his rider to the ground.
Here brave Iolas, from his friends apart,
Catillus slew; Herminius next he found, 721
Large-hearted, large of limb, and eke in arms renowned.
LXXXII . Bare is his head, with auburn locks aglow,
And bare his shoulders. Wounds to him are vain;
Tower-like he stands, defenceless to the foe.
Through his broad chest the javelin, urged amain,
Pierced him, and quivered, and he writhed with pain,
His giant form bent double. Far and nigh
The dark blood pours in torrents on the plain,
As, dealing havoc with the sword, they vie, 730
And, courting wounds, rush on, a warrior’s death to die.
LXXXIII . There, quiver-girt, the Amazonian maid,
One bosom bare, amidst the carnage wheeled,
Camilla, glorying in the war’s grim trade.
Her limber darts she scatters o’er the field,
Her arms untired the ponderous axe can wield.
Diana’s arrows and the golden bow
Sound at her back. She too, if forced to yield,
Fights as she flies, and well the maid doth know 739
With flying shafts hurled back to stay the following foe.
LXXXIV . Around her, Tulla and Larinia stand,
Tarpeia too, with brazen axe bedight,
Italians all, the choicest of her band,
In peace or war her glory and delight.
So, battling round Hippolyte, unite
Her Thracians, when Thermodon’s banks afar
Ring with their arms. So rides the maid of might,
Penthesilea, in her conquering car, 748
And hosts, with moon-shaped shields, exulting hail the war.
LXXXV . Whom first, dread maiden, did thy javelin quell?
Whom last? how many in the dust lay low?
Eunæus first, the son of Clytius, fell.
Sheer through his breast, left naked to the blow,
Ploughed the long fir-shaft, as he faced his foe.
Prone falls the warrior, and in deadly stound
Gasps out his life-blood, and the crimson flow
Spouts forth in torrents, as he bites the ground, 757
And, dying, grasps the spear, and writhes upon the wound.
LXXXVI . Liris anon and Pagasus she slew,
One, flung to earth, and gathering up the rein,
His charger stabbed, the other, as he flew
To aid, and reached his helpless hands in vain,
Amastrus, son of Hippotas, was slain;
Harpalycus, Demophoon, as they fled,
The dread spear caught, and stretched upon the plain,
Tereus and Chromis. For each shaft that sped, 766
Launched from her maiden hand, a Ph
rygian foe lay dead.
LXXXVII . On Iapygian steed, in arms unknown,
Rode Ornytus, the huntsman. A rough hide,
Stript from a bullock, o’er his back was thrown.
A wolf’s huge jaws, with glittering teeth, supplied
His helmet, and a rustic pike he plied.
Him, as he towered, the tallest in the fray,
Wheeling his steed, Camilla unespied
Caught — in the rout ’twas easy — and her prey 775
Pinned, with unpitying spear, and jeered him as he lay.
LXXXVIII . “Ha, Tuscan! thought’st thou ’twas the chase? Thy day
Hath come; a woman shall thy vaunts belie.
Yet take this glory to the grave, and say
’Twas I, the great Camilla, made thee die.”
She spake, and smote Orsilochus close by,
And Butes, hugest of the Trojan crew.
First Butes falls; just where the neck doth lie,
‘Twixt casque and corslet, naked to the view, 784
And leftward droops the shield, the fatal barb goes through.
LXXXIX . Chased by Orsilochus, afar she wheels
Her seeming flight, wide-circling to and fro,
Till, doubling in a narrower ring, she steals
Inside, and follows on the following foe.
Then, rising steep, while vainly in his woe
He pleads for pity, and entreats her grace,
She swings the battle-axe, and blow on blow
On head and riven helmet heaps apace, 793
And the hot brains and blood are spattered o’er his face.
XC . Next crossed her path, but stood aghast to see,
The son of Aunus, from the mountain-seat
Of Apennine. No mean Ligurian he,
While Fate was kind, and prospered his deceit.
Fearful of death, and hopeless to retreat,
He tries if cunning can avail his need,
And cries aloud, “Good sooth, a wondrous feat!
A woman trusts for glory to her steed. 802
Come down; fight fair afoot, and take the braggart’s meed!”
XCI . Down leaps the maid in fury, and her steed
Hands to a comrade, and with arms matched fair,
And dauntless heart, confronts him on the mead,
Her shield unblazoned, and her falchion bare.
