Book XII

When Turnus marks how much the Latins quail

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 impassioned 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

prayed but for rest and safety, clamored loud

for arms, desired annulment of the league,

and pitied Turnus' miserable doom.

Whereon Juturna tried a mightier stroke,

a sign from heaven, which more than all beside

confused the Latins and deceived their hearts

with prodigy. For through the flaming skies

Jove's golden eagle swooped, and scattered far

a clamorous tribe of river-haunting birds;

then, swiftly to the waters falling, seized

one noble swan, which with keen, curving claws

he ruthless bore away: th' Italians all

watched eagerly, while the loud-screaming flock

wheeled upward (wondrous sight!), with host of wings

shadowed the sky, and in a legion-cloud

chased through the air the foe; till, overborne

by heavier odds, the eagle from his claws

flung back his victim to the waves, and fled

to the dim, distant heaven. The Rutules then

hailed the good omen with consenting cry,

and grasped the sword and shield. Tolumnius

the augur spake first: “Lo, the sign I sought

with many a prayer! I welcome and obey

the powers divine. Take me for captain, me!

And draw your swords, ye wretches, whom th' assault

of yonder foreign scoundrel puts in fear

like feeble birds, and with his violence

lays waste your shore. He too shall fly away,

spreading his ships' wings on the distant seas.

Close up your ranks—one soul in all our breasts!

Defend in open war your stolen King.”

So saying, he hurled upon th' opposing foe

his javelin, running forward. The strong shaft

of corner whistled shrill, and clove the air

unerring. Instantly vast clamor rose,

and all th' onlookers at the spectacle

leaped up amazed, and every heart beat high.

The spear sped flying to the foeman's line,

where stood nine goodly brethren, pledges all

of one true Tuscan mother to her lord,

Gylippus of Arcadia ; it struck full

on one of these at his gold-belted waist,

and where the clasp clung, pierced the rib clean through.

And stretched the fair youth in his glittering arms

full length and lifeless on the yellow sand.

His brothers then, bold band to wrath aroused

by sorrow, seize the sword or snatch the spear

and blindly charge. Opposing them, the host

Laurentine makes advance, and close-arrayed

the Trojans like a torrent pour, enforced

by Tuscans and the gay-accoutred clans

of Arcady. One passion moved in all

to try the judgment of the sword. They tore

the altars down: a very storm of spears

rose angrily to heaven, in iron rain

down-pouring: while the priests bore far away

the sacrificial bowls and sacred fires.

Even Latinus fled; his stricken gods

far from his violated oath he bore.

Some leaped to horse or chariot and rode

with naked swords in air. Messapus, wild

to break the truce, assailed the Tuscan King,

Aulestes, dressed in kingly blazon fair,

with fearful shock of steeds; the Tuscan dropped

helplessly backward, striking as he fell

his head and shoulders on the altar-stone

that lay behind him. But Messapus flew,

infuriate, a javelin in his hand,

and, towering o'er the suppliant, smote him strong

with the great beam-like spear, and loudly cried:

“Down with him! Ah! no common victim he

to give the mighty gods!” Italia 's men

despoiled the dead man ere his limbs were cold.

Then Corynaeus snatched a burning brand

out of the altar, and as Ebysus

came toward him for to strike, he hurled the flame

full in his face: the big beard quickly blazed

with smell of singeing; while the warrior bold

strode over him, and seized with firm left hand

his quailing foe's Iong hair; then with one knee

he pushed and strained, compelled him to the `ground—

and struck straight at his heart with naked steel.

The shepherd Alsus in the foremost line

came leaping through the spears; when o'er him towered

huge Podalirius with a flashing sword

in close pursuit; the mighty battle-axe

clove him with swinging stroke from brow to chin,

and spilt along his mail the streaming gore:

so stern repose and iron slumber fell

upon that shepherd's eyes, and sealed their gaze

in endless night. But good Aeneas now

stretched forth his unarmed hand, and all unhelmed

thus Ioudly to his people called: “What means

this frantic stir, this quarrel rashly bold?

Recall your martial rage! The pledge is given

and all its terms agreed. 'T is only I

do lawful battle here. So let me forth,

and tremble not. My own hand shall confirm

the solemn treaty. For these rites consign

Turnus to none but me.” Yet while he spoke,

behold, a winged arrow, hissing loud,

the hero pierced; but what bold hand impelled

its whirling speed, none knew; nor if it were

chance or some power divine that brought this fame

upon Rutulia; for the glorious deed

was covered o'er with silence: none would boast

an arrow guilty of Aeneas' wound.

When Turnus saw Aeneas from the line

retreating, and the captains in dismay,

with sudden hope he burned: he called for steeds,

for arms, and, leaping to his chariot,

rode insolently forth, the reins in hand.

Many strong heroes he dispatched to die,

as on he flew, and many stretched half-dead,

or from his chariot striking, or from far

raining his javelins on the recreant foe.

As Mars, forth-speeding by the wintry stream

of Hebrus , smites his sanguinary shield

and whips the swift steeds to the front of war,

who, flying past the winds of eve and morn,

scour the wide champaign; the bounds of Thrace

beneath their hoof-beats thunder; the dark shapes

of Terror, Wrath, and Treachery move on

in escort of the god: in such grim guise

bold Turnus lashed into the fiercest fray

his streaming steeds, that pitiful to see

trod down the slaughtered foe; each flying hoof

scattered a bloody dew; their path was laid

in mingled blood and sand. To death he flung

Pholus and Sthenelus and Thamyris:

two smitten in close fight and one from far:

also from far he smote with fatal spear

Glaucus and Lades, the Imbrasidae,

whom Imbrasus himself in Lycia bred,

and honored them with arms of equal skill

when grappling with a foe, or o'er the field

speeding a war-horse faster than the wind.

Elsewhere Eumedes through a throng of foes

to battle rode, the high-born Dolon's child,

famous in war, who bore his grandsire's name,

but seemed in might and courage like his sire:

that prince, who reconnoitring crept so near

the Argive camp, he dared to claim for spoil

the chariot of Achilles; but that day

great Diomed for such audacious deed

paid wages otherwise,—and he no more

dreamed to possess the steeds of Peleus' son.

When Turnus recognized in open field

this warrior, though far, he aimed and flung

his javelin through the spacious air; then stayed

his coursers twain, and, leaping from his car,

found the wretch helpless fallen; so planted he

his foot upon his neck, and from his hand

wrested the sword and thrust it glittering

deep in the throat, thus taunting as he slew:

“There's land for thee, thou Trojan! Measure there

th' Hesperian provinces thy sword would find.

Such reward will I give to all who dare

draw steel on me; such cities they shall build.”

To bear him company his spear laid low

Asbutes, Sybaris, Thersilochus,

Chloreus and Dares, and Thymoetes thrown

sheer off the shoulders of his balking steed.

As when from Thrace the north wind thunders down

the vast Aegean , flinging the swift flood

against the shore, and where his blasts assail

the cloudy cohorts vanish out of heaven:

so before Turnus, where his path he clove,

the lines fell back, the wheeling legions fled.

The warrior's own wild impulse swept him on,

and every wind that o'er his chariot blew

shook out his plume in air. But such advance

so bold, so furious, Phegeus could not brook,

but, fronting the swift chariot's path, he seized

the foam-flecked bridles of its coursers wild,

while from the yoke his body trailed and swung;

the broad lance found his naked side, and tore

his double corselet, pricking lightly through

the outer flesh; but he with lifted shield

still fought his foe and thrust with falchion bare;

but the fierce pace of whirling wheel and pole

flung him down prone, and stretched him on the plain.

Then Turnus, aiming with relentless sword

between the corselet's edge and helmet's rim

struck off his whole head, leaving on the sands

the mutilated corpse. While thus afield

victorious Turnus dealt out death and doom,

Mnestheus, Achates true, and by their side

Ascanius, have carried to the camp

Aeneas, gashed and bleeding, whose long lance

sustained his limping step. With fruitless rage

he struggled with the spear-head's splintered barb,

and bade them help him by the swiftest way

to carve the wound out with a sword, to rip

the clinging weapon forth, and send him back

to meet the battle. Quickly to his side

came Iapyx, dear favorite and friend

of Phoebus, upon whom the god bestowed

his own wise craft and power, Iove-impelled.

The gifts of augury were given, and song,

with arrows of swift wing: he when his sire

was carried forth to die, deferred the doom

for many a day, by herbs of virtue known

to leechcraft; and without reward or praise

his silent art he plied. Aeneas stood,

bitterly grieving, propped upon his spear;

a throng of warriors were near him, and

Iulus, sorrowing. The aged man

gathered his garments up as leeches do,

and with skilled hand and Phoebus' herbs of power

bustled in vain; in vain his surgery

pried at the shaft, and with a forceps strong

seized on the buried barb. But Fortune gave

no remedy, nor did Apollo aid

his votary. So more and more grim fear

stalks o'er the field of war, and nearer hies

the fatal hour; the very heavens are dust;

the horsemen charge, and in the midmost camp

a rain of javelins pours. The dismal cry

of men in fierce fight, and of men who fall

beneath relentless Mars, rends all the air.

Then Venus, by her offspring's guiltless woe

sore moved, did cull from Cretan Ida's crest

some dittany, with downy leaf and stem

and flowers of purple bloom—a simple known

to mountain goats, when to their haunches clings

an arrow gone astray. This Venus brought,

mantling her shape in cloud; and this she steeped

in bowls of glass, infusing secretly

ambrosia's healing essence and sweet drops

of fragrant panacea. Such a balm

aged Iapyx poured upon the wound,

though unaware; and sudden from the flesh

all pain departed and the blood was staunched,

while from the gash the arrow uncompelled

followed the hand and dropped: his wonted strength

flowed freshly through the hero's frame. “Make haste!

Bring forth his arms! Why tarry any more?”

Iapyx shouted, being first to fire

their courage 'gainst the foe. “This thing is done

not of man's knowledge, nor by sovereign skill;

nor has my hand, Aeneas, set thee free.

Some mighty god thy vigor gives again

for mighty deeds.” Aeneas now put on,

all fever for the fight, his golden greaves,

and, brooking not delay, waved wide his spear.

Soon as the corselet and the shield were bound

on back and side, he clasped Ascanius

to his mailed breast, and through his helmet grim

tenderly kissed his son. “My boy", he cried,

“What valor is and patient, genuine toil

learn thou of me; let others guide thy feet

to prosperous fortune. Let this hand and sword

defend thee through the war and lead thee on

to high rewards. Thou also play the man!

And when thy riper vigor soon shall bloom,

forget not in thy heart to ponder well

the story of our line. Heed honor's call,

like Sire Aeneas and Hector thy close kin.”

After such farewell word, he from the gates

in mighty stature strode, and swung on high

his giant spear. With him in serried line

Antheus and Mnestheus moved, and all the host

from the forsaken fortress poured. The plain

was darkened with their dust; the startled earth

shook where their footing fell. From distant hill

Turnus beheld them coming, and the eyes

of all Ausonia saw: a chill of fear

shot through each soldier's marrow; in their van

Juturna knew full well the dreadful sound,

and fled before it, shuddering. But he

hurried his murky cohorts o'er the plain.

As when a tempest from the riven sky

drives landward o'er mid-ocean, and from far

the hearts of husbandmen, foreboding woe,

quake ruefully,—for this will come and rend

their trees asunder, kill the harvests all,

and sow destruction broadcast; in its path

fly roaring winds, swift heralds of the storm:

such dire approach the Trojan chieftain showed

before his gathered foes. In close array

they wedge their ranks about him. With a sword

Thymbraeus cuts huge-limbed Osiris down;

Mnestheus, Arcetius; from Epulo

Achates shears the head; from Ufens, Gyas;

Tolumnius the augur falls, the same

who flung the first spear to the foeman's line.

Uprose to heaven the cries. In panic now

the Rutules in retreating clouds of dust

scattered across the plain. Aeneas scorned

either the recreant or resisting foe

to slaughter, or the men who shoot from far:

for through the war-cloud he but seeks the arms

of Turnus, and to single combat calls.

The warrior-maid Juturna, seeing this,

distraught with terror, strikes down from his place

Metiscus, Turnus' charioteer, who dropped

forward among the reins and off the pole.

Him leaving on the field, her own hand grasped

the loosely waving reins, while she took on

Metiscus' shape, his voice, and blazoned arms.

As when through some rich master's spacious halls

speeds the black swallow on her lightsome wing,

exploring the high roof, or harvesting

some scanty morsel for her twittering brood,

round empty corridors or garden-pools

noisily flitting: so Juturna roams

among the hostile ranks, and wings her way

behind the swift steeds of the whirling car.

At divers points she lets the people see

her brother's glory, but not yet allows

the final tug of war; her pathless flight

keeps far away. Aeneas too must take

a course circuitous, and follows close

his foeman's track; Ioud o'er the scattered lines

he shouts his challenge. But whene'er his eyes

discern the foe, and fain he would confront

the flying-footed steeds, Juturna veers

the chariot round and flies. What can he do?

Aeneas' wrath storms vainly to and fro,

and wavering purposes his heart divide.

Against him lightly leaped Messapus forth,

bearing two pliant javelins tipped with steel;

and, whirling one in air, he aimed it well,

with stroke unfailing. Great Aeneas paused

in cover of his shield and crouched low down

upon his haunches. But the driven spear

battered his helmet's peak and plucked away

the margin of his plume. Then burst his rage:

his cunning foes had forced him; so at last,

while steeds and chariot in the distance fly,

he plunged him in the fray, and called on Jove

the altars of that broken oath to see.

Now by the war-god's favor he began

grim, never-pitying slaughter, and flung free

the bridle of his rage.

What voice divine

such horror can make known? What song declare

the bloodshed manifold, the princes slain,

or flying o'er the field from Turnus' blade,

or from the Trojan King? Did Jove ordain

so vast a shock of arms should interpose

'twixt nations destined to perpetual bond?

Aeneas met the Rutule Sucro—thus

staying the Trojan charge—and with swift blow

struck at him sidewise, where the way of death

is quickest, cleaving ribs and rounded side

with reeking sword. Turnus met Amycus,

unhorsed him, though himself afoot, and slew

Diores, his fair brother (one was pierced

fronting the spear, the other felled to earth

by strike of sword), and both their severed heads

he hung all dripping to his chariot's rim.

But Talon, Tanais, and Cethegus brave,

three in one onset, unto death went down

at great Aeneas' hand; and he dispatched

ill-starred Onites of Echion's line,

fair Peridia's child. Then Turnus slew

two Lycian brothers unto Phoebus dear,

and young Menoetes, an Arcadian,

who hated war (though vainly) when he plied

his native fisher-craft in Lerna 's streams,

where from his mean abode he ne'er went forth

to wait at great men's doors, but with his sire

reaped the scant harvest of a rented glebe.

as from two sides two conflagrations sweep

dry woodlands or full copse of crackling bay,

or as, swift-leaping from the mountain-vales,

two flooded, foaming rivers seaward roar,

each on its path of death, not less uproused,

speed Turnus and Aeneas o'er the field;

now storms their martial rage; now fiercely swells

either indomitable heart; and now

each hero's full strength to the slaughter moves.

Behold Murranus, boasting his high birth

from far-descended sires of storied name,

the line of Latium 's kings! Aeneas now

with mountain-boulder lays him low in dust,

smitten with whirlwind of the monster stone;

and o'er him fallen under yoke and rein

roll his own chariot wheels, while with swift tread

the mad hoofs of his horses stamp him down,

not knowing him their lord. But Turnus found

proud Hyllus fronting him with frantic rage,

and at his golden helmet launched the shaft

that pierced it; in his cloven brain it clung.

Nor could thy sword, O Cretheus, save thee then

from Turnus, though of bravest Greeks the peer;

nor did Cupencus' gods their priest defend

against Aeneas, but his breast he gave

unto the hostile blade; his brazen shield

delayed no whit his miserable doom.

Thee also, Aeolus, Laurentum saw

spread thy huge body dying on the ground;

yea, dying, thou whom Greeks in serried arms

subdued not, nor Achilles' hand that hurled

the throne of Priam down: here didst thou touch

thy goal of death; one stately house was thine

on Ida's mountain, at Lyrnessus, one;

Laurentum's hallowed earth was but thy grave.

Now the whole host contends; all Latium meets

all Ilium ; Mnestheus and Serestus bold;

Messapus, the steed-breaker, and high-soured

Asilas; Tuscans in a phalanx proud;

Arcadian riders of Evander's train:

each warrior lifts him to his height supreme

of might and skill; no sloth nor lingering now,

but in one far-spread conflict all contend.

His goddess-mother in Aeneas' mind

now stirred the purpose to make sudden way

against the city-wall, in swift advance

of all his line, confounding Latium so

with slaughter and surprise. His roving glance,

seeking for Turnus through the scattered lines

this way and that, beholds in distant view

the city yet unscathed and calmly free

from the wide-raging fight. Then on his soul

rushed the swift vision of a mightier war.

Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus brave,

his chosen chiefs, he summons to his side,

and stands upon a hillock, whither throng

the Teucrian legions, each man holding fast

his shield and spear. He, towering high,

thus from the rampart to his people calls:

“Perform my bidding swiftly: Jove's own hand

sustains our power. Be ye not slack, because

the thing I do is sudden. For this day

I will pluck out th' offending root of war,—

yon city where Latinus reigns. Unless

it bear our yoke and heed a conqueror's will,

will lay low in dust its blazing towers.

Must I wait Turnus' pleasure, till he deign

to meet my stroke, and have a mind once more,

though vanquished, to show fight? My countrymen,

see yonder stronghold of their impious war!

Bring flames; avenge the broken oath with fire!”

Scarce had he said, when with consenting souls,

they speed them to the walls in dense array,

forming a wedge. Ladders now leap in air,

and sudden-blazing fires. In various war

some troops run charging at the city-gates,

and slay the guards; some fling the whirling spear

and darken heaven with arrows. In their van,

his right hand lifted to the wails and towers,

Aeneas, calling on the gods to hear,

loudly upbraids Latinus that once more

conflict is thrust upon him; that once more

Italians are his foes and violate

their second pledge of peace. So blazes forth

dissension 'twixt the frighted citizens:

some would give o'er the city and fling wide

its portals to the Trojan, or drag forth

the King himself to parley; others fly

to arms, and at the rampart make a stand.

'T is thus some shepherd from a caverned crag

stirs up the nested bees with plenteous fume

of bitter smoke; they, posting to and fro,

fly desperate round the waxen citadel,

and whet their buzzing fury; through their halls

the stench and blackness rolls; within the caves

noise and confusion ring; the fatal cloud

pours forth incessant on the vacant air.

But now a new adversity befell

the weary Latins, which with common woe

shook the whole city to its heart. The Queen,

when at her hearth she saw the close assault

of enemies, the walls beset, and fire

spreading from roof to roof, but no defence

from the Rutulian arms, nor front of war

with Turnus leading,—she, poor soul, believed

her youthful champion in the conflict slain;

and, mad with sudden sorrow, shrieked aloud

against herself, the guilty chief and cause

of all this ill; and, babbling her wild woe

in endless words, she rent her purple pall,

and with her own hand from the rafter swung

a noose for her foul death. The tidings dire

among the moaning wives of Latium spread,

and young Lavinia's frantic fingers tore

her rose-red cheek and hyacinthine hair.

Then all her company of women shrieked

in anguish, and the wailing echoed far

along the royal seat; from whence the tale

of sorrow through the peopled city flew;

hearts sank; Latinus rent his robes, appalled

to see his consort's doom, his falling throne;

and heaped foul dust upon his hoary hair.

Meanwhile the warrior Turnus far afield

pursued a scattered few; but less his speed,

for less and less his worn steeds worked his will;

and now wind-wafted to his straining ear

a nameless horror came, a dull, wild roar,

the city's tumult and distressful cry.

“Alack,” he cried, “what stirs in yonder walls

such anguish? Or why rings from side to side

such wailing through the city?” Asking so,

he tightened frantic grasp upon the rein.

To him his sister, counterfeiting still

the charioteer Metiscus, while she swayed

rein, steeds, and chariot, this answer made:

“Hither, my Turnus, let our arms pursue

the sons of Troy . Here lies the nearest way

to speedy triumph. There be other swords

to keep yon city safe. Aeneas now

storms against Italy in active war;

we also on this Trojan host may hurl

grim havoc. Nor shalt thou the strife give o'er

in glory second, nor in tale of slain.”

Turnus replied, “O sister, Iong ago

I knew thee what thou wert, when guilefully

thou didst confound their treaty, and enlist

thy whole heart in this war. No Ionger now

thy craft divine deceives me. But what god

compelled thee, from Olympus fallen so far,

to bear these cruel burdens? Wouldst thou see

thy wretched brother slaughtered? For what else

is in my power? What flattering hazard still

holds forth deliverance? My own eyes have seen

Murranus (more than any now on earth

my chosen friend) who, calling on my name,

died like a hero by a hero's sword.

Ill-fated Ufens fell, enduring not

to Iook upon my shame; the Teucrians

divide his arms for spoil and keep his bones.

Shall I stand tamely, till my hearth and home

are levelled with the ground? For this would be

the only blow not fallen. Shall my sword

not give the lie to Drances' insolence?

Shall I take flight and let my country see

her Turnus renegade? Is death a thing

so much to weep for? O propitious dead,

O spirits of the dark, receive and bless

me whom yon gods of light have cast away!

Sacred and guiltless shall my soul descend

to join your company; I have not been

unworthy offspring of my kingly sires.”

Scarce had he said, when through the foeman's line

Saces dashed forth upon a foaming steed,

his face gashed by an arrow. He cried loud

on Turnus' name: “O Turnus, but in thee

our last hope lies. Have pity on the woe

of all thy friends and kin! Aeneas hurls

his thunderbolt of war, and menaces

to crush the strongholds of all Italy ,

and lay them low; already where we dwell

his firebrands are raining. Unto thee

the Latins Iook, and for thy valor call.

The King sits dumb and helpless, even he,

in doubt which son-in-law, which cause to choose.

Yea, and the Queen, thy truest friend, is fallen

by her own hand; gone mad with grief and fear,

she fled the light of day. At yonder gates

Messapus only and Atinas bear

the brunt of battle; round us closely draw

the serried ranks; their naked blades of steel

are thick as ripening corn; wilt thou the while

speed in thy chariot o'er this empty plain?”

Dazed and bewildered by such host of ills,

Turnus stood dumb; in his pent bosom stirred

shame, frenzy, sorrow, a despairing love

goaded to fury, and a warrior's pride

of valor proven.

But when first the light

of reason to his blinded soul returned,

he strained his flaming eyeballs to behold

the distant wall, and from his chariot gazed

in wonder at the lordly citadel.

For, lo, a pointed peak of flame uprolled

from tier to tier, and surging skyward seized

a tower—the very tower his own proud hands

had built of firm-set beams and wheeled in place,

and slung its Iofty bridges high in air.

“Fate is too strong, my sister! Seek no more

to stay the stroke. But let me hence pursue

that path where Heaven and cruel Fortune call.

Aeneas I must meet; and I must bear

the bitterness of death, whate'er it be.

O sister, thou shalt look upon my shame

no longer. But first grant a madman's will!”

He spoke; and leaping from his chariot, sped

through foes and foemen's spears, not seeing now

his sister's sorrow, as in swift career

he burst from line to line. Thus headlong falls

a mountain-boulder by a whirlwind flung

from lofty peak, or loosened by much rain,

or by insidious lapse of seasons gone;

the huge, resistless crag goes plunging down

by leaps and bounds, o'erwhelming as it flies

tall forests, Bocks and herds, and mortal men:

so through the scattered legions Turnus ran

straight to the city walls, where all the ground

was drenched with blood, and every passing air

shrieked with the noise of spears. His lifted hand

made sign of silence as he loudly called:

“Refrain, Rutulians! O ye Latins all,

your spears withhold! The issue of the fray

is all my own. I only can repair

our broken truce by judgment of the sword.”

Back fell the hostile lines, and cleared the field.

But Sire Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name,

down the steep rampart from the citadel

unlingering tried, all lesser task laid by,

with joy exultant and dread-thundering arms.

Like Athos ' crest he loomed, or soaring top

of Eryx , when the nodding oaks resound,

or sovereign Apennine that lifts in air

his forehead of triumphant snow. All eyes

of Troy , Rutulia, and Italy

were fixed his way; and all who kept a guard

on lofty rampart, or in siege below

were battering the foundations, now laid by

their implements and arms. Latinus too

stood awestruck to behold such champions, born

in lands far-sundered, met upon one field

for one decisive stroke of sword with sword.