Book IX

While thus in distant region moves the war,

down to bold Turnus Saturn's daughter sends

celestial Iris. In a sacred vale,

the seat of worship at his grandsire's tomb,

Pilumnus, Faunus' son, the hero mused.

And thus the wonder-child of Thaumas called

with lips of rose: “O Turnus, what no god

dared give for reward of thy fondest vow,

has come unbidden on its destined day.

Behold, Aeneas, who has left behind

the city with his fleet and followers,

is gone to kingly Palatine , the home

of good Evander. Yea, his march invades

the far Etrurian towns, where now he arms

the Lydian rustics. Wilt thou longer muse?

Call for thy chariot and steeds! Away!

Take yonder tents by terror and surprise!”

She spoke; and heavenward on poising wings

soared, cleaving as she fled from cloud to cloud

a vast, resplendent bow. The warrior saw,

and, lifting both his hands, pursued with prayer

the fading glory: “Beauteous Iris, hail!

Proud ornament of heaven! who sent thee here

across yon cloud to earth, and unto me?

Whence may this sudden brightness fall? I see

the middle welkin lift, and many a star,

far-wandering in the sky. Such solemn sign

I shall obey, and thee, O god unknown!”

So saying, he turned him to a sacred stream,

took water from its brim, and offered Heaven

much prayer, with many an importuning vow.

Soon o'er the spreading fields in proud array

the gathered legions poured; no lack was there

of steeds all fire, and broidered pomp and gold.

Messapus led the van; in rearguard rode

the sons of Tyrrheus; kingly Turnus towered

from the mid-column eminent: the host

moved as great Ganges lifting silently

his seven peaceful streams, or when the flood

of fructifying Nile from many a field

back to his channel flows. A swift-blown cloud

of black, uprolling dust the Teucrians see

o'ershadowing the plain; Calcus calls

from lofty outpost: “O my countrymen,

I see a huge, black ball of rolling smoke.

Your swords and lances! Man the walls! To arms!

The foe is here! What ho!” With clamors loud

the Teucrians through the city-gates retire,

and muster on the walls. For, wise in war,

Aeneas, ere he went, had left command

they should not range in battle-line, nor dare,

whate'er might hap, to risk in open plain

the bold sortie, but keep them safe entrenched

in mounded walls. So now, though rage and shame

prick to a close fight, they defensive bar

each portal strong, and, patient of control,

from hollow towers expect th' encircling foe.

Turnus, at full speed, had outridden far

his laggard host, and, leading in his train

a score of chosen knights, dashed into view

hard by the walls. A barb of Thracian breed

dappled with white he rode; a crimson plume

flamed over his golden helmet. “Who,” he cries,

“Is foremost at the foe? Who follows me?

Behold!” And, with the word, he hurled in air

a javelin, provoking instant war:

and, towering from his horse, charged o'er the field.

With answering shout his men-at-arms pursue,

and war-cries terrible. They laugh to scorn

“the craven hearts of Troy , that cannot give

fair, equal vantage, matching man to man,

but cuddle into camp.” This way and that

Turnus careers, and stormily surveys

the frowning rampart, and where way is none

some entering breach would find: so prowls a wolf

nigh the full sheepfold, and through wind and rain

stands howling at the postern all night long;

beneath the ewes their bleating lambs lie safe;

but he, with undesisting fury, more

rages from far, made frantic for his prey

by hunger of long hours, his foaming jaws

athirst for blood: not less the envy burned

of the Rutulian, as he scanned in vain

the stronghold of his foe. Indignant scorn

thrilled all his iron frame. But how contrive

to storm the fortress or by force expel

the Trojans from the rampart, and disperse

along the plain? Straightway he spied the ships,

in hiding near the camp, defended well

by mounded river-bank and fleeting wave.

On these he fell; while his exultant crew

brought firebrands, and he with heart aflame

grasped with a vengeful hand the blazing pine.

To the wild work his followers sped; for who

could prove him craven under Turnus' eye?

The whole troop for the weapon of their rage

seized smoking coals, of many a hearth the spoil;

red glare of fuming torches burned abroad,

and Vulcan starward flung a sparkling cloud.

What god, O Muses, saved the Trojans then

from wrathful flame? Who shielded then the fleet,

I pray you tell, from bursting storm of fire?

From hoary eld the tale, but its renown

sings on forever. When Aeneas first

on Phrygian Ida hewed the sacred wood

for rib and spar, and soon would put to sea,

that mighty mother of the gods, they say,

the Berecynthian goddess, thus to Jove

addressed her plea: “Grant, O my son, a boon,

which thy dear mother asks, who aided thee

to quell Olympian war. A grove I have

of sacred pine, long-loved from year to year.

On lofty hill it grew, and thither came

my worshippers with gifts, in secret gloom

of pine-trees dark and shadowing maple-boughs.;

these on the Dardan warrior at his need

I, not unwilling, for his fleet bestowed.

But I have fears. O, Iet a parent's prayer

in this prevail, and bid my care begone!

Let not rude voyages nor the shock of storm

my ships subdue, but let their sacred birth

on my charmed hills their strength and safety be!”

Then spake her son, who guides the wheeling spheres:

“Wouldst thou, my mother, strive to oversway

the course of Fate? What means this prayer of thine?

Can it be granted ships of mortal mould

to wear immortal being? Wouldst thou see

Aeneas pass undoubting and secure

through doubtful strait and peril? On what god

was e'er such power bestowed? Yet will I grant

a different boon. Whatever ships shall find

a safe Ausonian haven, and convey

safe through the seas to yon Laurentian plain

the Dardan King, from such I will remove

their perishable shapes, and bid them be

sea-nymphs divine, like Nereus' daughters fair,

Doto and Galatea, whose white breasts

divide the foaming wave.” He said, and swore

by his Tartarean brother's mournful stream,

the pitch-black floods and dark engulfing shore

of Styx; then great Jove bowed his head, and all

Olympus quaked at his consenting brow.

Now was the promised day at hand (for Fate

had woven the web so far) when Turnus' rage

stirred the divine progenitress to save

her sacred ships from fire. Then sudden shone

a strange effulgence in the eastern air;

and in a storm-cloud wafted o'er the sky

were Corybantic choirs, whose dreadful song

smote both on Teucrian and Rutulian ear:

“O Teucrians, fear not for the sure defence

of all the ships, nor arm your mortal hands.

Yon impious Turnus shall burn up the seas

before my pine-trees blest. Arise! Be free,

ye goddesses of ocean, and obey

your mother's mighty word.” Then instant broke

the hawsers of the sterns; the beaked prows

went plunging like great dolphins from the shore

down to the deeps, and, wonderful to tell,

the forms of virgin goddesses uprose,

one for each ship, and seaward sped away.

The hearts of the Rutulian host stood still

in panic, and Messapus terrified

his trembling horses reined; the sacred stream

of Father Tiber, harshly murmuring,

held back his flood and checked his seaward way.

But Turnus' courage failed not; he alone

his followers roused, and with reproachful words

alone spoke forth: “These signs and prodigies

threaten the Trojan only. Jove himself

has stripped them of their wonted strength: no more

can they abide our deadly sword and fire.

The Trojan path to sea is shut. What hope

of flight is left them now? The half their cause

is fallen. The possession of this land

is ours already; thousands of sharp swords

Italia 's nations bring. Small fear have I

of Phrygia 's boasted omens. What to me

their oracles from heaven? The will of Fate

and Venus have achieved their uttermost

in casting on Ausonia's fruitful shore

yon sons of Troy . I too have destinies:

and mine, good match for theirs, with this true blade

will spill the blood of all the baneful brood,

in vengeance for my stolen wife. Such wrongs

move not on Atreus' sons alone, nor rouse

only Mycenae to a righteous war.

Say you, ‘ Troy falls but once?’ One crime, say I,

should have contented them; and now their souls

should little less than loathe all womankind.

These are the sort of soldiers that be brave

behind entrenchment, where the moated walls

may stem the foe and make a little room

betwixt themselves and death. Did they not see

how Troy 's vast bulwark built by Neptune's hand

crumbled in flame? Forward, my chosen brave!

Who follows me to cleave his deadly way

through yonder battlement, and leap like storm

upon its craven guard? I have no need

of arms from Vulcan's smithy; nor of ships

a thousand strong against our Teucrian foes,

though all Etruria's league enlarge their power.

Let them not fear dark nights, nor coward theft

of Pallas' shrine, nor murdered sentinels

on their acropolis. We shall not hide

in blinding belly of a horse. But I

in public eye and open day intend

to compass their weak wall with siege and fire.

I'll prove them we be no Pelasgic band,

no Danaan warriors, such as Hector's arm

ten years withstood. But look! this day hath spent

its better part. In what remains, rejoice

in noble deeds well done; let weary flesh

have rest and food. My warriors, husband well

your strength against to-morrow's hopeful war.”

Meanwhile to block their gates with wakeful guard

is made Messapus' work, and to gird round

their camp with watchfires. Then a chosen band,

twice seven Rutulian chieftains, man the walls

with soldiery; each leads a hundred men

crested with crimson, armed with glittering gold.

Some post to separate sentries, and prepare

alternate vigil; others, couched on grass,

laugh round the wine and lift the brazen bowls.

The camp-fires cheerly burn; the jovial guard

spend the long, sleepless night in sport and game.

The Trojans peering from the lofty walls

survey the foe, and arm for sure defence

of every point exposed. They prove the gates

with fearful care, bind bridge with tower, and bring

good store of javelins. Serestus bold

and Mnestheus to their labors promptly fly,

whom Sire Aeneas bade in time of stress

to have authority and free command

over his warriars. Along the walls

the legions, by the cast of lots, divide

the pain and peril, giving each his due

of alternating vigil and repose.

Nisus kept sentry at the gate: a youth

of eager heart for noble deeds, the son

of Hyrtacus, whom in Aeneas' train

Ida the huntress sent; swift could he speed

the spear or light-winged arrow to its aim.

Beside him was Euryalus, his friend:

of all th' Aeneadae no youth more fair

wore Trojan arms; upon his cheek unshorn

the tender bloom of boyhood lingered still.

Their loving hearts were one, and oft in war

they battled side by side, as in that hour

a common sentry at the gate they shared.

Said Nisus: “Is it gods above that breathe

this fever in my soul, Euryalus?

or is the tyrant passion of each breast

the god it serves? Me now my urgent mind

to battles or some mighty deed impels,

and will not give me rest. Look yonder, where

the Rutuli in dull security

the siege maintain. Yet are their lights but few.

They are asleep or drunk, and in their line

is many a silent space. O, hear my thought,

and what my heart is pondering. To recall

Aeneas is the dearest wish to-night

of all, both high and low. They need true men

to find him and bring tidings. If our chiefs

but grant me leave to do the thing I ask

(Claiming no reward save what honor gives),

methinks I could search out by yonder hill

a path to Pallanteum.” The amazed

Euryalus, flushed warm with eager love

for deeds of glory, instantly replied

to his high-hearted friend: “Dost thou refuse,

my Nisus, to go with me hand in hand

when mighty deeds are done? Could I behold

thee venturing alone on danger? Nay!

Not thus my sire Opheltes, schooled in war,

taught me his true child, 'mid the woes of Troy

and Argive terrors reared; not thus with thee

have I proved craven, since we twain were leal

to great Aeneas, sharing all his doom.

In this breast also is a heart which knows

contempt of life, and deems such deeds, such praise,

well worth a glorious death.” Nisus to him:

“I have not doubted thee, nor e'er could have

one thought disloyal. May almighty Jove,

or whatsoe'er good power my purpose sees,

bring me triumphant to thy arms once more!

But if, as oft in doubtful deeds befalls,

some stroke of chance, or will divine, should turn

to adverse, 't is my fondest prayer that thou

shouldst live the longer of us twain. Thy years

suit better with more life. Oh! let there be

one mourner true to carry to its grave

my corpse, recaptured in the desperate fray,

or ransomed for a price. Or if this boon

should be—'t is Fortune's common way—refused,

then pay the debt of grief and loyal woe

unto my far-off dust, and garlands leave

upon an empty tomb. No grief I give

to any sorrowing mother; one alone,

of many Trojan mothers, had the heart

to follow thee, her child, and would not stay

in great Acestes' land.” His friend replied:

“Thou weavest but a web of empty words

and reasons vain, nor dost thou shake at all

my heart's resolve. Come, let us haste away!”

He answered so, and summoned to the gate

a neighboring watch, who, bringing prompt relief,

the sentry-station took; then quitted he

his post assigned; at Nisus' side he strode,

and both impatient sped them to the King.

Now in all lands all creatures that have breath

lulled care in slumber, and each heart forgot

its load of toil and pain. But they who led

the Teucrian cause, with all their chosen brave,

took counsel in the kingdom's hour of need

what action to command or whom dispatch

with tidings to Aeneas. In mid-camp

on long spears leaning and with ready shield

to leftward slung, th' assembled warriors stood.

Thither in haste arrived the noble pair,

brave Nisus with Euryalus his friend,

and craved a hearing, for their suit, they said,

was urgent and well-worth a patient ear.

Iulus to the anxious striplings gave

a friendly welcome, bidding Nisus speak.

The son of Hyrtacus obeyed: “O, hear,

Princes of Teucria, with impartial mind,

nor judge by our unseasoned youth the worth

of what we bring. Yon Rutule watch is now

in drunken sleep, and all is silent there.

With our own eyes we picked out a good place

to steal a march, that cross-road by the gate

close-fronting on the bridge. Their lines of fire

are broken, and a murky, rolling smoke

fills all the region. If ye grant us leave

by this good luck to profit, we will find

Aeneas and the walls of Palatine ,

and after mighty slaughter and huge spoil

ye soon shall see us back. Nor need ye fear

we wander from the way. Oft have we seen

that city's crest loom o'er the shadowy vales,

where we have hunted all day long and know

each winding of yon river.” Then uprose

aged Aletes, crowned with wisdom's years:

“Gods of our fathers, who forevermore

watch over Troy , ye surely had no mind

to blot out Teucria's name, when ye bestowed

such courage on young hearts, and bade them be

so steadfast and so leal.” Joyful he clasped

their hands in his, and on their shoulders leaned,

his aged cheek and visage wet with tears.

“What reward worthy of such actions fair,

dear heroes, could be given? Your brightest prize

will come from Heaven and your own hearts. The rest

Aeneas will right soon bestow; nor will

Ascanius, now in youth's unblemished prime,

ever forget your praise.” Forthwith replied

Aeneas' son, “By all our household gods,

by great Assaracus, and every shrine

of venerable Vesta, I confide

my hopes, my fortunes, and all future weal

to your heroic hearts. O, bring me back

my father! Set him in these eyes once more!

That day will tears be dry; and I will give

two silver wine-cups graven and o'erlaid

with clear-cut figures, which my father chose

out of despoiled Arisbe; also two

full talents of pure gold, and tripods twain,

and ancient wine-bowl, Tyrian Dido's token.

But if indeed our destiny shall be

to vanquish Italy in prosperous war,

to seize the sceptre and divide the spoil, —

saw you that steed of Turnus and the arms

in which he rode, all golden? That same steed,

that glittering shield and haughty crimson crest

I will reserve thee, e'er the lots are cast,

and, Nisus, they are thine. Hereto my sire

will add twelve captive maids of beauty rare,

and slaves in armor; last, thou hast the fields

which now Latinus holds. But as for thee,

to whom my youth but binds me closer still,

thee, kingly boy, my whole heart makes my own,

and through all changeful fortune we shall be

inseparable peers: nor will I seek

renown and glory, or in peace or war,

forgetting thee: but trust thee from this day

in deed and word.” To him in answer spoke

euryalus, “O, may no future show

this heart unworthy thy heroic call!

And may our fortune ever prosperous prove,

not adverse. But I now implore of thee

a single boon worth all beside. I have

a mother, from the venerated line

of Priam sprung, whom not the Trojan shore

nor King Acestes' city could detain,

alas! from following me. I leave her now

without farewell; nor is her love aware

of my supposed peril. For I swear

by darkness of this night and thy right hand,

that all my courage fails me if I see

a mother's tears. O, therefore, I implore,

be thou her sorrow's comfort and sustain

her solitary day. Such grace from thee

equip me for my war, and I shall face

with braver heart whatever fortune brings.”

With sudden sorrow thrilled, the veteran lords

of Teucria showed their tears. But most of all

such likeness of his own heart's filial love

on fair Iulus moved, and thus he spoke:

“Promise thyself what fits thy generous deeds.

Thy mother shall be mine, Creusa's name

alone not hers; nor is the womb unblest

that bore a child like thee. Whate'er success

may follow, I make oath immutable

by my own head, on which my father swore,

that all I promise thee of gift or praise

if home thou comest triumphing, shall be

the glory of thy mother and thy kin.”

Weeping he spoke, and from his shoulder drew

the golden sword, well-wrought and wonderful,

which once in Crete Lycaon's cunning made

and sheathed in ivory. On Nisus then

Mnestheus bestowed a shaggy mantle torn

from a slain lion; good Aletes gave

exchange of crested helms. In such array

they hastened forth; and all the princely throng,

young men and old, ran with them to the gates,

praying all gods to bless. Iulus then,

a fair youth, but of grave, heroic soul

beyond his years, gave them in solemn charge

full many a message for his sire, but these

the hazard of wild winds soon scattered far,

and flung them fruitless on the darkening storm.

Forth through the moat they climb, and steal away

through midnight shades, to where their foemen lie

encamped in arms; of whom, before these fall,

a host shall die. Along the turf were seen,

laid low in heavy slumber and much wine,

a prostrate troop; the horseless chariots

stood tilted on the shore, 'twixt rein and wheel

the drivers dozed, wine-cups and idle swords

strewn round them without heed. The first to speak

was Nisus. “Look, Euryalus,” he cried,

“Now boldly strike. The hour to do the deed

is here, the path this way. Keep wide-eyed watch

that no man smite behind us. I myself

will mow the mighty fieid, and lead thee on

in a wide swath of slaughter.” With this word

he shut his lips; and hurled him with his sword

on haughty Rhamnes, who lay propped at ease

on pillows huge, and from his heaving breast

poured slumber loud: of royal stem was he

and honored of King Turnus for his skill

in augury; yet could no augur's charm

that bloody stroke forefend. And Nisus slew

three slaves near by, that lay in reckless sleep

upon their spears; then him that bore the shield

of Remus, then the driver of his car

close to the horses caught; his sword cut through

their prostrate necks; then their great master's head

he lifted high, and left decapitate

the huge corpse spilling forth its crimson gore

o'er couch and ground. Like stroke on Lamus fell

and Lamyrus, with young Serranus, who

had gamed the midnight through and sleeping lay,

his fair young body to the wine-god given;

but happier now had that long-revelling night

been merry till the dawn! Thus round full folds

of sheep a famished lion fiercely prowls;

mad hunger moves him; he devours and rends

with bloody, roaring mouth, the feeble flock

that trembles and is dumb. Nor was the sword

of fair Euryalus less fatal found;

but fiercely raging on his path of death,

he pressed on through a base and nameless throng,

Rhoetus, Herbesus, Fadus, Abaris;

surprising all save Rhoetus, who awake

saw every stroke, and crouched in craven fear

behind a mighty wine-bowl; but not less

clean through his bare breast as he started forth

the youth thrust home his sword, then drew it back

death-dripping, while the bursting purple stream

of life outflowed, with mingling blood and wine.

Then, flushed with stealthy slaughter, he crept near

the followers of Messapus, where he saw

their camp-fire dying down, and tethered steeds

upon the meadow feeding. Nisus then

knew the hot lust of slaughter had swept on

too far, and cried, “Hold off! For, lo,

the monitory dawn is nigh. Revenge

has fed us to the full. We have achieved

clean passage through the foe.” Full many a prize

was left untaken: princely suits of mail

enwrought with silver pure, huge drinking-bowls,

and broideries fair. Yet grasped Euryalus

the blazonry at Rhamnes' corselet hung,

and belt adorned with gold: which were a gift

to Remulus of Tibur from the store

of opulent Caedicus, who sued from far

to be a friend; and these in death he gave

to his son's son, who slain in battle fell,

and proud Rutulians seized them with the spoil.

Euryalus about his shoulder strong

this booty slung—unprofitable gain! —

and fitted on a gorgeous, crested helm

which once Messapus wore. So from the camp,

escaping danger, the two champions ran.

But horsemen from the Latin city sent

to join the serried legions of the plain

had come at Turnus' call, three hundred strong

all bearing shields, and under the command

of Volscens. Nigh the camp and walls they drew;

and soon they spied upon the leftward path

th' heroic pair, where in dim shades of night

the helmet of Euryalus betrayed

the heedless boy, and with a glancing beam

flashed on the foe. Nor was it seen in vain.

Loud from the line the voice of Volscens called:

“Stand, gentlemen! What business brings you here?

Whose your allegiance? Whither speed so fast?”

No answer gave they save to fly in haste

to cover of the forest and deep gloom

of the defensive night. The horsemen then

blocked every crossway known, and, scattering wide,

kept sentry at the entrance. The great wood

was all of tangled brush and blinding shade

of flex-boughs. Impenetrable thorns

had thickly overgrown, and seldom showed

a pathway through the maze. Euryalus,

by the black branches and his ponderous spoil

impeded, groped along in fearful doubt,

deceived and quite astray. Nisus his friend

had quit him, and incautiously had forced

a sally through the close-encircling foe,

into that region which should after bear

the name of Alba—a rude shelter then

for King Latinus' herds. He stayed him there

and looked, but vainly, for the comrade gone.

“Euryalus, ill-fated boy!” he cried,

“Where have I lost thee in the pathless wild?

How find thee? How retrace the blinding maze

of yonder treacherous wood?” Yet ere he said,

on his own path he turns him back, and scans

his own light footprints through the tangled thorn,

so dark and still. But suddenly he hears

the tread of horses, with confusing din

and tumult of pursuit. Nor was it long

he tarried ere upon his anguished ear

smote a great cry: and, lo! Euryalus,

trapped by the dark night, the deceptive ground,

faced the whole onset, and fell back o'erwhelmed

by a loud mob of foes, while his sole sword

tried many a thrust in vain. O, what defence

may Nisus bring? With what audacious arms

his chosen comrade save? Shall he make bare

his dying breast to all their swords, and run

to honorable death that bloody way?

he swung his spear with lifted arm, then looked

to the still moon, in heaven, and thus implored:

“O goddess, aid me in my evil case.

O glory of the stars, Latona's child!

O guardian of groves, if in my name

my father Hyrtacus made offerings

on burning altars, if my own right hand,

successful in the chase, ere hung its gift

beneath thy dome or on thy sacred wall,

grant me yon troop to scatter. Guide my spear

along its path in air.” He spoke, and hurled

with all his gathered strength the shaft of steel.

the swift spear clove the shades of night, and struck

full in the back of Sulmo, where it split,

but tore through to his very heart. The breast

poured forth life's glowing stream, and he, o'erthrown

lay cold in death, while his huge, heaving sides

gave lingering throes. The men about him stared

this way and that. But Nisus, fiercer still,

poised level with his ear a second shaft,

and, while the foeman paused, the whizzing spear

straight through the brows of Tagus drove, and clung

deep in the cloven brain. In frenzy rose

Volscens, but nowhere could espy what hand

the shaft had hurled, nor whither his wild rage

could make reply. “But thou,” he cried, “shalt feed

with thy hot blood my honor and revenge

for both the slain.” Then with a sword unsheathed

upon Euryalus he fell. Loud shrieked

Nisus, of reason reft, who could not bear

such horror, nor in sheltering gloom of night

longer abide: “'T is I, 't is I!” he said.

look on the man who slew them! Draw on me

your swords, Rutulians! The whole stratagem

was mine, mine only, and the lad ye slay

dared not, and could not. O, by Heaven above

and by the all-beholding stars I swear,

he did but love his hapless friend too well.”

But while he spoke, the furious-thrusting sword

had pierced the tender body, and run through

the bosom white as snow. Euryalus

sank prone in death; upon his goodly limbs

the life-blood ran unstopped, and low inclined

the drooping head; as when some purpled flower,

cut by the ploughshare, dies, or poppies proud

with stem forlorn their ruined beauty bow

before the pelting storm. Then Nisus flew

straight at his foes; but in their throng would find

Volscens alone, for none but Volscens stayed:

they gathered thickly round and grappled him

in shock of steel with steel. But on he plunged,

swinging in ceaseless circles round his head

his lightning-sword, and thrust it through the face

of shrieking Volscens, with his own last breath

striking his foeman down; then cast himself

upon his fallen comrade's breast; and there,

stabbed through, found tranquil death and sure repose.

Heroic pair and blest! If aught I sing

have lasting music, no remotest age

shall blot your names from honor's storied scroll:

not while the altars of Aeneas' line

shall crown the Capitol's unshaken hill,

nor while the Roman Father's hand sustains

its empire o'er the world.

The Rutules seized the spoils of victory,

and slowly to their camp, with wail and cry,

bore Volscens' corse; and in the eamp they made

like wailing over Rhamnes lifeless found,

o'er Numa and Serranus, and a throng

of princes dead. The gazing people pressed

around the slain, the dying, where the earth

ran red with slaughter and full many a stream

of trickling gore; nor did they fail to know

Messapus' glittering helm, his baldric fair,

recaptured now with lavish sweat and pain.

Now, from Tithonus' saffron couch set free,

Aurora over many a land outpoured

the rising morn; the sun's advancing beam

unveiled the world; and Turnus to his host

gave signal to stand forth, while he arrayed

himself in glorious arms. Then every chief

awoke his mail-clad company, and stirred

their slumbering wrath with tidings from the foe.

Tumultuously shouting, they impaled

on lifted spears—O pitiable sight! —

the heads of Nisus and Euryalus.

Th' undaunted Trojans stood in battle-line

along the wall to leftward (for the right

the river-front defended) keeping guard

on the broad moat; upon the ramparts high

sad-eyed they stood, and shuddered as they saw

the hero-faces thrust aloft; too well

their loyal grief the blood-stained features knew.

On restless pinions to the trembling town

had voiceful Rumor hied, and to the ears

of that lone mother of Euryalus

relentless flown. Through all her feeble frame

the chilling sorrow sped. From both her hands

dropped web and shuttle; she flew shrieking forth,

ill-fated mother! and with tresses torn,

to the wide ramparts and the battle-line

ran frantic, heeding naught of men-at-arms,

nor peril nor the rain of falling spears;

and thus with loud and lamentable cry

filled all the air: “Is it in yonder guise,

Euryalus, thou comest? Art thou he,

last comfort of my life? O cruel one!

Couldst thou desert me? When they thrust thee forth

to death and danger, did they dare refuse

a wretched mother's last embrace? But now —

O woe is me!—upon this alien shore

thou liest for a feast to Latin dogs

and carrion birds. Nor did thy mother lead

the mourners to thy grave, nor shut those eyes,

nor wash the dreadful wounds, nor cover thee

with the fair shroud, which many a night and day

I swiftly wove, and at my web and loom

forgot my years and sorrows. Whither now

to seek and follow thee? What spot of earth

holds the torn body and the mangled limbs?

Is all the gift thou bringest home, dear child,

this? O, was this the prize for which I came

o'er land and sea? O, stab me very deep,

if ye have any pity; hurl on me

your every spear, Rutulians; make of me

your swords' first work. Or, Father of the gods!

Show mercy, thou! and with thy lightning touch

this head accurst, and let it fall by thee

down to the dark. For else what power is mine

my tortured life to end?” Her agony

smote on their listening souls; a wail of woe

along the concourse ran. Stern men-at-arms

felt valor for a moment sleep, and all

their rage of battle fail. But while she stirred

the passion of her grief, Ilioneus

and young Iulus, weeping filial tears,

bade Actor and Idaeus, lifting her

in both their reverent arms, to bear her home.

But now the brazen trumpet's fearsome song

blares loud, and startled shouts of soldiery

spread through the roaring sky. The Volscian band

press to the siege, and, locking shield with shield,

fill the great trenches, tear the palisades,

or seek approach by ladders up the walls,

where'er the line of the defenders thins, and light

through their black circle shines. The Trojans pour

promiscuous missiles down, and push out hard

with heavy poles—so well have they been schooled

to fight against long sieges. They fling down

a crushing weight of rocks, in hope to break

th' assailing line, where roofed in serried shields

the foe each charge repels. But not for long

the siegers stand; along their dense array

the crafty Teucrians down the rampart roll

a boulder like a hill-top, laying low

the Rutule troop and crashing through their shields.

Nor may the bold Rutulian longer hope

to keep in cover, but essays to storm

only with far-flung shafts the bastion strong.

Here grim Mezentius, terrible to see,

waved an Etrurian pine, and made his war

with smoking firebrands; there, in equal rage,

Messapus, the steed-tamer, Neptune's son,

ripped down the palisade, and at the breach

strung a steep path of ladders up the wall.

Aid, O Calliope, the martial song!

Tell me what carnage and how many deaths

the sword of Turnus wrought: what peer in arms

each hero to the world of ghosts sent down.

Unroll the war's great book before these eyes.

A tower was there, well-placed and looming large,

with many a lofty bridge, which desperately

th' Italians strove to storm, and strangely plied

besieging enginery to cast it down:

the Trojans hurled back stones, or, standing close,

flung through the loopholes a swift shower of spears.

But Turnus launched a firebrand, and pierced

the wooden wall with flame, which in the wind

leaped larger, and devoured from floor to floor,

burning each beam away. The trembling guards

sought flight in vain; and while they crowded close

into the side unkindled yet, the tower

bowed its whole weight and fell, with sudden crash

that thundered through the sky. Along the ground

half dead the warriors fell (the crushing mass

piled over them) by their own pointed spears

pierced to the heart, or wounded mortally

by cruel splinters of the wreck. Two men,

Helenor one, and Lyeus at his side,

alone get free. Helenor of the twain

was a mere youth; the slave Lycymnia

bore him in secret to the Lydian King,

and, arming him by stealth, had sent away

to serve the Trojan cause. One naked sword

for arms had he, and on his virgin shield

no blazon of renown; but when he saw

the hosts of Turnus front him, and the lines

this way and that of Latins closing round, —

as a fierce, forest-creature, brought to bay

in circling pack of huntsmen, shows its teeth

against the naked spears, and scorning death

leaps upward on the javelins,—even so,

not loth to die, the youthful soldier flew

straight at the centre of his foes, and where

the shining swords looked thickest, there he sprung.

But Lyeus, swifter-footed, forced his way

past the opposing spears and made escape

far as the ciity-wall, where he would fain

clutch at the coping and climb up to clasp

some friend above: but Turnus, spear in hand,

had hotly followed, and exulting loud

thus taunted him, “Hadst thou the hope, rash fool,

beyond this grasp to fly?” So, as he clung,

he tore him down; and with him broke and fell

a huge piece of the wall: not otherwise

a frail hare, or a swan of snow-white wing,

is clutched in eagle-talons, when the bird

of Jove soars skyward with his prey; or tender lamb

from bleating mother and the broken fold

is stolen by the wolf of Mars. Wild shouts

on every side resound. In closer siege

the foe press on, and heap the trenches full,

or hurl hot-flaming torches at the towers.

Ilioneus with mountain-mass of stone

struck down Lucetius, as he crept with fire

too near the city-gate. Emathion fell

by Liger's hand, and Corynteus' death

Asilas dealt: one threw the javelin well;

th' insidious arrow was Asilas' skill.

Ortygius was slain by Caeneus, then

victorious Geneus fell by Turnus' ire.

Then smote he Dioxippus, and laid low

Itys and Promolus and Sagaris

and Clonius, and from the lofty tower

shot Idas down. The shaft of Capys pierced

Privernus, whom Themilla's javelin

but now had lightly grazed, and he, too bold,

casting his shield far from him, had outspread

his left hand on the wound: then sudden flew

the feathered arrow, and the hand lay pinned

against his left side, while the fatal barb

was buried in his breathing life. The son

of Arcens now stood forth in glittering arms.

His broidered cloak was red Iberian stain,

and beautiful was he. Arcens his sire

had sent him to the war; but he was bred

in a Sicilian forest by a stream

to his nymph-mother dear, where rose the shrine

of merciful Palicus, blest and fair.

But, lo! Mezentius his spear laid by,

and whirled three times about his head the thong

of his loud sling: the leaden bullet clove

the youth's mid-forehead, and his towering form

fell prostrate its full length along the ground.

'T was then Ascanius first shot forth in war

the arrow swift from which all creatures wild

were wont to fly in fear: and he struck down

with artful aim Numanus, sturdy foe,

called Remulus, who lately was espoused

to Turnus' younger sister. He had stalked

before the van, and made vociferous noise

of truths and falsehoods foul and base, his heart

puffed up with new-found greatness. Up and down

he strode, and swelled his folly with loud words:

“No shame have ye this second time to stay

cooped close within a rampart's craven siege,

O Phrygians twice-vanquished? Is a wall

your sole defence from death? Are such the men

who ask our maids in marriage? Say what god,

what doting madness, rather, drove ye here

to Italy ? This way ye will not find

the sons of Atreus nor the trickster tongue

of voluble Ulysses. Sturdy stock

are we; our softest new-born babes we dip

in chilling rivers, till they bear right well

the current's bitter cold. Our slender lads

hunt night and day and rove the woods at large,

or for their merriment break stubborn steeds,

or bend the horn-tipped bow. Our manly prime

in willing labor lives, and is inured

to poverty and scantness; we subdue

our lands with rake and mattock, or in war

bid strong-walled cities tremble. Our whole life

is spent in use of iron; and we goad

the flanks of bullocks with a javelin's end.

Nor doth old age, arriving late, impair

our brawny vigor, nor corrupt the soul

to frail decay. But over silvered brows

we bind the helmet. Our unfailing joy

is rapine, and to pile the plunder high.

But ye! your gowns-are saffron needlework

or Tyrian purple; ye love shameful ease,

or dancing revelry. Your tunics fiow

long-sleeved, and ye have soft caps ribbon-bound.

Aye, Phrygian girls are ye, not Phrygian men!

Hence to your hill of Dindymus! Go hear

the twy-mouthed piping ye have loved so long.

The timbrel, hark! the Berecynthian flute

calls you away, and Ida's goddess calls.

Leave arms to men, true men! and quit the sword!”

Of such loud insolence and words of shame

Ascanius brooked no more, but laid a shaft

athwart his bowstring, and with arms stretched wide

took aim, first offering suppliant vow to Jove:

“Almighty Jupiter, thy favor show

to my bold deed! So to thy shrine I bear

gifts year by year, and to thine altars lead

a bull with gilded brows, snow-white, and tall

as his own dam, what time his youth begins

to lower his horns and fling the sand in air.”

The Father heard, and from a cloudless sky

thundered to leftward, while the deadly bow

resounded and the arrow's fearful song

hissed from the string; it struck unswervingly

the head of Remulus and clove its way

deep in the hollows of his brow. “Begone!

Proud mocker at the brave! Lo, this reply

twice-vanquished Phrygians to Rutulia send.”

Ascanius said no more. The Teucrians

with deep-voiced shout of joy applaud, and lift

their exultation starward. Then from heaven

the flowing-haired Apollo bent his gaze

upon Ausonia's host, and cloud-enthroned

looked downward o'er the city, speaking thus

to fair Iulus in his victory:

“Hail to thy maiden prowess, boy! This way

the starward path to dwelling-place divine.

O sired of gods and sire of gods to come,

all future storms of war by Fate ordained

shall into peace and lawful calm subside

beneath the offspring of Assaracus.

No Trojan destinies thy glory bound.”

So saying, from his far, ethereal seat

he hied him down, and, cleaving the quick winds

drew near Ascanius. He wore the guise

of aged Butes, who erewhile had borne

Anchises, armor and kept trusty guard

before his threshold, but attended now

Ascanius, by commandment of his sire.

Clad in this graybeard's every aspect, moved

apollo forth,—his very voice and hue,

his hoary locks and grimly sounding shield, —

and to the flushed Iulus spoke this word:

“Child of Aeneas, be content that now

Numanus unavenged thine arrows feels.

Such dawn of glory great Apollo's will

concedes, nor envies thee the fatal shaft

so like his own. But, tender youth, refrain

hereafter from this war!” So said divine

Apollo, who, while yet he spoke, put by

his mortal aspect, and before their eyes

melted to viewless air. The Teucrians knew

the vocal god with armament divine

of arrows; for his rattling quiver smote

their senses as he fled. Obedient

to Phoebus' voice they held back from the fray

Iulus' fury, and their eager souls

faced the fresh fight and danger's darkest frown.

From tower to tower along the bastioned wall

their war-cry flew: they bend with busy hand

the cruel bow, or swing the whirling thong

of javelins. The earth on every side

is strewn with spent shafts, the reverberant shield

and hollow helmet ring with blows; the fight

more fiercely swells; not less the bursting storm

from watery Kid-stars in the western sky

lashes the plain, or multitudinous hail

beats upon shallow seas, when angry Jove

flings forth tempestuous and-boundless rain,

and splits the bellied clouds in darkened air.

The brothers Pandarus and Bitias,

of whom Alcanor was the famous sire,

on Ida born, and whom Iaera bred

in sacred wood of Jove, an oread she,

twin warriors, like their native hills and trees

of stature proud, now burst those portals wide

to them in ward consigned, and sword in hand

challenge the foe to enter. Side by side,

steel-clad, their tall heads in bright crested helms,

to left and right, like towers, the champions stand

as when to skyward, by the gliding waves

of gentle Athesis or Padus wide,

a pair of oaks uprise, and lift in air

their shaggy brows and nodding crests sublime.

In burst the Rutules where the onward way

seemed open wide; Quercens no tarrying knows,

nor proud Aquiculus in well-wrought arms;

Tmarus sweeps on impetuous, and the host

of Haemon, child of Mars. Some routed fly;

some lay their lives-down at the gate. Wild rage

o'erflows each martial breast, and gathered fast

the Trojans rally to one point, and dare

close conflict, or long sallies o'er the plain.

To Turnus, who upon a distant field

was storming with huge havoc, came the news

that now his foe, before a gate thrown wide,

was red with slaughter. His own fight he stays,

and speeds him, by enormous rage thrust on,

to those proud brethren at the Dardan wall.

There first Antiphates, who made his war

far in the van (a Theban captive's child

to great Sarpedon out of wedlock born),

he felled to earth with whirling javelin:

th' Italic shaft of cornel lightly flew

along the yielding air, and through his throat

pierced deep into the breast; a gaping wound

gushed blood; the hot shaft to his bosom clung.

Then Erymas and Merops his strong hand

laid low: Aphidnus next, then came the turn

of Bitias, fiery-hearted, furious-eyed:

but not by javelin,—such cannot fall

by flying javelin,—the ponderous beam

of a phalaric spear, with mighty roar,

like thunderbolt upon him fell; such shock

neither the bull's-hides of his double shield

nor twofold corselet's golden scales could stay

but all his towering frame in ruin fell.

Earth groaned, and o'er him rang his ample shield.

so crashes down from Baiae 's storied shore

a rock-built mole, whose mighty masonry,

piled up with care, men cast into the sea;

it trails its wreckage far, and fathoms down

lies broken in the shallows, while the waves

whirl every way, and showers of black sand

are scattered on the air: with thunder-sound

steep Prochyta is shaken, and that bed

of cruel stone, Inarime , which lies

heaped o'er Typhoeus by revenge of Jove.