No More Learning

which you take
For my concerns, at my desire forsake.
Permit me not to languish out my days,
But make the best exchange of life for praise.
This arm, this lance, can well dispute the prize;
And the blood follows, where the weapon flies.
His goddess mother is not near, to shrowd
The flying coward with an empty cloud. "
But now the queen, who feared for Turnus' life,
And loathed the hard conditions of the strife,
Held him by force; and, dying in his death,
In these sad accents gave her sorrow breath:--
"O Turnus! I adjure thee by these tears,
And whate'er price Amata's honour bears
Within thy breast, since thou art all my hope,
My sickly mind's repose, my sinking age's prop--
Since on the safety of thy life alone
Depends Latinus, and the Latian throne--
Refuse me not this one, this only prayer,
To wave the combat, and pursue the war.
Whatever chance attends this fatal strife,
Think it includes, in thine, Amata's life.
I cannot live a slave, or see my throne
Usurped by strangers, or a Trojan son. "
At this, a flood of tears Lavinia shed; }
A crimson blush her beauteous face o'erspread, }
Varying her cheeks by turns with white and red. [13] }
The driving colours, never at a stay,
Run here and there, and flush, and fade away.
Delightful change! thus Indian ivory shows, }
Which with the bordering paint of purple glows; }
Or lilies damasked by the neighbouring rose. }
The lover gazed, and, burning with desire,
The more he looked, the more he fed the fire:
Revenge, and jealous rage, and secret spite,
Roll in his breast, and rouse him to the fight.
Then fixing on the queen his ardent eyes,
Firm to his first intent, he thus replies:--
"O mother! do not by your tears prepare
Such boding omens, and prejudge the war.
Resolved on fight, I am no longer free
To shun my death, if heaven my death decree. "--
Then turning to the herald, thus pursues:
"Go, greet the Trojan with ungrateful news;
Denounce from me, that, when to-morrow's light
Shall gild the heavens, he need not urge the fight;
The Trojan and Rutulian troops no more
Shall dye, with mutual blood, the Latian shore:
Our single swords the quarrel shall decide,
And to the victor be the beauteous bride. "
He said, and, striding on with speedy pace,
He sought his coursers of the Thracian race.
At his approach, they toss their heads on high,
And, proudly neighing, promise victory.
The sires of these Orithyia sent from far,
To grace Pilumnus, when he went to war.
The drifts of Thracian snows were scarce so white,
Nor northern winds in fleetness matched their flight.
Officious grooms stand ready by his side; }
And some with combs their flowing manes divide, }
And others stroke their chests, and gently sooth their pride. }
He sheathed his limbs in arms; a tempered mass
Of golden metal those, and mountain-brass.
Then to his head his glittering helm he tied,
And girt his faithful faulchion to his side.
In his Ætnæan forge, the god of fire
That faulchion laboured for the hero's sire,
Immortal keenness on the blade bestowed,
And plunged it hissing in the Stygian flood.
Propped on a pillar, which the cieling bore,
Was placed the lance Auruncan Actor wore;
Which with such force he brandished in his hand,
The tough ash trembled like an osier wand:
Then cried,--"O ponderous spoil of Actor slain,
And never yet by Turnus tossed in vain!
Fail not this day thy wonted force; but go,
Sent by this hand, to pierce the Trojan foe:
Give me to tear his corslet from his breast,
And from that eunuch head to rend the crest;
Dragged in the dust, his frizzled hair to soil,
Hot from the vexing iron, and smeared with fragrant oil. "
Thus while he raves, from his wide nostrils flies
A fiery steam, and sparkles from his eyes.
So fares the bull in his loved female's sight:
Proudly he bellows, and preludes the fight:
He tries his goring horns against a tree,
And meditates his absent enemy:
He pushes at the winds; he digs the strand
With his black hoofs, and spurns the yellow sand.
Nor less the Trojan, in his Lemnian arms,
To future fight his manly courage warms:
He whets his fury, and with joy prepares
To terminate at once the lingering wars;
To cheer his chiefs and tender son, relates
What heaven had promised, and expounds the fates.
Then to the Latian king he sends, to cease
The rage of arms, and ratify the peace.
The morn ensuing, from the mountain's height,
Had scarcely spread the skies with rosy light;
The etherial coursers, bounding from the sea,
From out their flaming nostrils breathed the day;
When now the Trojan and Rutulian guard,
In friendly labour joined, the list prepared.
Beneath the walls, they measure out the space; }
Then sacred altars rear, on sods of grass, }
Where, with religious rites, their common gods they place. }
In purest white, the priests their heads attire,
And living waters bear, and holy fire;
And, o'er their linen hoods and shaded hair,
Long twisted wreaths of sacred vervain wear.
In order issuing from the town, appears
The Latin legion, armed with pointed spears;
And from the fields, advancing on a line,
The Trojan and the Tuscan forces join:
Their various arms afford a pleasing sight:
A peaceful train they seem, in peace prepared for fight.
Betwixt the ranks the proud commanders ride,
Glittering with gold, and vests in purple dyed--
Here Mnestheus, author of the Memmian line,
And there Messapus, born of seed divine.
The sign is given; and, round the listed space,
Each man in order fills his proper place.
Reclining on their ample shields, they stand,
And fix their pointed lances in the sand.
Now, studious of the sight, a numerous throng
Of either sex promiscuous, old and young,
Swarm from the town: by those who rest behind,
The gates and walls, and houses' tops, are lined.
Meantime the queen of heaven beheld the sight,
With eyes unpleased, from mount Albano's height:
(Since called Albano by succeeding fame,
But then an empty hill, without a name. )
She thence surveyed the field, the Trojan powers,
The Latian squadrons, and Laurentine towers.
Then thus the goddess of the skies bespake,
With sighs and tears, the goddess of the lake,
King Turnus' sister, once a lovely maid,
Ere to the lust of lawless Jove betrayed--
Compressed by force, but, by the grateful god,
Now made the Naïs of the neighbouring flood.
"O nymph, the pride of living lakes! (said she)
O most renowned, and most beloved by me!
Long hast thou known, nor need I to record,
The wanton sallies of my wandering lord.
Of every Latian fair, whom Jove misled
To mount by stealth my violated bed,
To thee alone I grudged not his embrace,
But gave a part of heaven, and an unenvied place.
Now learn from me thy near approaching grief,
Nor think my wishes want to thy relief
While fortune favoured, nor heaven's king denied
To lend my succour to the Latian side,
I saved thy brother, and the sinking state:
But now he struggles with unequal fate,
And goes, with gods averse, o'ermatched in might, }
To meet inevitable death in fight; }
Nor must I break the truce, nor can sustain the sight. }
Thou, if thou dar'st, thy present aid supply;
It well becomes a sister's care to try. "
At this the lovely nymph, with grief oppressed,
Thrice tore her hair, and beat her comely breast.
To whom Saturnia thus:--"Thy tears are late:
Haste, snatch him, if he can be snatched, from fate:
New tumults kindle; violate the truce.
Who knows what changeful Fortune may produce?
'Tis not a crime to attempt what I decree;
Or, if it were, discharge the crime on me. "
She said, and, sailing on the winged wind,
Left the sad nymph suspended in her mind.
And now in pomp the peaceful kings appear:
Four steeds the chariot of Latinus bear:
Twelve golden beams around his temples play,
To mark his lineage from the god of day.
Two snowy coursers Turnus' chariot yoke,
And in his hand two massy spears he shook:
Then issued from the camp, in arms divine,
Æneas, author of the Roman line;
And by his side Ascanius took his place,
The second hope of Rome's immortal race.
Adorned in white, a reverend priest appears, }
And offerings to the flaming altars bears-- }
A porket, and a lamb that never suffered shears. }
Then to the rising sun he turns his eyes,
And strews the beasts, designed for sacrifice,
With salt and meal: with like officious care
He marks their foreheads, and he clips their hair.
Betwixt their horns the purple wine he sheds;
With the same generous juice the flame he feeds.
Æneas then unsheathed his shining sword,
And thus with pious prayers the gods adored:--
"All-seeing sun! and thou, Ausonian soil,
For which I have sustained so long a toil,
Thou, king of heaven! and thou, the queen of air,
Propitious now, and reconciled by prayer;
Thou, god of war, whose unresisted sway
The labours and events of arms obey!
Ye living fountains, and ye running floods!
All powers of ocean, all etherial gods!
Hear, and bear record: if I fall in field,
Or, recreant in the fight, to Turnus yield,
My Trojans shall increase Evander's town;
Ascanius shall renounce the Ausonian crown:
All claims, all questions of debate, shall cease;
Nor he, nor they, with force infringe the peace.
But, if my juster arms prevail in fight,
(As sure they shall, if I divine aright,)
My Trojans shall not o'er the Italians reign;
Both equal, both unconquered, shall remain,
Joined in their laws, their lands, and their abodes;
I ask but altars for my weary gods.
The care of those religious rites be mine:
The crown to king Latinus I resign:
His be the sovereign sway. Nor will I share
His power in peace, or his command in war.
For me, my friends another town shall frame,
And bless the rising towers with fair Lavinia's name. "
Thus he. Then, with erected eyes and hands,
The Latian king before his altar stands.
"By the same heaven, (said he,) and earth, and main,
And all the powers that all the three contain;
By hell below, and by that upper god,
Whose thunder signs the peace, who seals it with his nod;
So let Latona's double offspring hear,
And double-fronted Janus, what I swear:
I touch the sacred altars, touch the flames,
And all those powers attest, and all their names:
Whatever chance befal on either side,
No term of time this union shall divide:
No force, no fortune, shall my vows unbind,
Or shake the stedfast tenor of my mind;
Not, though the circling seas should break their bound,
O'erflow the shores, or sap the solid ground;
Not, though the lamps of heaven their spheres forsake,
Hurled down, and hissing in the nether lake:
Even as this royal sceptre" (for he bore
A sceptre in his hand) "shall never more
Shoot out in branches, or renew the birth--
An orphan now, cut from the mother earth
By the keen axe, dishonoured of its hair,
And cased in brass, for Latian kings to bear. "
When thus in public view the peace was tied
With solemn vows, and sworn on either side,
All dues performed which holy rites require,
The victim beasts are slain before the fire,
The trembling entrails from their bodies torn,
And to the fatten'd flames in chargers borne.
Already the Rutulians deemed their man
O'ermatched in arms, before the fight began.
First rising fears are whispered through the crowd;
Then, gathering sound, they murmur more aloud.
Now, side to side, they measure with their eyes
The champions' bulk, their sinews, and their size:
The nearer they approach, the more is known
The apparent disadvantage of their own.
Turnus himself appears in public sight
Conscious of fate, desponding of the fight.
Slowly he moves, and at his altar stands
With eyes dejected, and with trembling hands:
And, while he mutters undistinguished prayers,
A livid deadness in his cheeks appears.
With anxious pleasure when Juturna viewed
The increasing fright of the mad multitude,
When their short sighs and thickening sobs she heard,
And found their ready minds for change prepared;
Dissembling her immortal form, she took
Camertes' mien, his habit, and his look--
A chief of ancient blood:--in arms well known
Was his great sire, and he his greater son.
His shape assumed, amid the ranks she ran,
And humouring their first motions, thus began:--
"For shame, Rutulians! can you bear the sight
Of one exposed for all, in single fight?
Can we, before the face of heaven, confess
Our courage colder, or our numbers less?
View all the Trojan host, the Arcadian band,
And Tuscan army; count them as they stand:
Undaunted to the battle if we go,
Scarce every second man will share a foe.
Turnus, 'tis true, in this unequal strife,
Shall lose, with honour, his devoted life,
Or change it rather for immortal fame,
Succeeding to the gods, from whence he came:
But you, a servile and inglorious band,
For foreign lords shall sow your native land,
Those fruitful fields, your fighting fathers gained,
Which have so long their lazy sons sustained. "
With words like these, she carried her design.
A rising murmur runs along the line.
Then even the city troops, and Latians, tired
With tedious war, seem with new souls inspired:
Their champion's fate with pity they lament,
And of the league, so lately sworn, repent.
Nor fails the goddess to foment the rage
With lying wonders, and a false presage;
But adds a sign, which, present to their eyes,
Inspires new courage, and a glad surprise.
For, sudden, in the fiery tracts above,
Appears in pomp the imperial bird of Jove:
A plump of fowl he spies, that swim the lakes,
And o'er their heads his sounding pinions shakes;
Then, stooping on the fairest of the train,
In his strong talons trussed a silver swan.
The Italians wonder at the unusual sight:
But while he lags, and labours in his flight,
Behold, the dastard fowl return anew,
And with united force the foe pursue:
Clamorous around the royal hawk they fly,
And, thickening in a cloud, o'ershade the sky.
They cuff, they scratch, they cross his airy course;
Nor can the encumbered bird sustain their force;
But, vexed, not vanquished, drops the ponderous prey,
And, lightened of his burden, wings his way.
The Ausonian bands with shouts salute the sight,
Eager of action, and demand the fight.
Then king Tolumnius, versed in augurs' arts,
Cries out, and thus his boasted skill imparts:--
"At length 'tis granted, what I long desired!
This, this is what my frequent vows required.
Ye gods! I take your omen, and obey. --
Advance, my friends, and charge! I lead the way.
These are the foreign foes, whose impious band,
Like that rapacious bird, infest our land:
But soon, like him, they shall be forced to sea
By strength united, and forego the prey.
Your timely succour to your country bring;
Haste to the rescue, and redeem your king. "
He said: and, pressing onward through the crew,
Poised in his lifted arm, his lance he threw.
The winged weapon, whistling in the wind,
Came driving on, nor missed the mark designed.
At once the cornel rattled in the skies;
At once tumultuous shouts and clamours rise.
Nine brothers in a goodly band there stood,
Born of Arcadian mixed with Tuscan blood,
Gylippus' sons; the fatal javelin flew,
Aimed at the midmost of the friendly crew.
A passage through the jointed arms it found, }
Just where the belt was to the body bound, }
And struck the gentle youth extended on the ground. }
Then, fired with pious rage, the generous train
Run madly forward to revenge the slain.
And some with eager haste their javelins throw;
And some with sword in hand assault the foe.
The wished insult the Latine troops embrace,
And meet their ardour in the middle space.
The Trojans, Tuscans, and Arcadian line,
With equal courage obviate their design.
Peace leaves the violated fields; and hate
Both armies urges to their mutual fate.
With impious haste their altars are o'erturned,
The sacrifice half broiled, and half unburned.
Thick storms of steel from either army fly,
And clouds of clashing darts obscure the sky;
Brands from the fire are missive weapons made,
With chargers, bowls, and all the priestly trade.
Latinus, frighted, hastens from the fray,
And bears his unregarded gods away.
These on their horses vault; those yoke the car;
The rest, with swords on high, run headlong to the war.
Messapus, eager to confound the peace,
Spurred his hot courser through the fighting prease,
At king Aulestes, by his purple known }
A Tuscan prince, and by his regal crown; }
And, with a shock encountering, bore him down. }
Backward he fell; and, as his fate designed,
The ruins of an altar were behind:
There pitching on his shoulders and his head,
Amid the scattering fires he lay supinely spread.
The beamy spear, descending from above,
His cuirass pierced, and through his body drove.
Then, with a scornful smile, the victor cries:--
"The gods have found a fitter sacrifice. "
Greedy of spoils, the Italians strip the dead
Of his rich armour, and uncrown his head.
Priest Corynæus armed his better hand,
From his own altar, with a blazing brand;
And, as Ebusus with a thundering pace
Advanced to battle, dashed it on his face:
His bristly beard shines out with sudden fires;
The crackling crop a noisome scent expires.
Following the blow, he seized his curling crown
With his left hand; his other cast him down.
The prostrate body with his knees he pressed,
And plunged his holy poignard in his breast.
While Podalirius, with his sword, pursued
The shepherd Alsus through the flying crowd,
Swiftly he turns, and aims a deadly blow
Full on the front of his unwary foe.
The broad axe enters with a crashing sound, }
And cleaves the chin with one continued wound; }
Warm blood, and mingled brains, besmear his arms around. }
An iron sleep his stupid eyes oppressed,
And sealed their heavy lids in endless rest.
But good Æneas rushed amid the bands;
Bare was his head, and naked were his hands,
In sign of truce: then thus he cries aloud:--
"What sudden rage, what new desire of blood,
Inflames your altered minds? O Trojans! cease
From impious arms, nor violate the peace.
By human sanctions, and by laws divine,
The terms are all agreed; the war is mine.
Dismiss your fears, and let the fight ensue;
This hand alone shall right the gods and you:
Our injured altars, and their broken vow,
To this avenging sword the faithless Turnus owe. "
Thus while he spoke, unmindful of defence,
A winged arrow struck the pious prince.
But, whether from some human hand it came,
Or hostile god, is left unknown by fame:
No human hand, or hostile god, was found,
To boast the triumph of so base a wound.
When Turnus saw the Trojan quit the plain,
His chiefs dismayed, his troops a fainting train,
The unhoped event his heightened soul inspires:
At once his arms and coursers he requires;
Then, with a leap, his lofty chariot gains,
And with a ready hand assumes the reins.
He drives impetuous, and, where'er he goes,
He leaves behind a lane of slaughtered foes.
These his lance reaches; over those he rolls
His rapid car, and crushes out their souls.
In vain the vanquished fly: the victor sends
The dead men's weapons at their living friends.
Thus, on the banks of Hebrus' freezing flood,
The god of battles, in his angry mood,
Clashing his sword against his brazen shield,
Lets loose the reins, and scours along the field:
Before the wind his fiery coursers fly;
Groans the sad earth, resounds the rattling sky.
Wrath, Terror, Treason, Tumult, and Despair, }
(Dire faces, and deformed,) surround the car-- }
Friends of the god, and followers of the war. }
With fury not unlike, nor less disdain,
Exulting Turnus flies along the plain:
His smoking horses, at their utmost speed,
He lashes on; and urges o'er the dead.
Their fetlocks run with blood; and, when they bound,
The gore and gathering dust are dashed around.
Thamyris and Pholus, masters of the war,
He killed at hand, but Sthenelus afar:
From far the sons of Imbrasus he slew,
Glaucus and Lades, of the Lycian crew--
Both taught to fight on foot, in battle joined,
Or mount the courser that outstrips the wind.
Meantime Eumedes, vaunting in the field,
New fired the Trojans, and their foes repelled.
This son of Dolon bore his grandsire's name,
But emulated more his father's fame--
His guileful father, sent a nightly spy,
The Grecian camp and order to descry--
Hard enterprise! and well he might require
Achilles' car and horses, for his hire:
But, met upon the scout, the Ætolian prince
In death bestowed a juster recompense.
Fierce Turnus viewed the Trojan from afar,
And launched his javelin from his lofty car,
Then lightly leaping down, pursued the blow,
And, pressing with his foot his prostrate foe,
Wrenched from his feeble hold the shining sword,
And plunged it in the bosom of its lord.
"Possess," said he, "the fruit of all thy pains,
And measure, at thy length, our Latian plains.
Thus are my foes rewarded by my hand;
Thus may they build their town, and thus enjoy the land! "
Then Dares, Butes, Sybaris, he slew,
Whom o'er his neck the floundering courser threw.
As when loud Boreas, with his blustering train,
Stoops from above, incumbent on the main;
Where'er he flies, he drives the rack before,
And rolls the billows on the Ægæan shore:
So, where resistless Turnus takes his course,
The scattered squadrons bend before his force:
His crest of horses hair is blown behind
By adverse air, and rustles in the wind.
This haughty Phegeus saw with high disdain, }
And, as the chariot rolled along the plain, }
Light from the ground he leapt, and seized the rein. }
Thus hung in air, he still retained his hold,
The coursers frighted, and their course controuled.
The lance of Turnus reached him as he hung,
And pierced his plated arms, but passed along,
And only razed the skin. He turned, and held
Against his threatening foe his ample shield,
Then called for aid: but, while he cried in vain,
The chariot bore him backward on the plain.
He lies reversed; the victor king descends,
And strikes so justly where his helmet ends,
He lops the head. The Latian fields are drunk
With streams that issue from the bleeding trunk.
While he triumphs, and while the Trojans yield,
The wounded prince is forced to leave the field:
Strong Mnestheus, and Achates often tried,
And young Ascanius, weeping by his side,
Conduct him to his tent. Scarce can he rear
His limbs from earth, supported on his spear.
Resolved in mind, regardless of the smart,
He tugs with both his hands, and breaks the dart.
The steel remains. No readier way he found
To draw the weapon, than to enlarge the wound.
Eager of fight, impatient of delay,
He begs; and his unwilling friends obey.
Iäpis was at hand to prove his art,
Whose blooming youth so fired Apollo's heart,
That, for his love, he proffered to bestow
His tuneful harp, and his unerring bow:
The pious youth, more studious how to save
His aged sire now sinking to the grave,
Preferred the power of plants, and silent praise
Of healing arts, before Phœbean bays.
Propped on his lance the pensive hero stood,
And heard and saw, unmoved, the mourning crowd.
The famed physician tucks his robes around
With ready hands, and hastens to the wound.
With gentle touches he performs his part, }
This way and that, soliciting the dart, }
And exercises all his heavenly art. }
All softening simples, known of sovereign use,
He presses out, and pours their noble juice.
These first infused, to lenify the pain--
He tugs with pincers, but he tugs in vain.
Then to the patron of his art he prayed:
The patron of his art refused his aid.
Meantime the war approaches to the tents:
The alarm grows hotter, and the noise augments:
The driving dust proclaims the danger near; }
And first their friends, and then their foes, appear: }
Their friends retreat; their foes pursue the rear. }
The camp is filled with terror and affright:
The hissing shafts within the trench alight;
An undistinguished noise ascends the sky--
The shouts of those who kill, and groans of those who die.
But now the goddess mother, moved with grief,
And pierced with pity, hastens her relief.
A branch of healing dittany she brought,
Which in the Cretan fields with care she sought--
(Rough is the stem, which woolly leaves surround;
The leaves with flowers, the flowers with purple crowned,)
Well known to wounded goats; a sure relief
To draw the pointed steel, and ease the grief.
This Venus brings, in clouds involved, and brews
The extracted liquor with ambrosian dews,
And odorous panacee. Unseen she stands,
Tempering the mixture with her heavenly hands,
And pours it in a bowl, already crowned
With juice of medicinal herbs prepared to bathe the wound.
The leech, unknowing of superior art }
Which aids the cure, with this foments the part; }
And in a moment ceased the raging smart. }
Stanched is the blood, and in the bottom stands:
The steel, but scarcely touched with tender hands,
Moves up, and follows of its own accord,
And health and vigour are at once restored.
Iäpis first perceived the closing wound,
And first the footsteps of a god he found.
"Arms! arms! " he cries: "the sword and shield prepare,
And send the willing chief, renewed, to war.
This is no mortal work, no cure of mine,
Nor art's effect, but done by hands divine.
Some god our general to the battle sends;
Some god preserves his life for greater ends. "
The hero arms in haste: his hands enfold
His thighs with cuishes of refulgent gold:
Inflamed to fight, and rushing to the field,
That hand sustaining the celestial shield,
This gripes the lance, and with such vigour shakes,
That to the rest the beamy weapon quakes.
Then with a close embrace he strained his son,
And, kissing through his helmet, thus begun:--
"My son! from my example learn the war, }
In camps to suffer, and in fields to dare; }
But happier chance than mine attend thy care! }
This day my hand thy tender age shall shield,
And crown with honours of the conquered field:
Thou, when thy riper years shall send thee forth
To toils of war, be mindful of my worth:
Assert thy birth-right; and in arms be known,
For Hector's nephew, and Æneas' son. "
He said; and, striding, issued on the plain.
Antheus and Mnestheus, and a numerous train,
Attend his steps: the rest their weapons take,
And, crowding to the field, the camp forsake.
A cloud of blinding dust is raised around,
Labours beneath their feet the trembling ground.
Now Turnus, posted on a hill, from far
Beheld the progress of the moving war:
With him the Latins viewed the covered plains,
And the chill blood ran backward in their veins.
Juturna saw the advancing troops appear,
And heard the hostile sound, and fled for fear.
Æneas leads; and draws a sweeping train,
Closed in their ranks, and pouring on the plain.
As when a whirlwind, rushing to the shore
From the mid ocean, drives the waves before;
The painful hind with heavy heart foresees
The flatted fields, and slaughter of the trees;
With such impetuous rage the prince appears,
Before his doubled front, nor less destruction bears.
And now both armies shock in open field;
Osiris is by strong Thymbræus killed.
Archetius, Ufens, Epulon, are slain,
(All famed in arms, and of the Latian train,)
By Gyas', Mnestheus', and Achates' hand.
The fatal augur falls, by whose command
The truce was broken, and whose lance, embrued
With Trojan blood, the unhappy fight renewed.
Loud shouts and clamours rend the liquid sky;
And o'er the field the frighted Latins fly.
The prince disdains the dastards to pursue,
Nor moves to meet in arms the fighting few.
Turnus alone, amid the dusky plain,
He seeks, and to the combat calls in vain.
Juturna heard, and, seized with mortal fear,
Forced from the beam her brother's charioteer;
Assumes his shape, his armour, and his mien,
And, like Metiscus, in his seat is seen.
As the black swallow near the palace plies;
O'er empty courts, and under arches, flies;
Now hawks aloft, now skims along the flood,
To furnish her loquacious nest with food:
So drives the rapid goddess o'er the plains;
The smoking horses run with loosened reins.
She steers a various course among the foes;
Now here, now there, her conquering brother shows;
Now with a straight, now with a wheeling flight,
She turns, and bends, but shuns the single fight.
Æneas, fired with fury, breaks the crowd,
And seeks his foe, and calls by name aloud:
He runs within a narrower ring, and tries
To stop the chariot; but the chariot flies.
If he but gain a glimpse, Juturna fears,
And far away the Daunian hero bears.
What should he do? Nor arts nor arms avail;
And various cares in vain his mind assail.
The great Messapus, thundering through the field,
In his left hand two pointed javelins held:
Encountering on the prince, one dart he drew,
And with unerring aim, and utmost vigour, threw.
Æneas saw it come, and, stooping low
Beneath his buckler, shunned the threat'ning blow.
The weapon hissed above his head, and tore
The waving plume, which on his helm he wore.
Forced by this hostile act, and fired with spite,
That flying Turnus still declined the fight,
The prince, whose piety had long repelled
His inborn ardour, now invades the field;
Invokes the powers of violated peace,
Their rites and injured altars to redress;
Then, to his rage abandoning the rein,
With blood and slaughtered bodies fills the plain.
What god can tell, what numbers can display,
The various labours of that fatal day?
What chiefs and champions fell on either side,
In combat slain, or by what deaths they died?
Whom Turnus, whom the Trojan hero killed?
Who shared the fame and fortune of the field?
Jove! could'st thou view, and not avert thy sight, }
Two jarring nations joined in cruel fight, }
Whom leagues of lasting love so shortly shall unite? }
Æneas first Rutulian Sucro found,
Whose valour made the Trojans quit their ground;
Betwixt his ribs the javelin drove so just,
It reached his heart, nor needs a second thrust.
Now Turnus, at two blows, two brethren slew;
First from his horse fierce Amycus he threw:
Then, leaping on the ground, on foot assailed
Diores, and in equal fight prevailed.
Their lifeless trunks he leaves upon the place;
Their heads, distilling gore, his chariot grace.
Three cold on earth the Trojan hero threw,
Whom without respite at one charge he slew:
Cethegus, Tanaïs, Talus, fell oppressed,
And sad Onytes, added to the rest--
Of Theban blood, whom Peridia bore.
Turnus two brothers from the Lycian shore,
And from Apollo's fane to battle sent,
O'erthrew; nor Phœbus could their fate prevent.
Peaceful Menœtes after these he killed,
Who long had shunned the dangers of the field:
On Lerna's lake a silent life he led,
And with his nets and angle earned his bread.
Nor pompous cares, nor palaces, he knew,
But wisely from the infectious world withdrew.
Poor was his house: his father's painful hand
Discharged his rent, and ploughed another's land.
As flames among the lofty woods are thrown
On different sides, and both by winds are blown;
The laurels crackle in the sputtering fire;
The frighted sylvans from their shades retire:
Or as two neighbouring torrents fall from high,
Rapid they run; the foamy waters fry;
They roll to sea with unresisted force,
And down the rocks precipitate their course
Not with less rage the rival heroes take
Their different ways; nor less destruction make.
With spears afar, with swords at hand, they strike;
And zeal of slaughter fires their souls alike.
Like them, their dauntless men maintain the field;
And hearts are pierced, unknowing how to yield:
They blow for blow return, and wound for wound;
And heaps of bodies raise the level ground.
Murrhanus, boasting of his blood, that springs
From a long royal race of Latian kings,
Is by the Trojan from his chariot thrown,
Crushed with the weight of an unwieldy stone:
Betwixt the wheels he fell; the wheels, that bore
His living load, his dying body tore.
His starting steeds, to shun the glittering sword,
Paw down his trampled limbs, forgetful of their lord.
Fierce Hyllus threatened high, and, face to face,
Affronted Turnus in the middle space:
The prince encountered him in full career,
And at his temples aimed the deadly spear:
So fatally the flying weapon sped,
That through his brazen helm it pierced his head.
Nor, Cisseus, could'st thou 'scape from Turnus' hand,
In vain the strongest of the Arcadian band:
Nor to Cupencus could his gods afford
Availing aid against the Ænean sword,
Which to his naked heart pursued the course;
Nor could his plated shield sustain the force.
Iölas fell, whom not the Grecian powers,
Nor great subverter of the Trojan towers,
Were doomed to kill, while heaven prolonged his date:
But who can pass the bounds prefixed by Fate?
In high Lyrnessus, and in Troy, he held
Two palaces, and was from each expelled:
Of all the mighty man, the last remains
A little spot of foreign earth contains.
And now both hosts their broken troops unite
In equal ranks, and mix in mortal fight.
Serestus and undaunted Mnestheus join
The Trojan, Tuscan, and Arcadian line:
Sea-born Messapus, with Atinas, heads
The Latin squadrons, and to battle leads.
They strike, they push, they throng the scanty space, }
Resolved on death, impatient of disgrace; }
And, where one falls, another fills his place. }
The Cyprian goddess now inspires her son
To leave the unfinished fight, and storm the town:
For, while he rolls his eyes around the plain
In quest of Turnus, whom he seeks in vain,
He views the unguarded city from afar,
In careless quiet, and secure of war.
Occasion offers, and excites his mind
To dare beyond the task he first designed.
Resolved, he calls his chiefs: they leave the fight:
Attended thus, he takes a neighbouring height:
The crowding troops about their general stand,
All under arms, and wait his high command.
Then thus the lofty prince:--"Hear and obey,
Ye Trojan bands, without the least delay.
Jove is with us; and what I have decreed,
Requires our utmost vigour, and our speed.
Your instant arms against the town prepare,
The source of mischief, and the seat of war.
This day the Latian towers, that mate the sky,
Shall, level with the plain, in ashes lie:
The people shall be slaves, unless in time
They kneel for pardon, and repent their crime.
Twice have our foes been vanquished on the plain:
Then shall I wait till Turnus will be slain?
Your force against the perjured city bend;
There it began, and there the war shall end;
The peace profaned our rightful arms requires;
Cleanse the polluted place with purging fires. "
He finished; and--one soul inspiring all--
Formed in a wedge, the foot approach the wall.
Without the town, an unprovided train
Of gaping gazing citizens are slain.
Some firebrands, others scaling ladders, bear,
And those they toss aloft, and these they rear:
The flames now launched, the feathered arrows fly,
And clouds of missive arms obscure the sky.
Advancing to the front, the hero stands,
And, stretching out to heaven his pious hands,
Attests the gods, asserts his innocence,
Upbraids with breach of faith the Ausonian prince;
Declares the royal honour doubly stained,
And twice the rites of holy peace profaned.
Dissenting clamours in the town arise:
Each will be heard, and all at once advise.
One part for peace, and one for war, contends:
Some would exclude their foes, and some admit their friends.
The helpless king is hurried in the throng,
And (whate'er tide prevails) is borne along.
Thus, when the swain, within a hollow rock,
Invades the bees with suffocating smoke,
They run around, or labour on their wings,
Disused to flight, and shoot their sleepy stings;
To shun the bitter fumes, in vain they try;
Black vapours, issuing from the vent, involve the sky.
But Fate and envious Fortune now prepare
To plunge the Latins in the last despair.
The queen, who saw the foes invade the town,
And brands on tops of burning houses thrown,
Cast round her eyes, distracted with her fear:--
No troops of Turnus in the field appear.
Once more she stares abroad, but still in vain,
And then concludes the royal youth is slain.
Mad with her anguish, impotent to bear
The mighty grief, she loaths the vital air.
She calls herself the cause of all this ill,
And owns the dire effects of her ungoverned will:
She raves against the gods; she beats her breast;
She tears with both her hands her purple vest:
Then round a beam a running noose she tied,
And, fastened by the neck, obscenely died.
Soon as the fatal news by fame was blown,
And to her dames and to her daughter known,
The sad Lavinia rends her yellow hair, }
And rosy cheeks: the rest her sorrow share: }
With shrieks the palace rings, and madness of despair. }
The spreading rumour fills the public place: }
Confusion, fear, distraction, and disgrace, }
And silent shame, are seen in every face. }
Latinus tears his garments as he goes,
Both for his public and his private woes;
With filth his venerable beard besmears,
And sordid dust deforms his silver hairs.
And much he blames the softness of his mind, }
Obnoxious to the charms of woman-kind, }
And soon reduced to change what he so well designed-- }
To break the solemn league so long desired,
Nor finish what his fates, and those of Troy, required.
Now Turnus rolls aloof o'er empty plains,
And here and there some straggling foes he gleans.
His flying coursers please him less and less,
Ashamed of easy fight, and cheap success.
Thus half-contented, anxious in his mind,
The distant cries come driving in the wind--
Shouts from the walls, but shouts in murmurs drowned;
A jarring mixture, and a boding sound.
"Alas! " said he, "what mean these dismal cries?
What doleful clamours from the town arise? "
Confused, he stops, and backward pulls the reins.
She, who the drivers office now sustains,
Replies:--"Neglect, my lord, these new alarms:
Here fight, and urge the fortune of your arms:
There want not others to defend the wall.
If by your rival's hand the Italians fall,
So shall your fatal sword his friends oppress,
In honour equal, equal in success. "
To this, the prince:--"O sister! --for I knew,
The peace infringed proceeded first from you:
I knew you, when you mingled first in fight:
And now in vain you would deceive my sight--
Why, goddess, this unprofitable care?
Who sent you down from heaven, involved in air,
Your share of mortal sorrows to sustain,
And see your brother bleeding on the plain?
For to what power can Turnus have recourse,
Or how resist his fate's prevailing force?
These eyes beheld Murrhanus bite the ground--
Mighty the man, and mighty was the wound.
I heard my dearest friend, with dying breath,
My name invoking to revenge his death.
Brave Ufens fell with honour on the place,
To shun the shameful sight of my disgrace.
On earth supine, a manly corpse he lies;
His vest and armour are the victor's prize.
Then, shall I see Laurentum in a flame,
Which only wanted, to complete my shame?
How will the Latins hoot their champion's flight!
How Drances will insult and point them to the sight!
Is death so hard to bear? --Ye gods below!
(Since those above so small compassion show,)
Receive a soul unsullied yet with shame,
Which not belies my great forefathers' name. "
He said: and while he spoke, with flying speed
Came Saces urging on his foamy steed:
Fixed on his wounded face a shaft he bore,
And, seeking Turnus, sent his voice before:
"Turnus! on you, on you alone, depends
Our last relief:--compassionate your friends!
Like lightning, fierce Æneas, rolling on,
With arms invests, with flames invades, the town:
The brands are tossed on high; the winds conspire
To drive along the deluge of the fire.
All eyes are fixed on you: your foes rejoice;
Even the king staggers, and suspends his choice--
Doubts to deliver or defend the town,
Whom to reject, or whom to call his son.
The queen, on whom your utmost hopes were placed,
Herself suborning death, has breathed her last.
'Tis true, Messapus, fearless of his fate,
With fierce Atinas' aid, defends the gate:
On every side surrounded by the foe, }
The more they kill, the greater numbers grow; }
An iron harvest mounts, and still remains to mow. }
You, far aloof from your forsaken bands,
Your rolling chariot drive o'er empty sands. "
Stupid he sate, his eyes on earth declined,
And various cares revolving in his mind:
Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast,
And sorrow mixed with shame, his soul oppressed;
And conscious worth lay labouring in his thought,
And love by jealousy to madness wrought.
By slow degrees his reason drove away
The mists of passion, and resumed her sway.
Then, rising on his car, he turned his look,
And saw the town involved in fire and smoke.
A wooden tower with flames already blazed,
Which his own hands on beams and rafters raised,
And bridges laid above to join the space,
And wheels below to roll from place to place.
"Sister! the Fates have vanquished: let us go
The way which heaven and my hard fortune show.
The fight is fixed; nor shall the branded name
Of a base coward blot your brother's fame.
Death is my choice; but suffer me to try
My force, and vent my rage before I die. "
He said: and leaping down without delay,
Through crowds of scattered foes he freed his way.
Striding he passed, impetuous as the wind,
And left the grieving goddess far behind.
As, when a fragment, from a mountain torn
By raging tempests, or by torrents borne,
Or sapped by time, or loosened from the roots--
Prone through the void the rocky ruin shoots,
Rolling from crag to crag, from steep to steep;
Down sink, at once, the shepherds and their sheep:
Involved alike, they rush to nether ground;
Stunned with the shock they fall, and stunned from earth rebound:
So Turnus, hasting headlong to the town,
Shouldering and shoving, bore the squadrons down.
Still pressing onward, to the walls he drew, }
Where shafts and spears and darts promiscuous flew, }
And sanguine streams the slippery ground embrue. }
First stretching out his arm, in sign of peace,
He cries aloud, to make the combat cease:--
"Rutulians, hold! and Latin troops, retire!
The fight is mine; and me the gods require.
'Tis just that I should vindicate alone
The broken truce, or for the breach atone.
This day shall free from wars the Ausonian state,
Or finish my misfortunes in my fate. "
Both armies from their bloody work desist,
And, bearing backward, form a spacious list.
The Trojan hero, who received from fame
The welcome sound, and heard the champion's name,
Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls:
Greedy of war where greater glory calls,
He springs to fight, exulting in his force;
His jointed armour rattles in the course.
Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows,
Or father Apennine, when, white with snows,
His head divine obscure in clouds he hides,
And shakes the sounding forest on his sides.
The nations, overawed, surcease the fight;
Immoveable their bodies, fixed their sight.
Even death stands still; nor from above they throw
Their darts, nor drive their battering-rams below.
In silent order either army stands,
And drop their swords, unknowing, from their hands.
The Ausonian king beholds, with wondering sight,
Two mighty champions matched in single fight,
Born under climes remote, and brought by fate,
With swords to try their titles to the state.
Now, in closed field, each other from afar
They view; and, rushing on, begin the war.
They launch their spears; then hand to hand they meet,
The trembling soil resounds beneath their feet:
Their bucklers clash; thick blows descend from high,
And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly.
Courage conspires with chance; and both engage
With equal fortune yet, and mutual rage.
As, when two bulls for their fair female fight
In Sila's shades, or on Taburnus' height,
With horns adverse they meet; the keeper flies;
Mute stands the herd; the heifers roll their eyes,
And wait the event--which victor they shall bear,
And who shall be the lord, to rule the lusty year:
With rage of love the jealous rivals burn,
And push for push, and wound for wound, return;
Their dewlaps gored, their sides are laved in blood;
Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow through the wood:
Such was the combat in the listed ground;
So clash their swords, and so their shields resound.
Jove sets the beam: in either scale he lays
The champions' fate, and each exactly weighs.
On this side, life, and lucky chance ascends;
Loaded with death, that other scale descends.
Raised on the stretch, young Turnus aims a blow
Full on the helm of his unguarded foe:
Shrill shouts and clamours ring on either side,
As hopes and fears their panting hearts divide.
But all in pieces flies the traitor sword,
And, in the middle stroke, deserts his lord.
Now 'tis but death or flight: disarmed he flies,
When in his hand an unknown hilt he spies.
Fame says that Turnus, when his steeds he joined, }
Hurrying to war, disordered in his mind, }
Snatched the first weapon which his haste could find. }
'Twas not the fated sword his father bore,
But that his charioteer Metiscus wore.
This, while the Trojans fled, the toughness held:
But, vain against the great Vulcanian shield,
The mortal-tempered steel deceived his hand:
The shivered fragments shone amid the sand.
Surprised with fear, he fled along the field,
And now forthright, and now in orbits wheeled:
For here the Trojan troops the list surround,
And there the pass is closed with pools and marshy ground.
Æneas hastens, though with heavier pace--
His wound, so newly knit, retards the chase,
And oft his trembling knees their aid refuse--
Yet, pressing foot by foot, his foe pursues.
Thus, when a fearful stag is closed around
With crimson toils, or in a river found,
High on the bank the deep-mouthed hound appears,
Still opening, following still, where'er he steers;
The persecuted creature, to and fro,
Turns here and there, to 'scape his Umbrian foe:
Steep is the ascent, and, if he gains the land,
The purple death is pitched along the strand:
His eager foe, determined to the chase,
Stretched at his length, gains ground at every pace:
Now to his beamy head he makes his way,
And now he holds, or thinks he holds, his prey:
Just at the pinch, the stag springs out with fear;
He bites the wind, and fills his sounding jaws with air:
The rocks, the lakes, the meadows, ring with cries;
The mortal tumult mounts, and thunders in the skies.
Thus flies the Daunian prince, and, flying, blames
His tardy troops, and calling by their names,
Demands his trusty sword. The Trojan threats
The realm with ruin, and their ancient seats
To lay in ashes, if they dare supply,
With arms or aid, his vanquished enemy;
Thus menacing, he still pursues the course,
With vigour, though diminished of his force.
Ten times already, round the listed place,
One chief had fled, and t'other given the chase:
No trivial prize is played; for on the life
Or death of Turnus, now depends the strife.
Within the space, an olive-tree had stood, }
A sacred shade, a venerable wood, }
For vows to Faunus paid, the Latins' guardian god. }
Here hung the vests, and tablets were engraved,
Of sinking mariners from shipwreck saved.
With heedless hands the Trojans felled the tree,
To make the ground inclosed for combat free.
Deep in the root, whether by fate, or chance,
Or erring haste, the Trojan drove his lance;
Then stooped, and tugged with force immense, to free
The encumbered spear from the tenacious tree;
That, whom his fainting limbs pursued in vain,
His flying weapon might from far attain.
Confused with fear, bereft of human aid,
Then Turnus to the gods, and first to Faunus, prayed:--
"O Faunus! pity! and thou, mother Earth,
Where I thy foster-son received my birth,
Hold fast the steel! If my religious hand
Your plant has honoured, which your foes profaned,
Propitious hear my pious prayer! " He said,
Nor with successless vows invoked their aid.
The incumbent hero wrenched, and pulled, and strained;
But still the stubborn earth the steel detained.
Juturna took her time; and, while in vain
He strove, assumed Metiscus' form again,
And, in that imitated shape, restored
To the despairing prince his Daunian sword.
The queen of love--who, with disdain and grief,
Saw the bold nymph afford this prompt relief--
To assert her offspring with a greater deed,
From the tough root the lingering weapon freed.
Once more erect, the rival chiefs advance: }
One trusts the sword, and one the pointed lance; }
And both resolved alike, to try their fatal chance. }
Meantime imperial Jove to Juno spoke,
Who from a shining cloud beheld the shock:--
"What new arrest, O queen of heaven! is sent
To stop the Fates now labouring in the event?
What further hopes are left thee to pursue? }
Divine Æneas, (and thou know'st it too,) }
Fore-doomed, to these celestial seats is due. }
What more attempts for Turnus can be made,
That thus thou lingerest in this lonely shade?
Is it becoming of the due respect
And awful honour of a god elect,
A wound unworthy of our state to feel,
Patient of human hands, and earthly steel?
Or seems it just, the sister should restore }
A second sword, when one was lost before, }
And arm a conquered wretch against his conqueror? }
For what, without thy knowledge and avow,
Nay more, thy dictate, durst Juturna do?
At last, in deference to my love, forbear
To lodge within thy soul this anxious care:
Reclined upon my breast, thy grief unload:--
Who should relieve the goddess, but the god?
Now all things to their utmost issue tend,
Pushed by the Fates to their appointed end.
While leave was given thee, and a lawful hour
For vengeance, wrath, and unresisted power,
Tossed on the seas thou could'st thy foes distress,
And, driven ashore, with hostile arms oppress;
Deform the royal house; and, from the side
Of the just bridegroom, tear the plighted bride:--
Now cease at my command. " The Thunderer said;
And, with dejected eyes, this answer Juno made:--
"Because your dread decree too well I knew,
From Turnus and from earth unwilling I withdrew.
Else should you not behold me here, alone,
Involved in empty clouds, my friends bemoan,
But, girt with vengeful flames, in open sight,
Engaged against my foes in mortal fight.
'Tis true, Juturna mingled in the strife
By my command, to save her brother's life,
At least to try; but (by the Stygian lake--
The most religious oath the gods can take)
With this restriction, not to bend the bow,
Or toss the spear, or trembling dart to throw.
And now, resigned to your superior might,
And tired with fruitless toils, I loath the fight.
This let me beg (and this no fates withstand)
Both for myself and for your father's land,
That, when the nuptial bed shall bind the peace,
(Which I, since you ordain, consent to bless,)
The laws of either nation be the same;
But let the Latins still retain their name,
Speak the same language which they spoke before,
Wear the same habits which their grandsires wore.
Call them not Trojans: perish the renown
And name of Troy, with that detested town.
Latium be Latium still; let Alba reign,
And Rome's immortal majesty remain. "
Then thus the founder of mankind replies:--
(Unruffled was his front, serene his eyes,)
"Can Saturn's issue, and heaven's other heir,
Such endless anger in her bosom bear?
Be mistress, and your full desires obtain;
But quench the choler you foment in vain.
From ancient blood, the Ausonian people, sprung,
Shall keep their name, their habit, and their tongue:
The Trojans to their customs shall be tied. }
I will, myself, their common rites provide. }
The natives shall command, the foreigners subside. }
All shall be Latium; Troy without a name;
And her lost sons forget from whence they came.
From blood so mixed, a pious race shall flow,
Equal to gods, excelling all below.
No nation more respect to you shall pay,
Or greater offerings on your altars lay. "
Juno consents, well pleased that her desires
Had found success, and from the cloud retires.
The peace thus made, the Thunderer next prepares
To force the watery goddess from the wars.
Deep in the dismal regions void of light,
Three daughters, at a birth, were born to Night:[14]
These their brown mother, brooding on her care, }
Endued with windy wings to flit in air, }
With serpents girt alike, and crowned with hissing hair. }
In heaven the Diræ called, and still at hand,
Before the throne of angry Jove they stand,
His ministers of wrath, and ready still
The minds of mortal men with fears to fill,
Whene'er the moody sire, to wreak his hate
On realms or towns deserving of their fate,
Hurls down diseases, death, and deadly care,
And terrifies the guilty world with war.
One sister plague of these from heaven he sent,
To fright Juturna with a dire portent.
The pest comes whirling down: by far more slow
Springs the swift arrow from the Parthian bow,
Or Cydon yew, when, traversing the skies,
And drenched in poisonous juice, the sure destruction flies.
With such a sudden, and unseen a flight,
Shot through the clouds the daughter of the Night.
Soon as the field inclosed she had in view,
And from afar her destined quarry knew--
Contracted, to the boding bird she turns,
Which haunts the ruined piles and hallowed urns,
And beats about the tombs with nightly wings,
Where songs obscene on sepulchres she sings.
Thus lessened in her form, with frightful cries }
The Fury round unhappy Turnus flies, }
Flaps on his shield, and flutters o'er his eyes. }
A lazy chilness crept along his blood;
Choked was his voice; his hair with horror stood.
Juturna from afar beheld her fly,
And knew the ill omen, by her screaming cry,
And stridor of her wing. Amazed with fear,
Her beauteous breast she beat, and rent her flowing hair.
"Ah me! " she cries--"in this unequal strife,
What can thy sister more to save thy life?
Weak as I am, can I, alas! contend
In arms with that inexorable fiend?
Now, now, I quit the field! forbear to fright
My tender soul, ye baleful birds of night!
The lashing of your wings I know too well,
The sounding flight, and funeral screams of hell!
These are the gifts you bring from haughty Jove,
The worthy recompense of ravished love!
Did he for this exempt my life from fate?
O hard conditions of immortal state!
Though born to death, not privileged to die,
But forced to bear imposed eternity!
Take back your envious bribes, and let me go
Companion to my brother's ghost below!
The joys are vanished: nothing now remains
Of life immortal, but immortal pains.
What earth will open her devouring womb,
To rest a weary goddess in the tomb? "
She drew a length of sighs; nor more she said,
But in her azure mantle wrapped her head,
Then plunged into her stream, with deep despair,
And her last sobs came bubbling up in air.
Now stern Æneas waves his weighty spear
Against his foe, and thus upbraids his fear:--
"What farther subterfuge can Turnus find?
What empty hopes are harboured in his mind?