Book IX

Now while elsewhere afar these things are done,
Saturnian Juno hath to Turnus bold
Sent Iris out of heaven. It chanced that then
Turnus amidst his sire Pilumnus’ grove
Sat in the sacred dell; to whom as thus
The child of Thaumas spake with rosy lip:

“That which no god had dared at thy desire
To pledge thee, Turnus, lo! the circling hour
Hath brought unbidden. Town, fleet, and comrades left,
Aeneas hies him to Evander’s seat
And sceptre of the Palatine; nay, more,
To the utmost towns of Corythus hath pierced,
And gathers in arm’d bands the rustic folk
Of Lydia. Palter not; now, now’s the time
To call for steeds and chariot; stop for naught.
But instant fall on their disordered camp.”
She spake, and, on pois’d pinions reared aloft.
Cut flying a mighty bow beneath the clouds.
The warrior knew her, and, both hands upraised.
With such-like words her flying form pursued:

“Who sped thee. Iris, ornament of heaven,
Adown the cloud-way earthward to my side?
From whence this sudden splendour of the sky?
I see the pole part midway, and the stars
Roving the vault. I follow the great sign.
Whoe’er thou art, my summoner to arms,”
So saying, he gat him to the stream, from off
Its eddying face drew water, to the gods
Breathed many a prayer, and burdened heaven with vows.
And now his war-host through the open plain
Moved onward in its might; no lack of steeds,
No lack of broidered raiment and of gold.
The vanward ranks Messapus sways, the rear
The warrior-sons of Tyrrheus; midmost rides
Turnus, their captain: as with seven still streams
Ganges in silence rising high, or Nile,
When his rich river ebbs from off the plain,
And now hath sunk within his bed. Anon
The Teucrians a black cloud of sudden dust
See gather, and darkness rise upon the plain.
First from a fronting mound Caicus cries:

“What mass of pitchy gloom, my countrymen.
Rolls onward? Speed to arms, bring weapons, mount
The walls! The foeman is upon us, ho!”
With clamorous shouts the Teucrians through all gates
Plunge in, and fill the ramparts. For e’en thus
Aeneas, warrior peerless, ere he went
Had charged them, if that aught meanwhile should hap,
Nor venture to draw out the ranks of war.
Nor trust the plain, but keep the camp alone,
And sheltering bulwark of the walls. So now.
Though shame and anger point them to the field.
The gates they bar, his bidding do, and armed
Within their hollow towers await the foe.
Turnus, whose swift advance his tardier troop
Had distanced, with a score of chosen horse
Behind him stands, ere looked for, at the gate;
Borne on a Thracian steed of dappled white,
A gold helm guards him decked with ruddy plume.

“Friends, is there any will first upon the foe
With me”— he cries, “now mark you: “and a spear
Whirling he casts, as prelude of the fray,
And, towering high, careers along the plain.
His men catch up the challenge clamorously,
And with terrific war-cries follow: much
They marvel at the Teucrians’ laggard hearts.
That a fair field they face not, nor abide
The battle-shock like men, but hug the camp.
Hither and thither stormily he rides
Scanning the ramparts, and, where way is none,
Questing for entrance. As a wolf, that lies
In wait for some full sheep-fold, at the doors
Stands howling, buffeted of wind and rain
At midnight; safe beneath their mothers’ sides
The lambs bleat loudly; he, with savage wrath
Insatiate, rages out of reach, spurred on
By the long-gathering frantic lust of food.
And droughty jaws unbloodied: even so
The Rutule’s wrath takes fire, as on their walls
And camp he gazes: in his iron frame
Burns indignation— by what art essay
An entrance? from behind their ramparts how
Hurl forth the Teucrians, pour them on the plain?
The fleet, which close beside the camp lay snug.
Hedged round with earth-works and the river-wave.
On this he falls, to his exulting mates
Cries out for fire, and grasps, himself on flame,
A blazing pine-torch. Then to work they fall,
Spurred on by Turnus’ presence; the whole troop
Gird them with murky brands: the hearths are stripped;
The reeking torch sends up a pitchy glare.
And Vulcan wafts the sooty lees to heaven.
What god, O Muses, from the Teucrians turned
So vast a conflagration? from their decks
Who dashed the fire? It is an old-world faith.
But famed for ever. What time Aeneas first,
On Phrygian Ida fashioning his fleet,
To the high seas addressed him, in such wise
The Berecynthian mother of the gods
Spake to Almighty Jove: “Grant, son, the boon
Which thy dear mother for Olympus quelled
Now craves of thee. A pine-forest had I
Beloved for many a year, a grove that crowned
The hill-top, whither offerings would be brought,
Dark with black pitch-trees and with maple-boles:
These, when a fleet he lacked, full fain I gave
Unto the Dardan youth: now anxious fear
Disquiets and torments me. Loose my dread.
And let a parent’s prayers prevail, that these
Nor voyage may break, nor whirlwind overwhelm;
So speed them from my mountains to have sprung.”
To whom her son, who wheels the starry worlds:

“Whither would’st bid the Fates? for these thy barks
What seek’st thou, Mother? Shall ships of mortal build
Win rights immortal, or Aeneas roam
Through changeful perils, unassailed by change?
What god may boast such plenitude of power?
Nay, but when, service o’er, they one day reach
Their bourne, Ausonia’s haven, such as then
Have ’scaped the waves, and borne the Dardan chief
To shores Laurentian, these will I divest
Of mortal mould, and bid be goddesses
Of the great deep, as Doto, Nereus’ child.
And Galatea, who breast the foaming sea.”
He spake, and by his Stygian brother’s stream.
Banks that with pitch and a black whirlpool boil.
Nodded assent, and with the nod set all
Olympus quaking.
So the promised day
Had come, the Fates their destined hours fulfilled,
When Turnus’ outrage the great Mother warned
To drive the fire-brands from her sacred ships.
Here a strange light first flashed upon their eyes,
And from the Dawn a vast cloud seemed to speed
Athwart the sky, with Ida’s choirs. Then fell
An awful utterance through the air, that filled
Both Trojan ranks and Rutule: “Trouble not,
Ye Teucrians, to defend my ships, nor arm
Your hands with weapons; Turnus shall have power
To burn the seas up, ere yon sacred pines.
And go ye free, go. Ocean-goddesses;
The Mother bids you.” And the barks forthwith
Rend each her cable from the bank, dip beaks,
And dive like dolphins to the watery depth;
Then one and all — stupendous prodigy —
As maiden-forms emerge, and stem the main.
Astounded were the Rutules; terror fell
E’en on Messapus and his plunging steeds;
Tiber himself, hoarse-murmuring, stays his flood.
And from the deep recoils. But not for that
Quailed the bold heart of Turnus; nay, with words
He roused their spirit, and spared not e’en to chide:

“These portents threat the Trojans; ay, from them
Great Jove himself hath reft their wonted aid;
They bide not Rutule darts and fires. So then
The seas are trackless to the Teucrians, flight
Denied them, and one half the world cut off;
As for the mainland, in our grasp it lies;
So many thousands — tribes of Italy —
For battle stand. The bodeful dooms of heaven,
Howe’er the Phrygians vaunt them, fright not me:
Enough to Fate and Venus hath been given,
That Troy has touched Ausonia’s fertile shore.
I too have counter-fates, to smite nor spare
The accursed stock that balked me of my bride;
Not Atreus’ sons alone that pang can pierce.
Nor but Mycenae’s city rise in arms.
But suffering once suffices? Yes, had erst
To sin sufficed them, hating from their hearts
Well nigh all woman-kind. And these to trust
Their screening rampart, by a hindering trench
Emboldened, a poor span ’twixt death and them!
Why, saw they not Troy-walls, by Neptune’s hand
Up-builded, sink in flame? But which of you,
My chosen hearts, makes ready to hew down
The rampart at sword’s point, and rush with me
Upon their fluttered camp? No need have I
Of arms from Vulcan, or a thousand keels,
To face the Teucrians. Let Etruria now
Band all her sons to aid them. They need fear
No darkness, no Palladium’s coward theft.
Or sentries slaughtered on the fortress-height.
Nor will we shroud us in a horse’s womb
Out of men’s eyes. In the broad light of day
We are purpos’d to ring round their walls with fire.
I’ll make them nowise say they have to do
With Danaan and Pelasgic chivalry.
Whom Hector till the tenth year baffled. Now,
Day’s better part o’erpast, for what remains,
Refresh you, warriors, heartened by success,
And deem, so doing, ye fit you for the fray.”
Meanwhile Messapus to blockade the gates
Hath charge with sentry-pickets, and surround
The works with watch-fires. Twice seven Rutule chiefs
Are chosen with soldiery to keep the walls;
Each has a hundred warriors in his train,
Gay with red helmet-plumes and glittering gold.
They speed apart, and shift the alternate watch,
Or, stretched on greensward, let the wine have way,
And tilt the brazen bowls. The fires burn bright;
The guard with games the sleepless night prolong.
This spy the Trojans from the rampart’s height,
As armed they man the summit; in trembling haste
They try the gates, yoke bridge and tower, bring darts.
Mnestheus and keen Serestus goad them on,
Whom sire Aeneas, should mischance demand.
Set to control the host and guide the war.
Parting the peril, the whole band by turn,
Each at his post, keep watch along the walls.
Nisus, keen warrior, held the gate, the son
Of Hyrtacus, whom in Aeneas’ train
Ida the huntress sent; quick-handed he
With spear, and light-winged arrows; beside him
Euryalus, than whom no comelier youth
Clave to Aeneas, or donned Trojan arms —
Whose smooth boy-face showed faint the budding man.
These had one heart between them: side by side
They wont to rush on battle; and now too
Each with like charge was posted at the gate.
Quoth Nisus: “Is’t the gods thus fire our hearts.
Or maketh each his wild desire a god,
Euryalus? My heart’s long since afret
On war to launch me, or some great essay,
With stagnant ease ill-satisfied. Thou seest
What confidence in fortune holds the foe:
Few gleam their lights and far; themselves lie prone,
In sleep and wine dissolved; all’s hushed around.
Mark further what I muse of, in my mind
What purpose rises. ’Tis the cry of all.
Both folk and fathers, that we summon back
Aeneas, send messengers with tidings sure.
If what I ask they promise thee — myself
The deed’s own fame suffices — ’neath yon mound
Methinks my feet would guide me to the walls
And fort of Pallanteum.” Euryalus,
Thrilled and transfixed with mighty love of praise.
Thus at the word his glowing friend bespeaks:

“Nisus, dost shun to knit me to thy side
In high exploit? Or should I let thee go
To face such perils singly? ’Twas not thus
My sire Opheltes, to war’s work inured,
’Mid Argive terrors and the woes of Troy
Trained me and reared; nor at thy side have I
So borne me, since I followed to the field
High-souled Aeneas and his utmost fate.
Here, here’s a soul that scorns the sunlight, deems
That fame thou striv’st for cheaply bought with life.”
Then Nisus: “No such fear of thee had I,
Nor just it were; nay, so may mighty Jove,
Or whoso on these things bends favouring eye,
Restore me to thy side in triumph. But if —
As oft in such adventure thou behold’st —
Some chance or god should hurry me to harm,
I would that thou survive me. At thine age
It is more meet to live. O, be there one
To lay me, snatched or ransomed from the fray,
In earth, or, if some wonted hap forbid.
Pay funeral offerings to my absent dust,
And grace me with a tomb! Nor let me bring
Such grief on that sad mother, who, alone
Of many mothers, dared follow thee, her boy.
And hath no heart for great Acestes’ town.”
But he: “Thou weavest empty pleas in vain.
Nor doth my purpose alter or give way.
Speed we betimes! “He spake, and roused the watch.
Who to their charge succeed, then quits his post,
And, step by step with Nisus, seeks the prince.
All creatures else on earth were easing care
With slumber, and their hearts forgot to ache.
The foremost Teucrian lords, their flower of war.
Were kingdom’s weal debating — what to do.
Who to Aeneas should the tidings bear.
Leaning on their long spears, and shield on arm,
Midmost the camp in a clear space they stood.
Then Nisus and with him Euryalus
In eager haste crave entrance: what they urged
Was weighty, and would recompense delay.
Iulus first to their impatient suit
Gave audience, and bade Nisus speak; then thus
The son of Hyrtacus: “O sons of Troy,
Hearken with kindly heed, nor let the worth
Of what we offer by our years be weighed.
Dissolved in wine and sleep, the Rutuli
Keep silence: our own eyes have marked a spot
For stratagem left open, where yon gate
Lets in or out upon the seaward side.
Their line of fires is broken, and black smoke
Goes up to heaven. Let us but use the chance
To seek Aeneas and Pallanteum’s fort.
Soon will ye see us here at hand with spoils.
After great slaughter done. Nor will the way
We go beguile us: down the valleys dim.
Assiduous in the chase, we have seen gleam
The city, and all the river-windings know.”
Aletes hereupon, with years o’erweighed
And ripe of wisdom, spake: “Gods of our sires.
Whose power divine still watches over Troy,
Howbeit, ye think not a full end to make
Of all the Teucrians, in that ye vouchsafe
Our youth such valour and heart-steadfastness.”
So saying, the shoulders and right hands of both
Embraced he, and bathed all his face with tears.

“What guerdon, heroes, of your glorious deeds
Can I deem worthy to be paid you? First
Heaven and your own hearts will the best bestow;
Then good Aeneas, what else remains, anon
Will yield you, and Ascanius, whose fresh youth
Service so noble never can forget.”

“Nay I,” breaks in Ascanius, “whose sole hope
Of safety hangs upon my sire’s return.
By the great hearth-gods, Nisus, thee adjure,
The guardian spirit of Assaracus,
And hoary Vesta’s shrine; whate’er I have
Of faith or fortune in your laps I lay:
Bring back my sire, restore him to my sight:
He here again, grief is not. Goblets twain
I’ll give you, silver-wrought, with tracery rough,
Ta’en by my sire, what time he smote and quelled
Arisba, and twin tripods, and of gold
Two mighty talents, and a bowl of yore,
Sidonian Dido’s gift. But if our lot
Be to take Italy, to win and wield
A conqueror’s sceptre, and mete out the spoil —
Thou sawest the war-steed whereon Turnus rode
In arms, all golden — none but that, with shield
And ruddy plume, O Nisus, will I pluck
Forth from the lot, thine even from this day.
Matrons twice six beside of choicest form
My sire will give thee, and men-captives eke.
All with their armour, and of land, to boot.
What King Latinus hath for his domain.
But thee, thrice honoured youth, whose age my own
Doth in the race press closer, from this hour
To my whole heart I take, betide what may,
And clasp thee for my comrade. Without thee.
For mine own lot no glory shall be wooed;
Come peace or war, to thee, both deed and word,
Be all my heart unbosomed.” Answered then
Euryalus: “From such bold venture me
No time shall prove degenerate, let but Fate
Be kind, not cruel. But all gifts beyond,
One boon I beg: I have a mother sprung
From Priam’s ancient race, whom Ilian land
Held not, poor soul, nor king Acestes’ town
From faring forth with me. Her now I leave
Unwitting of this peril, whatsoe’er,
Ay, and ungreeted — Night and thy right hand
My witness be — for that I may not brook
A parent’s weeping. But do thou, I pray.
Comfort her need and aid her loneliness.
Let me bear hence this hope of thee: hereby
Into all dangers I shall boldlier go.”
Touched to the heart, the Dardans wept, and fair
Iulus before all, whose soul was wrung
With likeness of the love he bore his sire.
Then thus he speaks: “Assure thee of all done
That thy great exploit merits: for she shall be
As my own mother, lacking but the name
Creusa; nor slight honour waits the womb
That bore so nobly. Let what fortune may
Be the deed’s sequel, by this head I vow,
As oft my sire was wont, whate’er to thee
I promise, prosperously returned, the same
Shall for thy mother and thy kin abide.”
Weeping he spake, and from his shoulder doffs
A gilded sword, which erst Lycaon of Crete
Wrought with rare skill, and fitted for the hand
With ivory sheath. A shaggy lion’s hide
Mnestheus to Nisus gives; Aletes true
Makes interchange of helmets. Thus arrayed
Onward they move, whom all the band of chiefs.
Both young and old, escorting to the gates,
Follow with vows. And fair Iulus too,
Armed with man’s thought and spirit beyond his years,
Full many a message to his sire bade bear.
But one and all the rude winds rend amain,
And to the clouds consign them unfulfilled.
Thence issuing forth, they cross the trench, and seek
Through shades of night the foeman’s camp — yet first
To be the death of many. In drunken sleep
Stretched on the greensward scattered forms they see.
Cars tilted on the beach, ’twixt wheels and reins
Their masters, and with these one litter of arms
And wine. First spake the son of Hyrtacus:

“Now for a bold stroke! now, Euryalus,
The deed itself invites; here lies our way.
Watch thou, and keep wide outlook, lest some hand
Should from behind assail us: here will I
Deal havoc, and by a broad lane lead thee on.”
He spake, then checks his utterance, and lets drive
At haughty Rhamnes, who, it chanced, high-propped
On heaped carpets, the full-chested breath
Of sleep was heaving — king himself, and seer,
Best-loved of kingly Turnus; but no whit
His seer-craft might avail to ward off doom.
Three of his folk hard by, at random laid
Among their weapons, he takes unaware,
And the armour-bearer, ay and charioteer,
Of Remus, close beside his horses caught.
And with the sword shears through their lolling necks;
Then from their lord himself he lops the head.
And leaves the red trunk gurgling; with black gore
Reek couch and greensward. Lamyrus withal,
Lamus, and young Serranus, who that night
Had played full long, and in his beauty’s pride
Lay there limb-vanquished by the o’erpotent god;
Ah! happier had he played a night-long bout.
And on till dawn pursued it! even as when
An unfed lion, ravaging amid
Full sheep-folds — for mad famine goads him on —
Mangles and rends the mild flock mute with fear,
And roars with blood-stained mouth. Nor less meanwhile
The slaughter of Euryalus; he too
Rages like fire, and, as they blocked his path,
Falls on a vast and nameless crowd, and slays
Fadus, Herbesus, Rhoetus, Abaris,
Or ere they knew it. Rhoetus awake saw all,
But crouched in fear behind a mighty bowl;
Full in whose breast, as up he rose, the youth
At arm’s length, to the hilt, his sword-blade plunged.
And steeped in death withdrew it. He pours forth
The red life, dying, and blood-mingled wine;
The other on his dark errand hotly hies.
Now was he making for Messapus’ train.
Where the last gleams of dying fire, and steeds
Tethered arow, and grazing, he beheld,
When Nisus briefly — for he saw him borne
Beyond all bounds with lust of carnage — cried:

“Forbear we now; the unfriendly dawn draws nigh
We have drunk full deep of vengeance, through the foe
Hewed out a passage”. Many a trophy fair —
Men’s arms of solid silver wrought, and bowls,
And sumptuous coverlets, they leave behind.
Euryalus the trappings tears away
And gold-boss’d belt of Rhamnes, which of yore
Right wealthy Caedicus sent as a gift
To Remulus of Tibur, when from far
For friend he sought him: to his grandson’s hand
Dying he left them, by the Rutule host
After his death in war and battle won.
These he tears off, and on his shoulders brave
Binds, but in vain, then dons Messapus’ helm
Well-fitted, plume-adorned. So forth from camp
They pass, and make for safety.
But meanwhile
Horsemen, sent forward from the Latin town,
While halts the main host on the plain arrayed,
Came bringing answers for King Turnus’ ear,
Three hundred, shield-men all, by Volscens led.
E’en now they approach the camp, and near the wall.
When at some distance they descry the twain
Rounding the path to leftward; and the helm
In glimmer of night betrayed Euryalus
Unheedful, and flashed back the opposing ray:
Nor seen for naught. Cries Volscens from his troop:

“Stand, warriors; wherefore thus afoot? and say
Who are ye that go armed, and whither fare?”
Naught urge they in reply, but speed amain
Into the woods, and trust them to the night.
The horsemen interpose, bar right and left
The well-known crossways, and with sentinels
Fringe every outlet. The wood bristled wide
With brambles and dark ilex, every way
Choked with impenetrable thorns; the path
Through the dim forest-tracks gleamed brokenly.
Euryalus by darkness of the boughs
Perplexed, and spoil-encumbered, is by fear
Fooled of his bearings. Nisus wins clear off.
And now, all heedless, he had passed the foe.
And region, afterward from Alba’s name
Hight Alban — then the lofty cattle-stalls
Of King Latinus — when he stopped, looked back
For his lost friend, in vain. “Euryalus,
Unhappy one! where have I left thee? how
Follow, and unthrid all the tangled path
Of treacherous woodland? “Therewith, questing back.
His footsteps he retraces, roaming on
Through the hush’d brakes. He hears the horses’ tread,
Hears the loud din and signals of pursuit.
Nor long the time till to his ear a shout
Comes, and he sees Euryalus, whom trapped
By the false ground and darkness, and confused
By sudden onslaught, the whole band e’en now
Hale onward, struggling valiantly, in vain.
What can he do? Say, with what force, what arms
A rescue dare? Or should he rush on doom
Amid the sword-blades, and precipitate
Through wounds a glorious death? Quick drawing back
His arm, and brandishing a spear, he looks
Up to the moon in heaven, and prays aloud:

“Thou, goddess, thou, Latona’s child, be near
To aid my effort, glory of the stars
And guardian of the groves; if Hyrtacus
My sire hath ever to thine altars brought
Gifts for my sake, if any I myself
Have added from the chase, and in thy dome
Hung them, or fastened to thy sacred roof.
Let me confound this banded mass, and guide
My darts through air.” He spake, and hurls the steel
With his whole body’s strength. The flying spear
Sunders the shades of night, meets the turned back
Of Sulmo, and there snaps, the splintered shaft
Riving his heart: he, spouting from his breast
The hot life-stream, rolls over, chilled in death,
And long gasps heave his palpitating sides.
All eyes look every way. He thereupon
The keenlier poises, see! a second dart
Aimed from the ear-tip. While they hesitate.
Through Tagus’ either temple sped the spear
Hissing, and clave warm in the pierced brain.
Volscens storms fiercely, but can nowhere spy
The wielder of the weapon, nor whereon
To launch his fury. “Thou at least,” he cried,
“Shalt with thy life-blood pay the debt of both,”
And so drew sword, and on Euryalus
Was rushing. Then indeed, with terror mad,
Nisus shrieks wildly, nor can shroud himself
Longer in darkness, or such anguish bear:

“Here, here am I, the doer, on me, on me
Turn all your steel, O Rutules! Mine the fault.
Mine only: he nor dared, nor could have done it;
This heaven, these stars, be witness, that know all!
He only loved his hapless friend too well.”
So spake he; but the sword, with strength driven home.
Has pierced the ribs, and rends the snowy breast.
Euryalus rolls in death; the blood runs o’er
His beauteous limbs, and on his shoulder sinks
The faint neck: as a bright flower, by the plough
Shorn through, droops dying, or poppies weary-necked,
By a chance shower o’er-weighted, bow the head.
But Nisus leaps amidst them, seeks through all
Volscens alone, for none but Volscens stays.
The foe, massed round him close on either side.
Beat him aback. He presses on nathless,
And whirls his lightning blade, till, plunging it
Full in the shouting Rutule’s face, he reft,
Dying, the foeman’s life, then, pierced with wounds,
Flung him upon his lifeless friend, and there
At last lay pillowed calm in death’s repose.
Ah! happy pair! if aught my verse avail.
No lapse of hours from time’s recording page
Shall e’er erase you, while Aeneas’ house
Dwells on the Capitol’s unshaken rock.
And the great Roman sire holds sovereignty.
The conquering Rutules, masters of the spoil
And plunder, now with tears the breathless corse
Of Volscens bear to camp; nor in the camp
Less wild their grief for Rhamnes lifeless found.
And all those chiefs in one fell carnage slain
With Numa and Serranus. A great throng
Makes for the dead and dying, where all reeked fresh
With slaughter, and the full streams foamed with blood.
One with another, they recognize the spoil,
Messapus’ gleaming helm and trophies fair,
That cost such sweat of battle to win back.
Now, rising from Tithonus’ saffron bed.
Young Dawn was sprinkling with new beams the world;
In floods the sunlight, and lays all things bare.
When Turnus, girt in his own warlike arms.
Summons to arms his men, and every chief
Musters for battle his brass-mailed array,
And with a thousand rumours whets their wrath.
Ay, and on up-raised spear-points, piteous sight!
They fix, and follow with loud shouts, the heads
Of Nisus and Euryalus. But Troy’s sons
Unflinching on the ramparts’ leftward side
Have set their line of battle — for the right
Is girded by the river — and there guard
The yawning trench, and on the lofty towers
Stand sorrowing, moved to see on spear-heads borne
Those warrior-faces, known, alas! too well,
And dripping with dark gore.
Wing’d Fame the while
Speeds with the tidings through the affrighted town,
And to the mother of Euryalus
Comes floating in at ear. Then, hapless one!
Warmth left her frame of a sudden; from both hands
Dashed was the shuttle, and all her task unwound.
Forth flies the ill-fated dame with woman’s shrieks,
Rent locks, and madly for the ramparts makes
And foremost fighters, heedless she of men,
Heedless of danger and of darts, then fills
The heaven with lamentations: “Is it thus,
Euryalus, I see thee? and could’st thou,
Late refuge of mine age, so leave me lone?
Ah! cruel; and on such perilous errand sent,
Might thy poor mother bid thee no farewell?
Alas! in a strange land thou liest, a prey
To Latin dogs and vultures! Nor have I,
Thy mother, led thy funeral-pomp, or closed
Thine eyes, or washed thy wounds, or with the robe
Thee covered, which I toiled at, night and day.
Easing an old wife’s sorrow with the loom.
Say, whither can I follow, or what land now
Holds thy dismembered frame and mangled corse?
Son, bring’ st me back no more of thee than this?
Is’t this I followed over land and main?
If ye have men’s hearts, pierce me, upon me
Heave all your shafts, O Rutules; with the sword
Me first devour: or thou, great Sire of gods.
Have pity, and with thy bolt to Tartarus’ depth
Hurl this detested head, since sunder else
Life’s cruel yoke I may not.” With her sobs
All hearts were torn; a moan of anguish passed
From rank to rank, their valour numb’d and crush’d
For battle. As thus she fed the flame of woe,
Idaeus and Actor, bidden of Ilioneus
And tear-dissolved Iulus, in their arms
Caught her, and bore within.
But hark! the trump
Its terrible note of clanging brass afar
Has uttered; a shout follows, and the sky
Reverberates. The Volscians side by side
Urge the shield-tortoise onward, fain to fill
The trench, and rend the rampart. Other some
Quest for an entrance, and with scaling-gear
To mount the wall, there where the line was scant,
And the gapped circle, sparselier manned, showed thin.
The Teucrian host with motley missile-showers
Meet who assail them, and stout push of pole,
Taught by long warfare to defend their walls.
Stones too of deadly weight they roll, in hope
The roofed ranks to shatter, though fain are these
All shocks to bear ’neath that impervious shell.
Yet fail they now: for where yon mighty swarm
Threatens, up-roll the Teucrians and heave o’er
A monstrous mass, which of the Rutules wrought
Wide havoc, and brake their coverlet of mail.
No longer the bold Rutules care to wage
A blindfold war, but from the rampart strive
With darts to thrust them. Otherwhere, grim sight,
Mezentius, brandishing a Tuscan pine,
Hurls smoky fire-brands; while Messapus, see!
Tamer of horses, Neptune’s child, tears down
The rampart, and cries “Ladders to the wall!”
O Calliope, inspire me, thou and thine.
To sing what havoc, what deaths upon that day
Dealt Turnus with the sword, what warrior’s life
Sped each to Orcus; and unroll with me
The mighty margins of the scroll of war.
There was a tower that strained the upward gaze,
With gangways high, on site of vantage set.
Which all of Italy strove amain to storm.
And toiled their utmost to o’er-topple: this
The Trojans were defending, armed with stones,
And through the loop-holes hurled their darts in showers.
Turnus first flung a blazing torch, and drave
Into its flank the fire, which, swol’n with wind.
Caught board and beam, and clung there and devoured.
Wild panic reigns within, and vain essay
To shun disaster. While they huddle close.
Back-settling to the side which lacks the bane.
Suddenly, over-weighed, down fell the tower.
And all the welkin thundered with the crash.
Half-dead to earth they come, the monster-mass
Behind them, pierced alike by their own darts,
And with hard splinters through the breast impaled.
Scarce one alone, Helenor, and with him
Lycus, escaped; Helenor in youth’s prime,
Whom slave Licymnia erst had secretly
Borne to Maeonia’s king, and sent to Troy
In arms forbidden, with bare sword light-arrayed
And blank shield nameless. Soon as he beheld
About him Turnus’ thousands, with the ranks
Of Latium standing on this side and that.
As a wild beast that, by the huntsmen’s ring
Hemmed closely, storms against the darts, and leaps,
Eyes open, upon death, and with a bound
Springs on the spear-points, even so the youth
Midmost the foemen rushed on doom, and, where
He saw the darts throng thickest, aimed his way.
But Lycus, with his feet far doughtier, thrids
Through foes and darts his flight, and gains the wall.
Fain to clutch coping and reach comrades’ hands.
Whom Turnus, following both with foot and spear,
Thus taunts in triumph: “Fool, thought’s! thou to escape
My grasp? “so seized him as he clung, and tore
Down with a mighty fragment of the wall:
As when, with hare or snowy-bodied swan
Gripped in his hooked talons, soars aloft
Jove’s armour-bearer, or as wolf of Mars
Snatches a lamb from fold, with bleat on bleat
Sought by its mother. From every side up-goes
The war-shout; on they press, and from the mound
Fill in the trenches. Others at the roofs
Fling blazing brands. With a huge mass of rock,
Torn from a mountain, Ilioneus strikes down
Lucetius, as with fire in hand he drew
Anigh the gate; Liger Emathion,
Asilas Corynaeus, with javelin that.
This skilled with sly-winged arrow from afar.
Caeneus Ortygius, Turnus Caeneus, quells,
Fresh from his victory; Turnus Itys too
And Clonius, Dioxippus, Promolus,
And Sagaris, and Idas, as he stood
In forefront of the bulwarks; Capys slays
Privernus. Him Themilla’s glancing spear
At first had grazed, who, madly dropping shield,
Laid hand on hurt: on flew the winged shaft,
Pinned to left side his palm, probed deep, and tore
With murderous breach the passages of breath.
The son of Arcens stood in splendid arms
With needle-broidered scarf superbly dight
Of dark Iberian dye, for beauty famed,
Whom his sire Arcens to the field had sent.
Reared in his mother’s grove anigh the streams
Symaethian, where Palicus’ altar stands.
Gift-dowered and gracious: flinging spears aside,
Mezentius with strained thong, the whizzing sling
Thrice whirled about his head, with molten ball
Cleft the mid-forehead of the opposing foe.
And stretched him all his length upon the sand.
Then first, ’tis said, Ascanius his swift shaft
Levelled in war, till now but wont to fright
The flying quarry, and with his hand laid low
The brave Numanus, surnamed Remulus,
To Turnus’ younger sister late-allied
In wedlock. He before the vanward ranks
Strode, shouting words meet and unmeet to tell,
And swol’n at heart with his new royalty,
Stalked vainly, clamouring loud: “Ah! blush ye not.
Twice captured Phrygians, yet again to be
Cooped within rampart by the leaguer’s ring,
And thus to wall off death? Lo! these the men
Who claim our wives at the sword’s point! What god,
What madness, say, drove you to Italy?
Not here the Atridae, nor Ulysses here
Tongue-trickster. Hardy and of a hardy stock,
Down to the river our very babes we bring,
And brace them with the water’s cruel cold.
Our boys hunt tireless, and wear out the woods.
Their sport to rein the steed, stretch shaft on bow.
Patient of toil, to need inured, our youth
Tame earth with mattocks, or shake towns with war.
No age of life but with hard steel is worn;
With spear reversed our bullocks’ flanks we goad;
Nor sluggish eld doth our hearts’ strength impair,
Or warp our vigour: on white locks we press
The helmet-rim, and evermore delight
To mass new plunder and by rapine live.
Yours are embroidered robes of saffron tint.
Or gleaming purple; sloth is your delight;
Ye love to revel in the dance, and wear
Sleeved tunics and stringed turbans. Phrygians ye.
Women, indeed, not men; go, range the heights
Of Dindymus, where to practised touch the pipe
Utters its twofold note. The timbrels, hark!
The Idaean mother’s Berecyntian flute
Calls you: leave arms to men, and quit the sword.”
Such wordy boasting and loud-threatening taunts
Ascanius brooked not: on the horse-hair string
He stretched a shaft, confronting him, and drew
His arms apart, and stood, first praying to Jove
With suppliant vows: “Almighty Jupiter,
Smile on my bold essay. I to thy shrine
Will yearly offerings bring, and set a steer
Brow-gilded at thine altar, dazzling white.
His head borne level with his dam’s, now meet
To butt with horn and spurn with hoof the soil.”
The Father heard, and from a clear sky-space
Thundered upon the left; at once the bow
Twanged with its deadly freight. The shaft drawn home
Flew whistling grim, and borne through Remulus’ head
Cleft with steel barb the hollows of his brow.

“Go then, with haughty words at valour mock!
The twice-ta’en Phrygians to the Rutules send
This answer back.” Thus far Ascanius spake;
The Teucrians cheer responsive, shout for joy,
And mount in soul to heaven. It chanced that then
Long-haired Apollo from a tract of sky
Was glancing downward on the Ausonian host.
And city, cloud-enthroned, and thus addressed
Iulus, as he triumphed: “Good luck have thou
Of thy new valour, boy! So men mount heaven,
O god-descended, sire of gods to be.
Rightly shall all wars, doomed to rise, sink down
Beneath the offspring of Assaracus.
Troy cannot hold thee.” With that word he shoots
From heaven on high, disparts the breathing gales.
And seeks Ascanius. Then his form he shifts
To that of aged Butes, who erewhile
Was armour-bearer to the Dardan chief
Anchises, and true warder of the gate;
Thereafter charged by the lad’s sire to guard
Ascanius. Like to the old man in all.
On strode Apollo, both in voice and hue,
And snow-white locks, and fiercely-clashing arms.
Then thus to fiery-souled Iulus spake:

“Child of Aeneas, enough that by thy shafts
Numanus unavenged hath bit the dust;
This thy first praise doth great Apollo grant.
Nor grudges arms that emulate his own.
Cease, boy, from further warfare.” Thus began.
But in mid utterance left the eyes of men,
Apollo, and into empty air afar
Vanished from sight. The Dardan princes knew
The god, and his divine artillery,
And heard the quiver rattling as he flew.
Ascanius, eager for the fray, they check
With Phoebus’ word of power; themselves once more
Fill up the battle-ranks, and cast their lives
Into the yawning peril. A shout runs
From tower to tower, the whole wall’s length; they stretch
Their eager bows, and whirl the javelin-thong.
Earth is all strewn with missiles; shield and helm
Ring hollow to their blows; fierce swells the fight;
Thick as a shower that, rising from the west.
Beneath the watery kid-stars whips the ground,
Or heavy as hail that headlong pelts the sea.
When, rough with southern blasts, the sky-god whirls
His watery storm, and bursts the clouds in heaven.
Pandarus and Bitias, from Alcanor sprung
Of Ida, whom Iaera, forest-nymph,
Reared in the grove of Jupiter, now men
Tall as their native pines or mountain peaks,
Throw wide a portal to their charge consigned
By the chief’s word, and, on their arms relying,
Bid enter free the foemen through the walls.
Themselves within, to right hand and to left.
Take stand before the bulwarks, armed in iron.
While the plumes flutter on their towering heads.
E’en as on either side some river’s flow.
On Padus’ banks, or by sweet Athesis,
Twin oak-trees soar aloft, and rear to heaven
Their unshorn heads, with nodding crest sublime.
In burst the Rutules, when the approach they see
Wide open. Quercens and Aquicolus,
In glorious arms, and Tmarus, rash of heart,
And Haemon, son of Mavors, there and then.
With all their squadrons routed, turned aback.
Or on the very threshold laid life down.
Then wrath waxed fiercer in their battling souls;
And now the Trojans to the selfsame spot
Gather in swarms, to close encounter come,
Nor fear to launch into the open.
Is to Prince Turnus brought, as far aloof
He stormed and wrought confusion, that the foe
Seethe with fresh slaughter and throw wide their gates.
His hand he stays, and, wildly raging, speeds
Toward those proud brethren at the Dardan gate,
And first Antiphates, as offering first,
‘Born of a Theban mother, and bastard son
To great Sarpedon, his launch’d javelin smites.
Flies through the buxom air the Italian shaft
Of cornel-wood, and, in the gullet lodged,
Ran deep into his breast; the black wound’s chasm
Gives forth a foaming tide, and in his lung
The fixed steel grows warm. Then Erymas
And Merops he lays low with might of hand;
Aphidnus then, then Bitias, fiery-eyed
And furious-hearted — not with javelin stroke.
For to no javelin had he yielded breath;
But, hissing loud, a whirled Phalaric spear
Sped like a thunderbolt; nor bull-hides twain.
Nor trusty corslet’s double links of gold
Could stay it: the limbs gigantic fall in a heap,
Earth groans, and his huge shield clangs over him.
So on Euboean Baiae’s shore at times
Tumbles a stony mass, which, welded first
In mighty blocks, men cast into the sea;
So headlong it trails havoc, and, far down,
Dashed on the shallows, finds its sunken bed.
The billows boil, dark sand comes silting up;
Then Prochyta’s foundations at the sound
Quake, and Inarime’s rough bed of pain,
Piled o’er Typhoeus by Jove’s sovereign word.
Now Mars, the lord of battle, lent new strength
And valour to the Latins, deep at heart
Turning his eager goads; and Flight withal
Among the Teucrians and dark Fear he sent.
From every side, now scope for fight is given.
They swarm; the war-god leaps into their soul.
When Pandarus sees his brother’s outstretched corse.
How fortune sits, and what chance wields the day.
By a mighty effort on its turning hinge
He swings the gate back with stout shoulder-push.
Leaves many a friend amid the cruel fray
Shut out from camp, but others, in hot haste
Retreating, with himself shuts safely in.
Madman! to see not midmost of the rout
Burst in the Rutule monarch — yea, wantonly
Within their walls to impound him, as it were
Some monstrous tiger among helpless herds.
At once strange light flashed from the hero’s eyes;
His arms rang terribly; his helmet-crest
Quivered blood-red, and from his shield he darts
Quick gleams of lightning. Suddenly dismayed.
The sons of Troy know well that hated form
And limbs gigantic. Then huge Pandarus
Springs from their midst, and for his brother’s death
Red-hot with wrath bespeaks him: “This is not
Amata’s bridal palace, nor Ardea now
Holds Turnus fast within his native walls;
’Tis the foe’s camp thou seest, all exit barred.”
To him spake Turnus, smiling, calm at heart:

“Begin, if thou hast manhood, and fall on.
Word shalt thou bear to Priam that here too
Thou found’st Achilles.” He had said; the foe.
With main strength heaving, hurled a rugged spear.
Knotty with untrimmed bark; the breezes took it;
Saturnian Juno from its course made swerve
The coming wound; the spear sticks in the gate.

“Not so this weapon, my right hand wields amain,
Shalt thou escape; for no such falterer here
Aims wound or weapon”. So saying, he rises high
To his uplifted sword, and with the blade
Full betwixt either temple, a grisly stroke,
Cleft him through forehead and through beardless cheeks.
A loud crash followed; earth reels with the vast weight;
Rolled in a heap, with his brain-spattered arms,
The limbs fell dying; in equal halves the head
This way and that from either shoulder hung.
Wild panic seized the Trojans, and they fled:
And had the victor now ta’en instant thought
To burst the gate-bolts and let in his friends,
That day the war had ended, and the race.
But rage impelled him, and mad lust of blood.
Like fire upon the foe. First Phaleris
He overtakes, and Gyges, ’neath the knee
Slitting his sinews. Plucking forth the spears
From these, he hurls them on the fliers’ backs;
Juno lends strength and courage. Next he sends
Halys to join them, and, through shield transfixed,
Phegeus; then, all unwitting, on the wall
Still kindling war, Alcander, Halius,
Noemon, Prytanis. As Lynceus strides
Forward, calls up his comrades, with one strong
Bright sword-sweep from the rampart on the right
He takes him; severed by a single stroke
At arm’s length, head and helm lay rolled afar.
Then Amycus, of woodland beasts the scourge.
Than whom none happier-handed to anoint
Darts, and envenom steel, and bolus’ son,
Clytius, and Cretheus, to the Muses dear —
Cretheus, the Muses’ mate, who ever loved
Song and the lyre, and to stretch note on string,
And steeds, and arms, and battles ever sang.
At length the Teucrian leaders hear the tale
Of their friends’ slaughter, and together meet,
Mnestheus and keen Serestus; they discern
Friends flying wide, the foe within their gates.
Then Mnestheus: “Whither next, whither,” he cries,
“Urge ye your flight? what other walls remain.
What ramparts beyond these? Shall it be told
That one man, O my countrymen, and he
Hemmed by your circling lines, wrought unavenged
Such carnage through the camp, to Orcus hurled
So many of our bravest? Coward souls.
Your wretched country and her ancient gods,
And great Aeneas — do these no pity stir,
No shame? “By such words kindled, they take heart
And halt in dense array. Then foot by foot
’Gan Turnus from the conflict to withdraw.
Make for the river, and wave-encircled side.
At this the Teucrians with a mighty shout
Press keenlier on, and form one solid mass:
As, when a crowd with threatening spears beset
Some savage lion, he, terrified, yet fierce
And angry-eyed, recoils; valour and wrath
Forbid him turn aback, nor yet, though fain.
Through darts and huntsmen can he force his way;
So now doth Turnus doubtfully withdraw
No hurrying steps; wrath surges in his soul.
Ay, and e’en then upon the foemen’s midst
Twice had he rushed, twice turned their ranks to rout
Along the wall; but the whole host from camp
In hot haste rally and unite, nor durst
Saturnian Juno lend him strength enow
To match them; for now, Jupiter from heaven
Sent air-borne Iris with no mild behests
Charged for his sister, except Turnus quit
The Teucrians’ lofty ramparts. So nor shield
Nor good right hand avails him to stand firm,
On every side with pelting darts o’erpowered.
Clatters the helm about his hollow brow
With ceaseless din; the solid plates of brass
By stones are split, the crest dashed from his head;
Such strokes the boss may bear not; spear on spear
Trojans, and Mnestheus’ self with lightning-hand.
Launch thick upon him. Then o’er all his frame
The sweat flows, pouring — and no space to breathe —
Its grimy torrent; a sick panting shakes
The o’er-wearied limbs. At length, with headlong bound.
Armed at all points he plunged into the flood.
Its tawny eddies took him, as he came,
Up-bore with buoyant waters, cleansed of blood,
And sent him back rejoicing to his friends.