Amaz’d to find a dastard race, that runBehind the rampires and the battle shun,He rides around the camp, with rolling eyes,And stops at ev’ry post, and ev’ry passage tries.So roams the nightly wolf about the fold:Wet with descending show’rs, and stiff with cold,He howls for hunger, and he grins for pain,(His gnashing teeth are exercis’d in vain,)And, impotent of anger, finds no wayIn his distended paws to grasp the prey.The mothers listen; but the bleating lambsSecurely swig the dug, beneath the dams.Thus ranges eager Turnus o’er the plain.Sharp with desire, and furious with disdain;Surveys each passage with a piercing sight,To force his foes in equal field to fight.Thus while he gazes round, at length he spies,Where, fenc’d with strong redoubts, their navy lies,Close underneath the walls; the washing tideSecures from all approach this weaker side.He takes the wish’d occasion, fills his handWith ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand.Urg’d by his presence, ev’ry soul is warm’d,And ev’ry hand with kindled fires is arm’d.From the fir’d pines the scatt’ring sparkles fly;Fat vapours, mix’d with flames, involve the sky.What pow’r, O Muses, could avert the flameWhich threaten’d, in the fleet, the Trojan name?Tell: for the fact, thro’ length of time obscure,Is hard to faith; yet shall the fame endure.
’Tis said that, when the chief prepar’d his flight,And fell’d his timber from Mount Ida’s height,The grandam goddess then approach’d her son,And with a mother’s majesty begun:“Grant me,” she said, “the sole request I bring,Since conquer’d heav’n has own’d you for its king.On Ida’s brows, for ages past, there stood,With firs and maples fill’d, a shady wood;And on the summit rose a sacred grove,Where I was worship’d with religious love.Those woods, that holy grove, my long delight,I gave the Trojan prince, to speed his flight.Now, fill’d with fear, on their behalf I come;Let neither winds o’erset, nor waves intombThe floating forests of the sacred pine;But let it be their safety to be mine.”Then thus replied her awful son, who rollsThe radiant stars, and heav’n and earth controls:“How dare you, mother, endless date demandFor vessels moulded by a mortal hand?What then is fate? Shall bold Aeneas ride,Of safety certain, on th’ uncertain tide?Yet, what I can, I grant; when, wafted o’er,The chief is landed on the Latian shore,Whatever ships escape the raging storms,At my command shall change their fading formsTo nymphs divine, and plow the wat’ry way,Like Dotis and the daughters of the sea.”To seal his sacred vow, by Styx he swore,The lake of liquid pitch, the dreary shore,And Phlegethon’s innavigable flood,And the black regions of his brother god.He said; and shook the skies with his imperial nod.
And now at length the number’d hours were come,Prefix’d by fate’s irrevocable doom,When the great Mother of the Gods was freeTo save her ships, and finish Jove’s decree.First, from the quarter of the morn, there sprungA light that sign’d the heav’ns, and shot along;Then from a cloud, fring’d round with golden fires,Were timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs;And, last, a voice, with more than mortal sounds,Both hosts, in arms oppos’d, with equal horror wounds:“O Trojan race, your needless aid forbear,And know, my ships are my peculiar care.With greater ease the bold Rutulian may,With hissing brands, attempt to burn the sea,Than singe my sacred pines. But you, my charge,Loos’d from your crooked anchors, launch at large,Exalted each a nymph: forsake the sand,And swim the seas, at Cybele’s command.”No sooner had the goddess ceas’d to speak,When, lo! th’ obedient ships their haulsers break;And, strange to tell, like dolphins, in the mainThey plunge their prows, and dive, and spring again:As many beauteous maids the billows sweep,As rode before tall vessels on the deep.
The foes, surpris’d with wonder, stood aghast;Messapus curb’d his fiery courser’s haste;Old Tiber roar’d, and, raising up his head,Call’d back his waters to their oozy bed.Turnus alone, undaunted, bore the shock,And with these words his trembling troops bespoke:“These monsters for the Trojans’ fate are meant,And are by Jove for black presages sent.He takes the cowards’ last relief away;For fly they cannot, and, constrain’d to stay,Must yield unfought, a base inglorious prey.The liquid half of all the globe is lost;Heav’n shuts the seas, and we secure the coast.Theirs is no more than that small spot of groundWhich myriads of our martial men surround.Their fates I fear not, or vain oracles.’Twas giv’n to Venus they should cross the seas,And land secure upon the Latian plains:Their promis’d hour is pass’d, and mine remains.’Tis in the fate of Turnus to destroy,With sword and fire, the faithless race of Troy.Shall such affronts as these alone inflameThe Grecian brothers, and the Grecian name?My cause and theirs is one; a fatal strife,And final ruin, for a ravish’d wife.Was ’t not enough, that, punish’d for the crime,They fell; but will they fall a second time?One would have thought they paid enough before,To curse the costly sex, and durst offend no more.Can they securely trust their feeble wall,A slight partition, a thin interval,Betwixt their fate and them; when Troy, tho’ builtBy hands divine, yet perish’d by their guilt?Lend me, for once, my friends, your valiant hands,To force from out their lines these dastard bands.Less than a thousand ships will end this war,Nor Vulcan needs his fated arms prepare.Let all the Tuscans, all th’ Arcadians, join!Nor these, nor those, shall frustrate my design.Let them not fear the treasons of the night,The robb’d Palladium, the pretended flight:Our onset shall be made in open light.No wooden engine shall their town betray;Fires they shall have around, but fires by day.No Grecian babes before their camp appear,Whom Hector’s arms detain’d to the tenth tardy year.Now, since the sun is rolling to the west,Give we the silent night to needful rest:Refresh your bodies, and your arms prepare;The morn shall end the small remains of war.”
The post of honour to Messapus falls,To keep the nightly guard, to watch the walls,To pitch the fires at distances around,And close the Trojans in their scanty ground.Twice seven Rutulian captains ready stand,And twice seven hundred horse these chiefs command;All clad in shining arms the works invest,Each with a radiant helm and waving crest.Stretch’d at their length, they press the grassy ground;They laugh, they sing, (the jolly bowls go round,)With lights and cheerful fires renew the day,And pass the wakeful night in feasts and play.
The Trojans, from above, their foes beheld,And with arm’d legions all the rampires fill’d.Seiz’d with affright, their gates they first explore;Join works to works with bridges, tow’r to tow’r:Thus all things needful for defence abound.Mnestheus and brave Seresthus walk the round,Commission’d by their absent prince to shareThe common danger, and divide the care.The soldiers draw their lots, and, as they fall,By turns relieve each other on the wall.
Nigh where the foes their utmost guards advance,To watch the gate was warlike Nisus’ chance.His father Hyrtacus of noble blood;His mother was a huntress of the wood,And sent him to the wars. Well could he bearHis lance in fight, and dart the flying spear,But better skill’d unerring shafts to send.Beside him stood Euryalus, his friend:Euryalus, than whom the Trojan hostNo fairer face, or sweeter air, could boast.Scarce had the down to shade his cheeks begun.One was their care, and their delight was one:One common hazard in the war they shar’d,And now were both by choice upon the guard.
Then Nisus thus: “Or do the gods inspireThis warmth, or make we gods of our desire?A gen’rous ardour boils within my breast,Eager of action, enemy to rest:This urges me to fight, and fires my mindTo leave a memorable name behind.Thou see’st the foe secure; how faintly shineTheir scatter’d fires! the most, in sleep supineAlong the ground, an easy conquest lie:The wakeful few the fuming flagon ply;All hush’d around. Now hear what I revolve—A thought unripe—and scarcely yet resolve.Our absent prince both camp and council mourn;By message both would hasten his return:If they confer what I demand on thee,(For fame is recompense enough for me,)Methinks, beneath yon hill, I have espiedA way that safely will my passage guide.”
Euryalus stood list’ning while he spoke,With love of praise and noble envy struck;Then to his ardent friend expos’d his mind:“All this, alone, and leaving me behind!Am I unworthy, Nisus, to be join’d?Think’st thou I can my share of glory yield,Or send thee unassisted to the field?Not so my father taught my childhood arms;Born in a siege, and bred among alarms!Nor is my youth unworthy of my friend,Nor of the heav’n-born hero I attend.The thing call’d life, with ease I can disclaim,And think it over-sold to purchase fame.”
Then Nisus thus: “Alas! thy tender yearsWould minister new matter to my fears.So may the gods, who view this friendly strife,Restore me to thy lov’d embrace with life,Condemn’d to pay my vows, (as sure I trust,)This thy request is cruel and unjust.But if some chance—as many chances are,And doubtful hazards, in the deeds of war—If one should reach my head, there let it fall,And spare thy life; I would not perish all.Thy bloomy youth deserves a longer date:Live thou to mourn thy love’s unhappy fate;To bear my mangled body from the foe,Or buy it back, and fun’ral rites bestow.Or, if hard fortune shall those dues deny,Thou canst at least an empty tomb supply.O let not me the widow’s tears renew!Nor let a mother’s curse my name pursue:Thy pious parent, who, for love of thee,Forsook the coasts of friendly Sicily,Her age committing to the seas and wind,When ev’ry weary matron stay’d behind.”To this, Euryalus: “You plead in vain,And but protract the cause you cannot gain.No more delays, but haste!” With that, he wakesThe nodding watch; each to his office takes.The guard reliev’d, the gen’rous couple wentTo find the council at the royal tent.
All creatures else forgot their daily care,And sleep, the common gift of nature, share;Except the Trojan peers, who wakeful sateIn nightly council for th’ indanger’d state.They vote a message to their absent chief,Shew their distress, and beg a swift relief.Amid the camp a silent seat they chose,Remote from clamour, and secure from foes.On their left arms their ample shields they bear,The right reclin’d upon the bending spear.Now Nisus and his friend approach the guard,And beg admission, eager to be heard:Th’ affair important, not to be deferr’d.Ascanius bids ’em be conducted in,Ord’ring the more experienc’d to begin.Then Nisus thus: “Ye fathers, lend your ears;Nor judge our bold attempt beyond our years.The foe, securely drench’d in sleep and wine,Neglect their watch; the fires but thinly shine;And where the smoke in cloudy vapours flies,Cov’ring the plain, and curling to the skies,Betwixt two paths, which at the gate divide,Close by the sea, a passage we have spied,Which will our way to great Aeneas guide.Expect each hour to see him safe again,Loaded with spoils of foes in battle slain.Snatch we the lucky minute while we may;Nor can we be mistaken in the way;For, hunting in the vale, we both have seenThe rising turrets, and the stream between,And know the winding course, with ev’ry ford.”
He ceas’d; and old Alethes took the word:“Our country gods, in whom our trust we place,Will yet from ruin save the Trojan race,While we behold such dauntless worth appearIn dawning youth, and souls so void of fear.”Then into tears of joy the father broke;Each in his longing arms by turns he took;Panted and paus’d; and thus again he spoke:“Ye brave young men, what equal gifts can we,In recompense of such desert, decree?The greatest, sure, and best you can receive,The gods and your own conscious worth will give.The rest our grateful gen’ral will bestow,And young Ascanius till his manhood owe.”
“And I, whose welfare in my father lies,”Ascanius adds, “by the great deities,By my dear country, by my household gods,By hoary Vesta’s rites and dark abodes,Adjure you both, (on you my fortune stands;That and my faith I plight into your hands,)Make me but happy in his safe return,Whose wanted presence I can only mourn;Your common gift shall two large goblets beOf silver, wrought with curious imagery,And high emboss’d, which, when old Priam reign’d,My conqu’ring sire at sack’d Arisba gain’d;And more, two tripods cast in antique mould,With two great talents of the finest gold;Beside a costly bowl, ingrav’d with art,Which Dido gave, when first she gave her heart.But, if in conquer’d Italy we reign,When spoils by lot the victor shall obtain—Thou saw’st the courser by proud Turnus press’d:That, Nisus, and his arms, and nodding crest,And shield, from chance exempt, shall be thy share:Twelve lab’ring slaves, twelve handmaids young and fairAll clad in rich attire, and train’d with care;And, last, a Latian field with fruitful plains,And a large portion of the king’s domains.But thou, whose years are more to mine allied,No fate my vow’d affection shall divideFrom thee, heroic youth! Be wholly mine;Take full possession; all my soul is thine.One faith, one fame, one fate, shall both attend;My life’s companion, and my bosom friend:My peace shall be committed to thy care,And to thy conduct my concerns in war.”
Then thus the young Euryalus replied:“Whatever fortune, good or bad, betide,The same shall be my age, as now my youth;No time shall find me wanting to my truth.This only from your goodness let me gain(And, this ungranted, all rewards are vain)Of Priam’s royal race my mother came—And sure the best that ever bore the name—Whom neither Troy nor Sicily could holdFrom me departing, but, o’erspent and old,My fate she follow’d. Ignorant of this(Whatever) danger, neither parting kiss,Nor pious blessing taken, her I leave,And in this only act of all my life deceive.By this right hand and conscious night I swear,My soul so sad a farewell could not bear.Be you her comfort; fill my vacant place(Permit me to presume so great a grace)Support her age, forsaken and distress’d.That hope alone will fortify my breastAgainst the worst of fortunes, and of fears.”He said. The mov’d assistants melt in tears.
Then thus Ascanius, wonderstruck to seeThat image of his filial piety:“So great beginnings, in so green an age,Exact the faith which I again engage.Thy mother all the dues shall justly claim,Creusa had, and only want the name.Whate’er event thy bold attempt shall have,’Tis merit to have borne a son so brave.Now by my head, a sacred oath, I swear,(My father us’d it,) what, returning hereCrown’d with success, I for thyself prepare,That, if thou fail, shall thy lov’d mother share.”
He said, and weeping, while he spoke the word,From his broad belt he drew a shining sword,Magnificent with gold. Lycaon made,And in an ivory scabbard sheath’d the blade.This was his gift. Great Mnestheus gave his friendA lion’s hide, his body to defend;And good Alethes furnish’d him, beside,With his own trusty helm, of temper tried.
Thus arm’d they went. The noble Trojans waitTheir issuing forth, and follow to the gateWith prayers and vows. Above the rest appearsAscanius, manly far beyond his years,And messages committed to their care,Which all in winds were lost, and flitting air.
