The trenches first they pass’d; then took their wayWhere their proud foes in pitch’d pavilions lay;To many fatal, ere themselves were slain.They found the careless host dispers’d upon the plain,Who, gorg’d, and drunk with wine, supinely snore.Unharness’d chariots stand along the shore:Amidst the wheels and reins, the goblet by,A medley of debauch and war, they lie.Observing Nisus shew’d his friend the sight:“Behold a conquest gain’d without a fight.Occasion offers, and I stand prepar’d;There lies our way; be thou upon the guard,And look around, while I securely go,And hew a passage thro’ the sleeping foe.”Softly he spoke; then striding took his way,With his drawn sword, where haughty Rhamnes lay;His head rais’d high on tapestry beneath,And heaving from his breast, he drew his breath;A king and prophet, by King Turnus lov’d:But fate by prescience cannot be remov’d.Him and his sleeping slaves he slew; then spiesWhere Remus, with his rich retinue, lies.His armour-bearer first, and next he killsHis charioteer, intrench’d betwixt the wheelsAnd his lov’d horses; last invades their lord;Full on his neck he drives the fatal sword:The gasping head flies off; a purple floodFlows from the trunk, that welters in the blood,Which, by the spurning heels dispers’d around,The bed besprinkles and bedews the ground.Lamus the bold, and Lamyrus the strong,He slew, and then Serranus fair and young.From dice and wine the youth retir’d to rest,And puff’d the fumy god from out his breast:Ev’n then he dreamt of drink and lucky play—More lucky, had it lasted till the day.The famish’d lion thus, with hunger bold,O’erleaps the fences of the nightly fold,And tears the peaceful flocks: with silent aweTrembling they lie, and pant beneath his paw.
Nor with less rage Euryalus employsThe wrathful sword, or fewer foes destroys;But on th’ ignoble crowd his fury flew;He Fadus, Hebesus, and Rhoetus slew.Oppress’d with heavy sleep the former fell,But Rhoetus wakeful, and observing all:Behind a spacious jar he slink’d for fear;The fatal iron found and reach’d him there;For, as he rose, it pierc’d his naked side,And, reeking, thence return’d in crimson dyed.The wound pours out a stream of wine and blood;The purple soul comes floating in the flood.
Now, where Messapus quarter’d, they arrive.The fires were fainting there, and just alive;The warrior-horses, tied in order, fed.Nisus observ’d the discipline, and said:“Our eager thirst of blood may both betray;And see the scatter’d streaks of dawning day,Foe to nocturnal thefts. No more, my friend;Here let our glutted execution end.A lane thro’ slaughter’d bodies we have made.”The bold Euryalus, tho’ loth, obey’d.Of arms, and arras, and of plate, they findA precious load; but these they leave behind.Yet, fond of gaudy spoils, the boy would stayTo make the rich caparison his prey,Which on the steed of conquer’d Rhamnes lay.Nor did his eyes less longingly beholdThe girdle-belt, with nails of burnish’d gold.This present Caedicus the rich bestow’dOn Remulus, when friendship first they vow’d,And, absent, join’d in hospitable ties:He, dying, to his heir bequeath’d the prize;Till, by the conqu’ring Ardean troops oppress’d,He fell; and they the glorious gift possess’d.These glitt’ring spoils (now made the victor’s gain)He to his body suits, but suits in vain:Messapus’ helm he finds among the rest,And laces on, and wears the waving crest.Proud of their conquest, prouder of their prey,They leave the camp, and take the ready way.
But far they had not pass’d, before they spiedThree hundred horse, with Volscens for their guide.The queen a legion to King Turnus sent;But the swift horse the slower foot prevent,And now, advancing, sought the leader’s tent.They saw the pair; for, thro’ the doubtful shade,His shining helm Euryalus betray’d,On which the moon with full reflection play’d.“’Tis not for naught,” cried Volscens from the crowd,“These men go there;” then rais’d his voice aloud:“Stand! stand! why thus in arms? And whither bent?From whence, to whom, and on what errand sent?”Silent they scud away, and haste their flightTo neighb’ring woods, and trust themselves to night.The speedy horse all passages belay,And spur their smoking steeds to cross their way,And watch each entrance of the winding wood.Black was the forest: thick with beech it stood,Horrid with fern, and intricate with thorn;Few paths of human feet, or tracks of beasts, were worn.The darkness of the shades, his heavy prey,And fear, misled the younger from his way.But Nisus hit the turns with happier haste,And, thoughtless of his friend, the forest pass’d,And Alban plains, from Alba’s name so call’d,Where King Latinus then his oxen stall’d;Till, turning at the length, he stood his ground,And miss’d his friend, and cast his eyes around:“Ah wretch!” he cried, “where have I left behindTh’ unhappy youth? where shall I hope to find?Or what way take?” Again he ventures back,And treads the mazes of his former track.He winds the wood, and, list’ning, hears the noiseOf tramping coursers, and the riders’ voice.The sound approach’d; and suddenly he view’dThe foes inclosing, and his friend pursued,Forelaid and taken, while he strove in vainThe shelter of the friendly shades to gain.What should he next attempt? what arms employ,What fruitless force, to free the captive boy?Or desperate should he rush and lose his life,With odds oppress’d, in such unequal strife?
Resolv’d at length, his pointed spear he shook;And, casting on the moon a mournful look:“Guardian of groves, and goddess of the night,Fair queen,” he said, “direct my dart aright.If e’er my pious father, for my sake,Did grateful off’rings on thy altars make,Or I increas’d them with my sylvan toils,And hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils,Give me to scatter these.” Then from his earHe pois’d, and aim’d, and launch’d the trembling spear.The deadly weapon, hissing from the grove,Impetuous on the back of Sulmo drove;Pierc’d his thin armour, drank his vital blood,And in his body left the broken wood.He staggers round; his eyeballs roll in death,And with short sobs he gasps away his breath.All stand amaz’d—a second jav’lin fliesWith equal strength, and quivers thro’ the skies.This thro’ thy temples, Tagus, forc’d the way,And in the brainpan warmly buried lay.Fierce Volscens foams with rage, and, gazing round,Descried not him who gave the fatal wound,Nor knew to fix revenge: “But thou,” he cries,“Shalt pay for both,” and at the pris’ner fliesWith his drawn sword. Then, struck with deep despair,That cruel sight the lover could not bear;But from his covert rush’d in open view,And sent his voice before him as he flew:“Me! me!” he cried—“turn all your swords aloneOn me—the fact confess’d, the fault my own.He neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth:Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth!His only crime (if friendship can offend)Is too much love to his unhappy friend.”Too late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides,Driv’n with full force, had pierc’d his tender sides.Down fell the beauteous youth: the yawning woundGush’d out a purple stream, and stain’d the ground.His snowy neck reclines upon his breast,Like a fair flow’r by the keen share oppress’d;Like a white poppy sinking on the plain,Whose heavy head is overcharg’d with rain.Despair, and rage, and vengeance justly vow’d,Drove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd.Volscens he seeks; on him alone he bends:Borne back and bor’d by his surrounding friends,Onward he press’d, and kept him still in sight;Then whirl’d aloft his sword with all his might:Th’ unerring steel descended while he spoke,Pierc’d his wide mouth, and thro’ his weazon broke.Dying, he slew; and, stagg’ring on the plain,With swimming eyes he sought his lover slain;Then quiet on his bleeding bosom fell,Content, in death, to be reveng’d so well.
O happy friends! for, if my verse can giveImmortal life, your fame shall ever live,Fix’d as the Capitol’s foundation lies,And spread, where’er the Roman eagle flies!
The conqu’ring party first divide the prey,Then their slain leader to the camp convey.With wonder, as they went, the troops were fill’d,To see such numbers whom so few had kill’d.Serranus, Rhamnes, and the rest, they found:Vast crowds the dying and the dead surround;And the yet reeking blood o’erflows the ground.All knew the helmet which Messapus lost,But mourn’d a purchase that so dear had cost.Now rose the ruddy morn from Tithon’s bed,And with the dawn of day the skies o’erspread;Nor long the sun his daily course withheld,But added colours to the world reveal’d:When early Turnus, wak’ning with the light,All clad in armour, calls his troops to fight.His martial men with fierce harangue he fir’d,And his own ardour in their souls inspir’d.This done—to give new terror to his foes,The heads of Nisus and his friend he shows,Rais’d high on pointed spears—a ghastly sight:Loud peals of shouts ensue, and barbarous delight.
Meantime the Trojans run, where danger calls;They line their trenches, and they man their walls.In front extended to the left they stood;Safe was the right, surrounded by the flood.But, casting from their tow’rs a frightful view,They saw the faces, which too well they knew,Tho’ then disguis’d in death, and smear’d all o’erWith filth obscene, and dropping putrid gore.Soon hasty fame thro’ the sad city bearsThe mournful message to the mother’s ears.An icy cold benumbs her limbs; she shakes;Her cheeks the blood, her hand the web forsakes.She runs the rampires round amidst the war,Nor fears the flying darts; she rends her hair,And fills with loud laments the liquid air.“Thus, then, my lov’d Euryalus appears!Thus looks the prop my declining years!Was’t on this face my famish’d eyes I fed?Ah! how unlike the living is the dead!And could’st thou leave me, cruel, thus alone?Not one kind kiss from a departing son!No look, no last adieu before he went,In an ill-boding hour to slaughter sent!Cold on the ground, and pressing foreign clay,To Latian dogs and fowls he lies a prey!Nor was I near to close his dying eyes,To wash his wounds, to weep his obsequies,To call about his corpse his crying friends,Or spread the mantle (made for other ends)On his dear body, which I wove with care,Nor did my daily pains or nightly labour spare.Where shall I find his corpse? what earth sustainsHis trunk dismember’d, and his cold remains?For this, alas! I left my needful ease,Expos’d my life to winds and winter seas!If any pity touch Rutulian hearts,Here empty all your quivers, all your darts;Or, if they fail, thou, Jove, conclude my woe,And send me thunderstruck to shades below!”Her shrieks and clamours pierce the Trojans’ ears,Unman their courage, and augment their fears;Nor young Ascanius could the sight sustain,Nor old Ilioneus his tears restrain,But Actor and Idaeus jointly sent,To bear the madding mother to her tent.
And now the trumpets terribly, from far,With rattling clangour, rouse the sleepy war.The soldiers’ shouts succeed the brazen sounds;And heav’n, from pole to pole, the noise rebounds.The Volscians bear their shields upon their head,And, rushing forward, form a moving shed.These fill the ditch; those pull the bulwarks down:Some raise the ladders; others scale the town.But, where void spaces on the walls appear,Or thin defence, they pour their forces there.With poles and missive weapons, from afar,The Trojans keep aloof the rising war.Taught, by their ten years’ siege, defensive fight,They roll down ribs of rocks, an unresisted weight,To break the penthouse with the pond’rous blow,Which yet the patient Volscians undergo:But could not bear th’ unequal combat long;For, where the Trojans find the thickest throng,The ruin falls: their shatter’d shields give way,And their crush’d heads become an easy prey.They shrink for fear, abated of their rage,Nor longer dare in a blind fight engage;Contented now to gall them from belowWith darts and slings, and with the distant bow.
Elsewhere Mezentius, terrible to view,A blazing pine within the trenches threw.But brave Messapus, Neptune’s warlike son,Broke down the palisades, the trenches won,And loud for ladders calls, to scale the town.
Calliope, begin! Ye sacred Nine,Inspire your poet in his high design,To sing what slaughter manly Turnus made,What souls he sent below the Stygian shade,What fame the soldiers with their captain share,And the vast circuit of the fatal war;For you in singing martial facts excel;You best remember, and alone can tell.
There stood a tow’r, amazing to the sight,Built up of beams, and of stupendous height:Art, and the nature of the place, conspir’dTo furnish all the strength that war requir’d.To level this, the bold Italians join;The wary Trojans obviate their design;With weighty stones o’erwhelm their troops below,Shoot thro’ the loopholes, and sharp jav’lins throw.Turnus, the chief, toss’d from his thund’ring handAgainst the wooden walls, a flaming brand:It stuck, the fiery plague; the winds were high;The planks were season’d, and the timber dry.Contagion caught the posts; it spread along,Scorch’d, and to distance drove the scatter’d throng.The Trojans fled; the fire pursued amain,Still gath’ring fast upon the trembling train;Till, crowding to the corners of the wall,Down the defence and the defenders fall.The mighty flaw makes heav’n itself resound:The dead and dying Trojans strew the ground.The tow’r, that follow’d on the fallen crew,Whelm’d o’er their heads, and buried whom it slew:Some stuck upon the darts themselves had sent;All the same equal ruin underwent.
Young Lycus and Helenor only scape;Sav’d—how, they know not—from the steepy leap.Helenor, elder of the two: by birth,On one side royal, one a son of earth,Whom to the Lydian king Licymnia bare,And sent her boasted bastard to the war(A privilege which none but freemen share).Slight were his arms, a sword and silver shield:No marks of honour charg’d its empty field.Light as he fell, so light the youth arose,And rising, found himself amidst his foes;Nor flight was left, nor hopes to force his way.Embolden’d by despair, he stood at bay;And, like a stag, whom all the troop surroundsOf eager huntsmen and invading houndsResolv’d on death, he dissipates his fears,And bounds aloft against the pointed spears:So dares the youth, secure of death; and throwsHis dying body on his thickest foes.But Lycus, swifter of his feet by far,Runs, doubles, winds and turns, amidst the war;Springs to the walls, and leaves his foes behind,And snatches at the beam he first can find;Looks up, and leaps aloft at all the stretch,In hopes the helping hand of some kind friend to reach.But Turnus follow’d hard his hunted prey(His spear had almost reach’d him in the way,Short of his reins, and scarce a span behind)“Fool!” said the chief, “tho’ fleeter than the wind,Couldst thou presume to scape, when I pursue?”He said, and downward by the feet he drewThe trembling dastard; at the tug he falls;Vast ruins come along, rent from the smoking walls.Thus on some silver swan, or tim’rous hare,Jove’s bird comes sousing down from upper air;Her crooked talons truss the fearful prey:Then out of sight she soars, and wings her way.So seizes the grim wolf the tender lamb,In vain lamented by the bleating dam.
Then rushing onward with a barb’rous cry,The troops of Turnus to the combat fly.The ditch with fagots fill’d, the daring foeToss’d firebrands to the steepy turrets throw.
