Ilioneus, as bold Lucetius cameTo force the gate, and feed the kindling flame,Roll’d down the fragment of a rock so right,It crush’d him double underneath the weight.Two more young Liger and Asylas slew:To bend the bow young Liger better knew;Asylas best the pointed jav’lin threw.Brave Caeneus laid Ortygius on the plain;The victor Caeneus was by Turnus slain.By the same hand, Clonius and Itys fall,Sagar, and Ida, standing on the wall.From Capys’ arms his fate Privernus found:Hurt by Themilla first—but slight the wound—His shield thrown by, to mitigate the smart,He clapp’d his hand upon the wounded part:The second shaft came swift and unespied,And pierc’d his hand, and nail’d it to his side,Transfix’d his breathing lungs and beating heart:The soul came issuing out, and hiss’d against the dart.
The son of Arcens shone amid the rest,In glitt’ring armour and a purple vest,(Fair was his face, his eyes inspiring love,)Bred by his father in the Martian grove,Where the fat altars of Palicus flame,And send in arms to purchase early fame.Him when he spied from far, the Tuscan kingLaid by the lance, and took him to the sling,Thrice whirl’d the thong around his head, and threw:The heated lead half melted as it flew;It pierc’d his hollow temples and his brain;The youth came tumbling down, and spurn’d the plain.
Then young Ascanius, who, before this day,Was wont in woods to shoot the savage prey,First bent in martial strife the twanging bow,And exercis’d against a human foe—With this bereft Numanus of his life,Who Turnus’ younger sister took to wife.Proud of his realm, and of his royal bride,Vaunting before his troops, and lengthen’d with a stride,In these insulting terms the Trojans he defied:
“Twice-conquer’d cowards, now your shame is shown—Coop’d up a second time within your town!Who dare not issue forth in open field,But hold your walls before you for a shield.Thus treat you war? thus our alliance force?What gods, what madness, hither steer’d your course?You shall not find the sons of Atreus here,Nor need the frauds of sly Ulysses fear.Strong from the cradle, of a sturdy brood,We bear our newborn infants to the flood;There bath’d amid the stream, our boys we hold,With winter harden’d, and inur’d to cold.They wake before the day to range the wood,Kill ere they eat, nor taste unconquer’d food.No sports, but what belong to war, they know:To break the stubborn colt, to bend the bow.Our youth, of labour patient, earn their bread;Hardly they work, with frugal diet fed.From plows and harrows sent to seek renown,They fight in fields, and storm the shaken town.No part of life from toils of war is free,No change in age, or diff’rence in degree.We plow and till in arms; our oxen feel,Instead of goads, the spur and pointed steel;Th’ inverted lance makes furrows in the plain.Ev’n time, that changes all, yet changes us in vain:The body, not the mind; nor can controlTh’ immortal vigour, or abate the soul.Our helms defend the young, disguise the gray:We live by plunder, and delight in prey.Your vests embroider’d with rich purple shine;In sloth you glory, and in dances join.Your vests have sweeping sleeves; with female prideYour turbans underneath your chins are tied.Go, Phrygians, to your Dindymus again!Go, less than women, in the shapes of men!Go, mix’d with eunuchs, in the Mother’s rites,Where with unequal sound the flute invites;Sing, dance, and howl, by turns, in Ida’s shade:Resign the war to men, who know the martial trade!”
This foul reproach Ascanius could not hearWith patience, or a vow’d revenge forbear.At the full stretch of both his hands he drew,And almost join’d the horns of the tough yew.But, first, before the throne of Jove he stood,And thus with lifted hands invok’d the god:“My first attempt, great Jupiter, succeed!An annual off’ring in thy grove shall bleed;A snow-white steer, before thy altar led,Who, like his mother, bears aloft his head,Butts with his threat’ning brows, and bellowing stands,And dares the fight, and spurns the yellow sands.”
Jove bow’d the heav’ns, and lent a gracious ear,And thunder’d on the left, amidst the clear.Sounded at once the bow; and swiftly fliesThe feather’d death, and hisses thro’ the skies.The steel thro’ both his temples forc’d the way:Extended on the ground, Numanus lay.“Go now, vain boaster, and true valour scorn!The Phrygians, twice subdued, yet make this third return.”Ascanius said no more. The Trojans shakeThe heav’ns with shouting, and new vigour take.
Apollo then bestrode a golden cloud,To view the feats of arms, and fighting crowd;And thus the beardless victor he bespoke aloud:“Advance, illustrious youth, increase in fame,And wide from east to west extend thy name;Offspring of gods thyself; and Rome shall oweTo thee a race of demigods below.This is the way to heav’n: the pow’rs divineFrom this beginning date the Julian line.To thee, to them, and their victorious heirs,The conquer’d war is due, and the vast world is theirs.Troy is too narrow for thy name.” He said,And plunging downward shot his radiant head;Dispell’d the breathing air, that broke his flight:Shorn of his beams, a man to mortal sight.Old Butes’ form he took, Anchises’ squire,Now left, to rule Ascanius, by his sire:His wrinkled visage, and his hoary hairs,His mien, his habit, and his arms, he wears,And thus salutes the boy, too forward for his years:“Suffice it thee, thy father’s worthy son,The warlike prize thou hast already won.The god of archers gives thy youth a partOf his own praise, nor envies equal art.Now tempt the war no more.” He said, and flewObscure in air, and vanish’d from their view.The Trojans, by his arms, their patron know,And hear the twanging of his heav’nly bow.Then duteous force they use, and Phoebus’ name,To keep from fight the youth too fond of fame.Undaunted, they themselves no danger shun;From wall to wall the shouts and clamours run.They bend their bows; they whirl their slings around;Heaps of spent arrows fall, and strew the ground;And helms, and shields, and rattling arms resound.The combat thickens, like the storm that fliesFrom westward, when the show’ry Kids arise;Or patt’ring hail comes pouring on the main,When Jupiter descends in harden’d rain,Or bellowing clouds burst with a stormy sound,And with an armed winter strew the ground.
Pand’rus and Bitias, thunderbolts of war,Whom Hiera to bold Alcanor bareOn Ida’s top, two youths of height and sizeLike firs that on their mother mountain rise,Presuming on their force, the gates unbar,And of their own accord invite the war.With fates averse, against their king’s command,Arm’d, on the right and on the left they stand,And flank the passage: shining steel they wear,And waving crests above their heads appear.Thus two tall oaks, that Padus’ banks adorn,Lift up to heav’n their leafy heads unshorn,And, overpress’d with nature’s heavy load,Dance to the whistling winds, and at each other nod.In flows a tide of Latians, when they seeThe gate set open, and the passage free;Bold Quercens, with rash Tmarus, rushing on,Equicolus, that in bright armour shone,And Haemon first; but soon repuls’d they fly,Or in the well-defended pass they die.These with success are fir’d, and those with rage,And each on equal terms at length engage.Drawn from their lines, and issuing on the plain,The Trojans hand to hand the fight maintain.
Fierce Turnus in another quarter fought,When suddenly th’ unhop’d-for news was brought,The foes had left the fastness of their place,Prevail’d in fight, and had his men in chase.He quits th’ attack, and, to prevent their fate,Runs where the giant brothers guard the gate.The first he met, Antiphates the brave,But base-begotten on a Theban slave,Sarpedon’s son, he slew: the deadly dartFound passage thro’ his breast, and pierc’d his heart.Fix’d in the wound th’ Italian cornel stood,Warm’d in his lungs, and in his vital blood.Aphidnus next, and Erymanthus dies,And Meropes, and the gigantic sizeOf Bitias, threat’ning with his ardent eyes.Not by the feeble dart he fell oppress’d(A dart were lost within that roomy breast),But from a knotted lance, large, heavy, strong,Which roar’d like thunder as it whirl’d along:Not two bull hides th’ impetuous force withhold,Nor coat of double mail, with scales of gold.Down sunk the monster bulk and press’d the ground;His arms and clatt’ring shield on the vast body sound,Not with less ruin than the Bajan mole,Rais’d on the seas, the surges to control—At once comes tumbling down the rocky wall;Prone to the deep, the stones disjointed fallOf the vast pile; the scatter’d ocean flies;Black sands, discolour’d froth, and mingled mud arise:The frighted billows roll, and seek the shores;Then trembles Prochyta, then Ischia roars:Typhoeus, thrown beneath, by Jove’s command,Astonish’d at the flaw that shakes the land,Soon shifts his weary side, and, scarce awake,With wonder feels the weight press lighter on his back.
The warrior god the Latian troops inspir’d,New strung their sinews, and their courage fir’d,But chills the Trojan hearts with cold affright:Then black despair precipitates their flight.
When Pandarus beheld his brother kill’d,The town with fear and wild confusion fill’d,He turns the hinges of the heavy gateWith both his hands, and adds his shoulders to the weightSome happier friends within the walls inclos’d;The rest shut out, to certain death expos’d:Fool as he was, and frantic in his care,T’ admit young Turnus, and include the war!He thrust amid the crowd, securely bold,Like a fierce tiger pent amid the fold.Too late his blazing buckler they descry,And sparkling fires that shot from either eye,His mighty members, and his ample breast,His rattling armour, and his crimson crest.
Far from that hated face the Trojans fly,All but the fool who sought his destiny.Mad Pandarus steps forth, with vengeance vow’dFor Bitias’ death, and threatens thus aloud:“These are not Ardea’s walls, nor this the townAmata proffers with Lavinia’s crown:’Tis hostile earth you tread. Of hope bereft,No means of safe return by flight are left.”To whom, with count’nance calm, and soul sedate,Thus Turnus: “Then begin, and try thy fate:My message to the ghost of Priam bear;Tell him a new Achilles sent thee there.”
A lance of tough ground ash the Trojan threw,Rough in the rind, and knotted as it grew:With his full force he whirl’d it first around;But the soft yielding air receiv’d the wound:Imperial Juno turn’d the course before,And fix’d the wand’ring weapon in the door.
“But hope not thou,” said Turnus, “when I strike,To shun thy fate: our force is not alike,Nor thy steel temper’d by the Lemnian god.”Then rising, on his utmost stretch he stood,And aim’d from high: the full descending blowCleaves the broad front and beardless cheeks in two.Down sinks the giant with a thund’ring sound:His pond’rous limbs oppress the trembling ground;Blood, brains, and foam gush from the gaping wound:Scalp, face, and shoulders the keen steel divides,And the shar’d visage hangs on equal sides.The Trojans fly from their approaching fate;And, had the victor then secur’d the gate,And to his troops without unclos’d the bars,One lucky day had ended all his wars.But boiling youth, and blind desire of blood,Push’d on his fury, to pursue the crowd.Hamstring’d behind, unhappy Gyges died;Then Phalaris is added to his side.The pointed jav’lins from the dead he drew,And their friends’ arms against their fellows threw.Strong Halys stands in vain; weak Phlegys flies;Saturnia, still at hand, new force and fire supplies.Then Halius, Prytanis, Alcander fall—Engag’d against the foes who scal’d the wall:But, whom they fear’d without, they found within.At last, tho’ late, by Lynceus he was seen.He calls new succours, and assaults the prince:But weak his force, and vain is their defence.Turn’d to the right, his sword the hero drew,And at one blow the bold aggressor slew.He joints the neck; and, with a stroke so strong,The helm flies off, and bears the head along.Next him, the huntsman Amycus he kill’d,In darts envenom’d and in poison skill’d.Then Clytius fell beneath his fatal spear,And Creteus, whom the Muses held so dear:He fought with courage, and he sung the fight;Arms were his bus’ness, verses his delight.
The Trojan chiefs behold, with rage and grief,Their slaughter’d friends, and hasten their relief.Bold Mnestheus rallies first the broken train,Whom brave Seresthus and his troop sustain.To save the living, and revenge the dead,Against one warrior’s arms all Troy they led.“O, void of sense and courage!” Mnestheus cried,“Where can you hope your coward heads to hide?Ah! where beyond these rampires can you run?One man, and in your camp inclos’d, you shun!Shall then a single sword such slaughter boast,And pass unpunish’d from a num’rous host?Forsaking honour, and renouncing fame,Your gods, your country, and your king you shame!”This just reproach their virtue does excite:They stand, they join, they thicken to the fight.
Now Turnus doubts, and yet disdains to yield,But with slow paces measures back the field,And inches to the walls, where Tiber’s tide,Washing the camp, defends the weaker side.The more he loses, they advance the more,And tread in ev’ry step he trod before.They shout: they bear him back; and, whom by mightThey cannot conquer, they oppress with weight.
As, compass’d with a wood of spears around,The lordly lion still maintains his ground;Grins horrible, retires, and turns again;Threats his distended paws, and shakes his mane;He loses while in vain he presses on,Nor will his courage let him dare to run:So Turnus fares, and, unresolved of flight,Moves tardy back, and just recedes from fight.Yet twice, enrag’d, the combat he renews,Twice breaks, and twice his broken foes pursues.But now they swarm, and, with fresh troops supplied,Come rolling on, and rush from ev’ry side:Nor Juno, who sustain’d his arms before,Dares with new strength suffice th’ exhausted store;For Jove, with sour commands, sent Iris down,To force th’ invader from the frighted town.
With labour spent, no longer can he wieldThe heavy falchion, or sustain the shield,O’erwhelm’d with darts, which from afar they fling:The weapons round his hollow temples ring;His golden helm gives way, with stony blowsBatter’d, and flat, and beaten to his brows.His crest is rash’d away; his ample shieldIs falsified, and round with jav’lins fill’d.
The foe, now faint, the Trojans overwhelm;And Mnestheus lays hard load upon his helm.Sick sweat succeeds; he drops at ev’ry pore;With driving dust his cheeks are pasted o’er;Shorter and shorter ev’ry gasp he takes;And vain efforts and hurtless blows he makes.Plung’d in the flood, and made the waters fly.The yellow god the welcome burthen bore,And wip’d the sweat, and wash’d away the gore;Then gently wafts him to the farther coast,And sends him safe to cheer his anxious host.
BOOK X
THE ARGUMENT.
Jupiter, calling a council of the gods, forbids them to engage in either party. At Aeneas’ return there is a bloody battle: Turnus killing Pallas; Aeneas, Lausus, and Mezentius. Mezentius is described as an atheist; Lausus as a pious and virtuous youth. The different actions and death of these two are the subject of a noble episode.
The gates of heav’n unfold: Jove summons allThe gods to council in the common hall.Sublimely seated, he surveys from farThe fields, the camp, the fortune of the war,And all th’ inferior world. From first to last,The sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d.
