King Turnus wonder’d at the fight renew’d,Till, looking back, the Trojan fleet he view’d,The seas with swelling canvas cover’d o’er,And the swift ships descending on the shore.The Latians saw from far, with dazzled eyes,The radiant crest that seem’d in flames to rise,And dart diffusive fires around the field,And the keen glitt’ring of the golden shield.Thus threat’ning comets, when by night they rise,Shoot sanguine streams, and sadden all the skies:So Sirius, flashing forth sinister lights,Pale humankind with plagues and with dry famine fright:
Yet Turnus with undaunted mind is bentTo man the shores, and hinder their descent,And thus awakes the courage of his friends:“What you so long have wish’d, kind Fortune sends;In ardent arms to meet th’ invading foe:You find, and find him at advantage now.Yours is the day: you need but only dare;Your swords will make you masters of the war.Your sires, your sons, your houses, and your lands,And dearest wifes, are all within your hands.Be mindful of the race from whence you came,And emulate in arms your fathers’ fame.Now take the time, while stagg’ring yet they standWith feet unfirm, and prepossess the strand:Fortune befriends the bold.” Nor more he said,But balanc’d whom to leave, and whom to lead;Then these elects, the landing to prevent;And those he leaves, to keep the city pent.
Meantime the Trojan sends his troops ashore:Some are by boats expos’d, by bridges more.With lab’ring oars they bear along the strand,Where the tide languishes, and leap a-land.Tarchon observes the coast with careful eyes,And, where no ford he finds, no water fries,Nor billows with unequal murmurs roar,But smoothly slide along, and swell the shore,That course he steer’d, and thus he gave command:“Here ply your oars, and at all hazard land:Force on the vessel, that her keel may woundThis hated soil, and furrow hostile ground.Let me securely land—I ask no more;Then sink my ships, or shatter on the shore.”
This fiery speech inflames his fearful friends:They tug at ev’ry oar, and ev’ry stretcher bends;They run their ships aground; the vessels knock,(Thus forc’d ashore,) and tremble with the shock.Tarchon’s alone was lost, that stranded stood,Stuck on a bank, and beaten by the flood:She breaks her back; the loosen’d sides give way,And plunge the Tuscan soldiers in the sea.Their broken oars and floating planks withstandTheir passage, while they labour to the land,And ebbing tides bear back upon th’ uncertain sand.
Now Turnus leads his troops without delay,Advancing to the margin of the sea.The trumpets sound: Aeneas first assail’dThe clowns new-rais’d and raw, and soon prevail’d.Great Theron fell, an omen of the fight;Great Theron, large of limbs, of giant height.He first in open field defied the prince:But armour scal’d with gold was no defenceAgainst the fated sword, which open’d wideHis plated shield, and pierc’d his naked side.Next, Lichas fell, who, not like others born,Was from his wretched mother ripp’d and torn;Sacred, O Phoebus, from his birth to thee;For his beginning life from biting steel was free.Not far from him was Gyas laid along,Of monstrous bulk; with Cisseus fierce and strong:Vain bulk and strength! for, when the chief assail’d,Nor valour nor Herculean arms avail’d,Nor their fam’d father, wont in war to goWith great Alcides, while he toil’d below.The noisy Pharos next receiv’d his death:Aeneas writh’d his dart, and stopp’d his bawling breath.Then wretched Cydon had receiv’d his doom,Who courted Clytius in his beardless bloom,And sought with lust obscene polluted joys:The Trojan sword had curd his love of boys,Had not his sev’n bold brethren stopp’d the courseOf the fierce champions, with united force.Sev’n darts were thrown at once; and some reboundFrom his bright shield, some on his helmet sound:The rest had reach’d him; but his mother’s carePrevented those, and turn’d aside in air.
The prince then call’d Achates, to supplyThe spears that knew the way to victory—“Those fatal weapons, which, inur’d to blood,In Grecian bodies under Ilium stood:Not one of those my hand shall toss in vainAgainst our foes, on this contended plain.”He said; then seiz’d a mighty spear, and threw;Which, wing’d with fate, thro’ Maeon’s buckler flew,Pierc’d all the brazen plates, and reach’d his heart:He stagger’d with intolerable smart.Alcanor saw; and reach’d, but reach’d in vain,His helping hand, his brother to sustain.A second spear, which kept the former course,From the same hand, and sent with equal force,His right arm pierc’d, and holding on, bereftHis use of both, and pinion’d down his left.Then Numitor from his dead brother drewTh’ ill-omen’d spear, and at the Trojan threw:Preventing fate directs the lance awry,Which, glancing, only mark’d Achates’ thigh.
In pride of youth the Sabine Clausus came,And, from afar, at Dryops took his aim.The spear flew hissing thro’ the middle space,And pierc’d his throat, directed at his face;It stopp’d at once the passage of his wind,And the free soul to flitting air resign’d:His forehead was the first that struck the ground;Lifeblood and life rush’d mingled thro’ the wound.He slew three brothers of the Borean race,And three, whom Ismarus, their native place,Had sent to war, but all the sons of Thrace.Halesus, next, the bold Aurunci leads:The son of Neptune to his aid succeeds,Conspicuous on his horse. On either hand,These fight to keep, and those to win, the land.With mutual blood th’ Ausonian soil is dyed,While on its borders each their claim decide.As wintry winds, contending in the sky,With equal force of lungs their titles try:They rage, they roar; the doubtful rack of heav’nStands without motion, and the tide undriv’n:Each bent to conquer, neither side to yield,They long suspend the fortune of the field.Both armies thus perform what courage can;Foot set to foot, and mingled man to man.
But, in another part, th’ Arcadian horseWith ill success engage the Latin force:For, where th’ impetuous torrent, rushing down,Huge craggy stones and rooted trees had thrown,They left their coursers, and, unus’d to fightOn foot, were scatter’d in a shameful flight.Pallas, who with disdain and grief had view’dHis foes pursuing, and his friends pursued,Us’d threat’nings mix’d with pray’rs, his last resource,With these to move their minds, with those to fire their force“Which way, companions? whether would you run?By you yourselves, and mighty battles won,By my great sire, by his establish’d name,And early promise of my future fame;By my youth, emulous of equal rightTo share his honours—shun ignoble flight!Trust not your feet: your hands must hew wayThro’ yon black body, and that thick array:’Tis thro’ that forward path that we must come;There lies our way, and that our passage home.Nor pow’rs above, nor destinies belowOppress our arms: with equal strength we go,With mortal hands to meet a mortal foe.See on what foot we stand: a scanty shore,The sea behind, our enemies before;No passage left, unless we swim the main;Or, forcing these, the Trojan trenches gain.”This said, he strode with eager haste along,And bore amidst the thickest of the throng.Lagus, the first he met, with fate to foe,Had heav’d a stone of mighty weight, to throw:Stooping, the spear descended on his chine,Just where the bone distinguished either loin:It stuck so fast, so deeply buried lay,That scarce the victor forc’d the steel away.Hisbon came on: but, while he mov’d too slowTo wish’d revenge, the prince prevents his blow;For, warding his at once, at once he press’d,And plung’d the fatal weapon in his breast.Then lewd Anchemolus he laid in dust,Who stain’d his stepdam’s bed with impious lust.And, after him, the Daucian twins were slain,Laris and Thymbrus, on the Latian plain;So wondrous like in feature, shape, and size,As caus’d an error in their parents’ eyes—Grateful mistake! but soon the sword decidesThe nice distinction, and their fate divides:For Thymbrus’ head was lopp’d; and Laris’ hand,Dismember’d, sought its owner on the strand:The trembling fingers yet the falchion strain,And threaten still th’ intended stroke in vain.
Now, to renew the charge, th’ Arcadians came:Sight of such acts, and sense of honest shame,And grief, with anger mix’d, their minds inflame.Then, with a casual blow was Rhoeteus slain,Who chanc’d, as Pallas threw, to cross the plain:The flying spear was after Ilus sent;But Rhoeteus happen’d on a death unmeant:From Teuthras and from Tyres while he fled,The lance, athwart his body, laid him dead:Roll’d from his chariot with a mortal wound,And intercepted fate, he spurn’d the ground.As when, in summer, welcome winds arise,The watchful shepherd to the forest flies,And fires the midmost plants; contagion spreads,And catching flames infect the neighb’ring heads;Around the forest flies the furious blast,And all the leafy nation sinks at last,And Vulcan rides in triumph o’er the waste;The pastor, pleas’d with his dire victory,Beholds the satiate flames in sheets ascend the sky:So Pallas’ troops their scatter’d strength unite,And, pouring on their foes, their prince delight.
Halesus came, fierce with desire of blood;But first collected in his arms he stood:Advancing then, he plied the spear so well,Ladon, Demodocus, and Pheres fell.Around his head he toss’d his glitt’ring brand,And from Strymonius hew’d his better hand,Held up to guard his throat; then hurl’d a stoneAt Thoas’ ample front, and pierc’d the bone:It struck beneath the space of either eye;And blood, and mingled brains, together fly.Deep skill’d in future fates, Halesus’ sireDid with the youth to lonely groves retire:But, when the father’s mortal race was run,Dire destiny laid hold upon the son,And haul’d him to the war, to find, beneathTh’ Evandrian spear, a memorable death.Pallas th’ encounter seeks, but, ere he throws,To Tuscan Tiber thus address’d his vows:“O sacred stream, direct my flying dart,And give to pass the proud Halesus’ heart!His arms and spoils thy holy oak shall bear.”Pleas’d with the bribe, the god receiv’d his pray’r:For, while his shield protects a friend distress’d,The dart came driving on, and pierc’d his breast.
But Lausus, no small portion of the war,Permits not panic fear to reign too far,Caus’d by the death of so renown’d a knight;But by his own example cheers the fight.Fierce Abas first he slew; Abas, the stayOf Trojan hopes, and hindrance of the day.The Phrygian troops escap’d the Greeks in vain:They, and their mix’d allies, now load the plain.To the rude shock of war both armies came;Their leaders equal, and their strength the same.The rear so press’d the front, they could not wieldTheir angry weapons, to dispute the field.Here Pallas urges on, and Lausus there:Of equal youth and beauty both appear,But both by fate forbid to breathe their native air.Their congress in the field great Jove withstands:Both doom’d to fall, but fall by greater hands.
Meantime Juturna warns the Daunian chiefOf Lausus’ danger, urging swift relief.With his driv’n chariot he divides the crowd,And, making to his friends, thus calls aloud:“Let none presume his needless aid to join;Retire, and clear the field; the fight is mine:To this right hand is Pallas only due;O were his father here, my just revenge to view!”From the forbidden space his men retir’d.Pallas their awe, and his stern words, admir’d;Survey’d him o’er and o’er with wond’ring sight,Struck with his haughty mien, and tow’ring height.Then to the king: “Your empty vaunts forbear;Success I hope, and fate I cannot fear;Alive or dead, I shall deserve a name;Jove is impartial, and to both the same.”He said, and to the void advanc’d his pace:Pale horror sate on each Arcadian face.Then Turnus, from his chariot leaping light,Address’d himself on foot to single fight.And, as a lion—when he spies from farA bull that seems to meditate the war,Bending his neck, and spurning back the sand—Runs roaring downward from his hilly stand:Imagine eager Turnus not more slow,To rush from high on his unequal foe.
Young Pallas, when he saw the chief advanceWithin due distance of his flying lance,Prepares to charge him first, resolv’d to tryIf fortune would his want of force supply;And thus to Heav’n and Hercules address’d:“Alcides, once on earth Evander’s guest,His son adjures you by those holy rites,That hospitable board, those genial nights;Assist my great attempt to gain this prize,And let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes,His ravish’d spoils.” ’Twas heard, the vain request;Alcides mourn’d, and stifled sighs within his breast.Then Jove, to soothe his sorrow, thus began:“Short bounds of life are set to mortal man.’Tis virtue’s work alone to stretch the narrow span.So many sons of gods, in bloody fight,Around the walls of Troy, have lost the light:My own Sarpedon fell beneath his foe;Nor I, his mighty sire, could ward the blow.Ev’n Turnus shortly shall resign his breath,And stands already on the verge of death.”This said, the god permits the fatal fight,But from the Latian fields averts his sight.
Now with full force his spear young Pallas threw,And, having thrown, his shining falchion drewThe steel just graz’d along the shoulder joint,And mark’d it slightly with the glancing point,Fierce Turnus first to nearer distance drew,And pois’d his pointed spear, before he threw:Then, as the winged weapon whizz’d along,“See now,” said he, “whose arm is better strung.”The spear kept on the fatal course, unstay’dBy plates of ir’n, which o’er the shield were laid:Thro’ folded brass and tough bull hides it pass’d,His corslet pierc’d, and reach’d his heart at last.In vain the youth tugs at the broken wood;The soul comes issuing with the vital blood:He falls; his arms upon his body sound;And with his bloody teeth he bites the ground.
Turnus bestrode the corpse: “Arcadians, hear,”Said he; “my message to your master bear:Such as the sire deserv’d, the son I send;It costs him dear to be the Phrygians’ friend.The lifeless body, tell him, I bestow,Unask’d, to rest his wand’ring ghost below.”He said, and trampled down with all the forceOf his left foot, and spurn’d the wretched corse;Then snatch’d the shining belt, with gold inlaid;The belt Eurytion’s artful hands had made,Where fifty fatal brides, express’d to sight,All in the compass of one mournful night,Depriv’d their bridegrooms of returning light.
In an ill hour insulting Turnus toreThose golden spoils, and in a worse he wore.O mortals, blind in fate, who never knowTo bear high fortune, or endure the low!The time shall come, when Turnus, but in vain,Shall wish untouch’d the trophies of the slain;Shall wish the fatal belt were far away,And curse the dire remembrance of the day.
The sad Arcadians, from th’ unhappy field,Bear back the breathless body on a shield.O grace and grief of war! at once restor’d,With praises, to thy sire, at once deplor’d!One day first sent thee to the fighting field,Beheld whole heaps of foes in battle kill’d;One day beheld thee dead, and borne upon thy shield.This dismal news, not from uncertain fame,But sad spectators, to the hero came:His friends upon the brink of ruin stand,Unless reliev’d by his victorious hand.He whirls his sword around, without delay,And hews thro’ adverse foes an ample way,To find fierce Turnus, of his conquest proud:Evander, Pallas, all that friendship ow’dTo large deserts, are present to his eyes;His plighted hand, and hospitable ties.
