To whom spake Juno, meek of mood: "And why, O fairest lord,
    Dost thou so vex me sad at heart, fearing thy heavy word?
    But in my soul were love as strong as once it used to be,
    And should be, thou though all of might wouldst ne'er deny it me,
    That Turnus I should draw away from out the midst of fight,
    That I might keep him safe to bless his father Daunus' sight.
    Now let him die, let hallowed blood the Teucrian hate atone:
    And yet indeed his name and race from blood of ours hath grown;
    He from Pilumnus is put forth: yea, good gifts furthermore
    His open hand full oft hath piled within thine holy door."           620

    To whom air-high Olympus' king short-worded answer made:
    "If for the youth who soon must fall respite of death is prayed,
    And tarrying-time, nor aught thou deem'st but that my doom must stand,
    Then carry Turnus off by flight, snatch him from fate at hand.
    So far thy longing may I please: but if a greater grace
    Lurk 'neath thy prayers, and thou hast hope to change the battle's face,
    And turmoil everything once more, thou feedest hope in vain."

    Then Juno weeping: "Ah, but if thy heart should give the gain
    Thy voice begrudgeth! if 'twere doomed that he in life abide--
    But ill-end dogs the sackless man, unless I wander wide              630
    Away from sooth--Ah, yet may I be mocked of fear-wrought lies,
    And may thy rede as thou hast might be turned to better wise."

    She spake the word and cast herself adown from heaven the high,
    Girt round with rain-cloud, driving on a storm amid the sky,
    And that Laurentian leaguer sought and Ilium's hedge of fight.
    And there she fashioned of the cloud a shadow lacking might:
    With image of Æneas' shape the wondrous show is drest,
    She decks it with the Dardan spear and shield, and mocks the crest
    Of that all-godlike head, and gives a speech that empty flows,
    Sound without soul, and counterfeits the gait wherewith he goes,--   640
    As dead men's images they say about the air will sweep,
    Or as the senses weary-drenched are mocked with dreams of sleep.
    But in the forefront of the fight war-merry goes the thing,
    And cries the warrior on with words and weapons brandishing:
    On whom falls Turnus, and afar hurleth his whizzing spear:
    Then turns the phantom back about and fleeth as in fear.
    Then verily when Turnus deemed he saw Æneas fled.
    With all the emptiness of hope his headlong heart he fed:
    "Where fleest thou, Æneas, then? why leave thy plighted bride?       649
    This hand shall give thee earth thou sought'st so far across the tide."
    So cries he following, brandishing his naked sword on high,
    Nor sees what wise adown the wind his battle-bliss goes by.

    By hap a ship was moored anear unto a ledgy stone,
    With ladders out and landing-bridge all ready to let down,
    That late the King Orsinius bore from Clusium o'er the sea;
    And thereinto the hurrying lie, Æneas' shape, did flee,
    And down its lurking-places dived: but Turnus none the more
    Hangs back, but beating down delay swift runs the high bridge o'er.
    Scarce on the prow, ere Juno brake the mooring-rope atwain,
    And rapt the sundered ship away o'er back-draught of the main.       660
    And there afar from fight is he on whom Æneas cries,
    Still sending down to death's abode an host of enemies;
    Nor any more the image then will seek his shape to shroud,
    But flying upward blendeth him amid the mirky cloud.

    Meanwhile, as midmost of the sea the flood bore Turnus on,
    Blind to the deed that was in hand, thankless for safety won,
    He looketh round, and hands and voice starward he reacheth forth:
    "Almighty Father, deemedst thou my guilt so much of worth?
    And wouldst thou have me welter through such woeful tide of pain?
    Whence? whither? why this flight? what man shall I come back again?
    Ah, shall I see Laurentum's walls, or see my camp once more?         671
    What shall betide the fellowship that followed me to war,
    Whom I have left? O misery to die the death alone!
    I see them scattered even now, I hear the dying groan.
    What do I? what abyss of earth is deep enough to hide
    The wretched man? But ye, O winds, be merciful this tide,
    On rocks, on stones--I, Turnus, thus adore you with good will--
    Drive ye the ship, or cast it up on Syrtes' shoals of ill,
    Where Rutuli and tell-tale Fame shall never find me out!"

    Hither and thither as he spake his spirit swam in doubt,             680
    Shall he now fall upon the point, whom shame hath witless made,
    Amid most of his very ribs driving the bitter blade;
    Or casting him amid the waves swim for the hollow strand,
    And give his body back again to sworded Teucrian band?
    Thrice either deed he fell to do, and thrice for very ruth
    The mightiest Juno stayed his hand and held aback his youth.
    So 'neath a fair and following wind he glideth o'er the sea,
    And to his father's ancient walls is ferried presently.

    Meanwhile, by Jupiter's command, Mezentius props the fight,
    And all ablaze he falleth on the gladdened Teucrian might:           690
    The Tuscan host rush up, and all upon one man alone
    Press on with hatred in their hearts and cloud of weapons thrown.
    Yet is he as a rock thrust out amid the mighty deep
    To meet the raging of the winds, bare to the water's sweep.
    All threats of sea and sky it bears, all might that they may wield,
    Itself unmoved. Dolichaon's son he felleth unto field,
    One Hebrus; Latagus with him, and Palmus as he fled.
    But Latagus with stone he smites, a mighty mountain-shred,
    Amid the face and front of him, and Palmus, slow to dare,
    Sends rolling ham-strung: but their arms he biddeth Lausus bear       700
    Upon his back, and with their crests upon his helm to wend.
    Phrygian Evanthes then he slays, and Mimas, whiles the friend
    Like-aged of Paris; unto day and Amycus his sire
    Theano gave him on the night that she who went with fire,
    E'en Cisseus' daughter, Paris bore: now Paris lies asleep
    In ancient Troy; Laurentian land unknown doth Mimas keep.

    Tis as a boar by bite of hounds from the high mountains driven,
    Who on pine-nursing Vesulus a many years hath thriven,
    Or safe in that Laurentian marsh long years hath had his home,
    And fed adown the reedy wood; now mid the toil-nets come             710
    He stands at bay, and foameth fierce, and bristleth up all o'er,
    And none hath heart to draw anigh and rouse the wrath of war,
    But with safe shouts and shafts aloof they press about the place;
    While he, unhastening, unafeard, doth everywhither face,
    Gnashing his teeth and shaking off the spears from out his back.
    So they, who 'gainst Mezentius there just wrath do nowise lack,
    Lack heart to meet him hand to hand with naked brandished blade,
    But clamour huge and weapon-shot from far upon him laid.

    From that old land of Corythus erewhile had Acron come,
    A Grecian man; half-wed he passed the threshold of his home:         720
    Whom when Mezentius saw afar turmoiling the mid fight,
    Purple with plumes and glorious web his love for him had dight;
    E'en as a lion hunger-pinched about the high-fenced fold,
    When ravening famine driveth him, if he by chance behold
    Some she-goat, or a hart that thrusts his antlers up in air,
    Merry he waxeth, gaping fierce his mane doth he uprear,
    And hugs the flesh he lies upon; a loathsome sea of blood
    Washes the horror of his mouth.
    So merry runs Mezentius forth amid the press of foes,
    And hapless Acron falls, and pounds the black earth mid his throes   730
    With beat of heel; staining the shaft that splintered in the wound.
    Scorn had he then Orodes swift to fell unto the ground
    Amidst his flight, or give blind bane with unknown cast afar;
    He ran to meet him man to man, prevailing in the war
    By nought of guile or ambushing, but by the dint of blade.
    Foot on the fallen then he set, and strength to spear-shaft laid:
    "Fellows, here tall Orodes lies, no thrall in battle throng."
    Then merrily his following folk shout forth their victory-song:
    Yet saith the dying:
                        "Whosoe'er thou art, thou winnest me
    Not unavenged: thy joy grows old: the like fate looks for thee,      740
    And thou the self-same lea shalt hold within a little while!"

    To whom Mezentius spake, his wrath crossed by a gathering smile:
    "Die thou! the Father of the Gods, the earth-abider's lord,
    Will look to me."
                     He drew the spear from out him at the word,
    And iron slumber fell on him, hard rest weighed down his eyes,
    And shut were they for evermore by night that never dies.

    Now Cædicus slays Alcathous; Sacrator ends outright
    Hydaspes; then Parthenius stark and Orses fall in fight
    By Rapo; and Messapus fells strong Clonius, and the son,
    Of Lycaon; one laid alow, by his own steeds cast down,               750
    One foot to foot. Lo Agis now, the Lycian, standeth forth,
    Whom Valerus, that nothing lacked his grandsire's might and worth,
    O'erthroweth: Salius Thronius slays; Nealces, Salius;
    For skilled he was in dart and shaft, far-flying, perilous.

    Now grief and death in Mavors' scales even for each they lie;
    Victors and vanquished, here they slay, and here they fall and die,
    But neither these nor those forsooth had fleeing in their thought.
    But in Jove's house the Gods had ruth of rage that nothing wrought,
    And such a world of troubles sore for men of dying days;
    On this side Venus, and on that Saturnian Juno gaze;                 760
    And wan Tisiphonè runs wild amid the thousands there.
    But lo, Mezentius fierce and fell, shaking a mighty spear,
    Stalks o'er the plain.--Lo now, how great doth great Orion sweep
    Afoot across the Nereus' field, the mid sea's mightiest deep,
    Cleaving his way, raised shoulder-high above the billowy wash;
    Or when from off the mountain-top he bears an ancient ash
    His feet are on the soil of earth, the cloud-rack hides his head:
    --E'en so in mighty battle-gear afield Mezentius sped.

    But now Æneas, noting him adown the battle-row,
    Wendeth to meet him; undismayed he bideth for his foe,               770
    Facing the great-souled man, and stands unmoved, a mighty mass:
    Then measuring the space between if spear thereby may pass:
    "Right hand," he cries, "my very God, and fleeing spear I shake,
    To aid! Thee, Lausus, clad in arms that I today shall take
    From body of the sea-thief here I vow for gift of war
    Over Æneas slain."
                      He spake, and hurled the shaft afar
    Loud whistling: from the shield it glanced, and flying far and wide
    Smit glory-great Antores down through bowels and through side:
    Antores friend of Hercules, who, erst from Argos come,               780
    Clung to Evander, and abode in that Italian home:
    There laid to earth by straying wound he looketh on the sky,
    With lovely Argos in his heart, though death be come anigh.

    Then good Æneas cast his spear, and through the hollow round
    Of triple brass, through linen skin, through craftsmanship inwound,
    With threefold bull-hides, pierced the shaft, and in the groin did lie,
    Nor further could its might avail. Then swiftly from his thigh
    Æneas caught his glaive, and glad the Tyrrhene blood to see,
    Set on upon his wildered foe hot-heart and eagerly.
    But Lausus, by his father's love sore moved, did all behold,
    And groaned aloud, while o'er his cheeks a heavy tear-flood rolled   790
    --Ah, I will tell of thine ill-fate and deeds that thou hast done;
    If any troth in stories told may reach from yore agone,
    My speech, O unforgotten youth, in nowise shalt thou lack--
    The father with a halting foot hampered and spent drew back,
    Still dragging on the foeman's spear that hung amid his shield;
    But mingling him in battle-rush the son took up the field,
    And as Æneas' right hand rose well laden with the blow
    He ran beneath, bore off the sword, and stayed the eager foe,
    And with a mighty shout behind his fellows follow on,
    While shielded by his son's defence the father gat him gone,         800
    And shafts they cast and vex the foe with weapon shot afar.
    Mad wroth Æneas grows, but bides well covered from the war;
    And as at whiles the clouds come down with furious pelt of hail,
    And every driver of the plough the beaten lea doth fail,
    And every one that works afield, while safe the traveller lurks
    In castle of the river-bank or rock-wrought cloister-works,
    The while the rain is on the earth, that they may wear the day
    When once again the sun comes back;--so on Æneas lay
    The shaft-storm, so the hail of fight loud thundering he abode,
    And Lausus with the wrath of words, Lausus with threats did load.    810
    "Ah, whither rushest thou to die, and darest things o'ergreat?
    Thy love betrays thine heedless heart."
                                           No less, the fool of fate,
    He rusheth on, till high and fierce the tide of wrath doth win
    O'er heart of that Dardanian duke, and now the Parcæ spin
    Lausus' last thread: for his stark sword Æneas drives outright
    Through the young body, hiding it hilt-deep therein from light
    It pierced the shield and glittering gear wherewith he threatened war,
    And kirtle that his mother erst with gold had broidered o'er,
    And flooded all his breast with blood; and woeful down the wind
    His spirit sought the under-world, and left his corpse behind.       820

    But when Anchises' son beheld the face of that dead man,
    His face that in a wondrous wise grew faded out and wan,
    Groaning for ruth his hand therewith down toward him did he move,
    For o'er his soul the image came of his own father's love:
    "O boy, whom all shall weep, what then for such a glorious deed,
    What gift can good Æneas give, thy bounteous valour's meed?
    Keep thou the arms thou joyedst in. I give thy body here
    Unto thy father's buried ghosts, if thou thereof hast care.
    But let this somewhat solace thee for thine unhappy death,
    By great Æneas' hand thou diest."
                                     Then chiding words he saith         830
    Unto his fellows hanging back, and lifteth up the dead
    From off the lea, where blood defiled the tresses of his head.

    Meanwhile the father by the wave that ripples Tiber's breast
    With water staunched his bleeding hurt and gave his body rest,
    Leaning against a tree-trunk there: high up amid the tree
    Hangeth his brazen helm; his arms lie heavy on the lea;
    The chosen war-youths stand about: he, sick and panting now,
    Nurseth his neck, and o'er his breast his combed-down beard lets flow.
    Much about Lausus did he ask, and sore to men he spake
    To bid him back, or warning word from his sad sire to take.          840
    But Lausus dead his weeping folk were bearing on his shield;
    A mighty heart, to mighty hand the victory must he yield
    The father's soul foretaught of ill, afar their wail he knew,
    And fouled his hoar hair with the dust, and both his hands upthrew
    Toward heaven aloft; then clinging fast unto that lifeless one:

    "What lust," saith he, "of longer life so held my heart, O son,
    That thee, my son, I suffered thus to bare thee to the bane
    Instead of me; that I, thy sire, health of thy hurts I gain,
    Life of thy death! Ah now at last my exile is become
    A woe unto my weary heart; yea, now the wound goes home.             850
    For I am he who stained thy name, O son, with guilt of mine,
    Thrust forth by Fate from fatherland and sceptre of my line:
    I should have paid the penalty unto my country's hate,
    And given up my guilty soul to death, my very fate.
    I live: I leave not sons of men, nor let the light go by--
    --Yet will I leave them."
                             So he spake, and on his halting thigh
    Rose up, and, howsoe'er his hurt might drag his body down,
    Unvanquished yet, he called his horse, his very pleasures crown,
    And glory; who had borne him forth victorious from all war;
    And thus he spake unto the beast that seemed to sorrow sore:         860

    "Rhoebus, o'erlong--if aught be long to men that pass away--
    Have we twain lived: those bloody spoils shalt thou bring home today,
    And carrying Æneas' head avenge my Lausus' woe.
    Or if our might no more may make a road whereby to go,
    Thou too shalt fall: I deem indeed thou, stout-heart, hast no will
    To suffer other men's commands, or Trojan joy fulfil."

    And therewithal he backeth him, and as he used of old
    Settleth his limbs: good store of shafts his either hand doth hold:
    His head is glittering o'er with brass, and horse-hair shags his crest.
    So midmost of the fight he bears, and ever in his breast             870
    Swelleth the mighty sea of shame and mingled miseries.
    And now across the fight his voice thrice on Æneas cries.
    Æneas knew it well forsooth, and joyfully he prayed:
    "So grant the Father of the Gods! So may Apollo aid
    That thou may'st fall on me in fight!"

    So much he spake, and went his way to meet the foeman's shaft;
    But spake the other: "Bitter wretch, who took'st away my son,
    Why fright me now? by that one way my heart might be undone:
    No death I dread, no God that is, in battle would I spare.
    Enough--I come to thee to die; but first these gifts I bear."        880

    He spake the word, and 'gainst the foe a dart withal he cast,
    And shaft on shaft he lays on him about him flitting fast,
    Wide circling; but the golden boss through all the storm bore out
    Thrice while Æneas faceth him he rides the ring about,
    Casting the weapons from his hand; and thrice the Trojan lord
    Bears round a mighty thicket set in brazen battle-board.
    But when such tarrying wearieth him, such plucking forth of spears,
    And standing in such ill-matched fight the heart within him wears,
    Turning the thing o'er manywise, he breaketh forth to speed
    A shaft amid the hollow brow of that war-famous steed:               890
    Then beating of the air with hoof uprears the four-foot thing
    And with his fallen master falls, and 'neath his cumbering
    Weighs down his shoulders brought to earth, and heavy on him lies.
    Then Trojan men and Latin men with shouting burn the skies,
    And swift Æneas runneth up and pulleth forth his sword,
    And crieth o'er him:
                          "Where is now Mezentius, eager lord?
    Where is the fierce heart?"
                                Unto whom the Tuscan spake, when he
    Got sense again, and breathed the air, and o'er him heaven did see:
    "O bitter foe, why chidest thou? why slayest thou with words?        899
    Slay me and do no wrong! death-safe I came not mid the swords;
    And no such covenant of war for us my Lausus bought:
    One thing I pray, if vanquished men of grace may gain them aught,
    Let the earth hide me! well I know how bitter and how nigh
    My people's wrath draws in on me: put thou their fury by,
    And in the tomb beside my son I pray thee let me lie."

    He saith, and open-eyed receives the sword-point in his throat,
    And o'er his arms in waves of blood his life and soul doth float.

BOOK XI.

ARGUMENT.

TRUCE IS MADE FOR THE BURYING OF THE DEAD: THE LATINS TAKE COUNSEL OF
PEACE OR WAR. CAMILLA'S DEEDS AND DEATH.

    Meanwhile Aurora risen up from bed of ocean wends,
    And King Æneas, though his grief bids him in burying friends
    To wear the day, and though his heart the death of men dismays,
    Yet to the Gods of Dawning-tide the worship duly pays.
    From a great oak on every side the branches doth he shear,
    And setteth on a mound bedight in gleaming battle-gear
    The spoils of King Mezentius: a gift to thee it stood,
    O Might of War! Thereon he set the crest with blood bedewed,
    The broken shafts, the mail-coat pierced amid the foughten field
    With twice six dints: on the left arm he tied the brazen shield,      10
    And round about the neck he hung the ivory-hilted sword.
    Then to his friends, a mighty hedge of duke and battle-lord,
    He turned, and to their joyous hearts these words withal he said:

    "The most is done, and for the rest let all your fears lie dead:
    Lo here the first-fruits! battle-spoil won from a haughty king:
    Lo this is all Mezentius now, mine own hands' fashioning.
    Now toward the King and Latin walls all open lies the way;
    Up hearts, for war! and let your hope foregrip the battle-day,
    That nought of sloth may hinder you, or take you unaware,
    When Gods shall bid the banners up, and forth with men ye fare        20
    From out of camp,--that craven dread clog not your spirits then:
    Meanwhile give we unto the earth these our unburied men,
    The only honour they may have in nether Acheron.
    Come, fellows, to those noble souls who with their blood have won
    A country for us, give those gifts, the last that they may spend.
    And first unto Evander's town of sorrow shall I send
    That Pallas, whom, in nowise poor of valour or renown,
    The black day reft away from us in bitter death to drown."

    With weeping eyes he drew aback, e'en as the word he said,
    Unto the threshold of the place where Pallas, cold and dead,          30
    The old Acoetes watched, who erst of that Parrhasian King,
    Evander, was the shield-bearer, but now was following
    His well-belovèd foster-child in no such happy wise;
    But round him were the homemen's band and Trojan companies,
    And Ilian wives with loosened locks in guise of sorrow sore.
    But when Æneas entereth now beneath the lofty door
    From beaten breast great moan they cast up to the starry heaven;
    And wailing of their woeful cheer through all the house is driven.
    The King himself when he beheld the pillowed head at rest,            39
    The snow-white face, the open wound wrought on the smooth young breast
    By that Ausonian spear, so spake amid his gathered tears:

    "O boy bewept, despite the gifts my happy Fortune bears
    Doth she still grudge it thee to see my kingdom glorious,
    Or come a victor back again unto thy father's house?
    Not such the promise that I gave on that departing day
    Unto thy father, whose embrace then sped me on my way
    To mighty lordship, while his fear gave forth the warning word
    That with fierce folk I had to do, hard people of the sword.
    Now he, deceived by empty hope, belike pours forth the prayer,
    And pileth up the gifts for nought upon the altars fair,              50
    While we--in woe with honours vain--about his son we stand,
    Dead now, and no more owing aught to any heavenly hand.
    Unhappy, thou shalt look upon thy dead unhappy son!
    Is this the coming back again? is this the triumph won?
    Is this my solemn troth?--Yet thee, Evander, bides no sight
    Of craven beat with shameful wounds, nor for the saved from fight
    Shalt thou but long for dreadful death.--Woe's me, Ausonian land!
    Woe's me, Iulus, what a shield is perished from thine hand!"

    Such wise he wept him, and bade raise the hapless body dead,
    And therewithal a thousand men, his war-hosts' flower, he sped        60
    To wait upon him on the way with that last help of all,
    And be between his father's tears: forsooth a solace small
    Of mighty grief; a debt no less to that sad father due.
    But others speed a pliant bier weaving a wattle through,
    Of limber twigs of berry-bush and boughs of oaken-tree,
    And shadow o'er the piled-up bed with leafy canopy.
    So there upon the wild-wood couch adown the youth is laid;
    E'en as a blossom dropped to earth from fingers of a maid--
    The gilliflower's bloom maybe, or jacinth's hanging head,
    Whose lovely colour is not gone, nor shapely fashion fled,            70
    Although its mother feedeth not, nor earth its life doth hold.

    Thereon two woven webs, all stiff with purple dye and gold,
    Æneas bringeth forth, which erst with her own fingers fair
    Sidonian Dido wrought for him, and, glad the toil to bear,
    Had shot across the web thereof with thin and golden thread:
    In one of these the youth he wrapped, last honour of the dead,
    And, woeful, covered up the locks that fire should burn away.
    And furthermore a many things, Laurentum's battle-prey,
    He pileth up, and bids the spoil in long array be borne:
    Horses and battle-gear he adds, late from the foemen torn:            80
    And men's hands had he bound aback whom shortly should he send
    Unto the ghosts; whose blood should slake the fire that ate his friend.
    And trunks of trees with battle-gear from foemen's bodies won
    He bids the leaders carry forth, with foemen's names thereon.
    Hapless Acoetes, spent with eld, is brought forth; whiles he wears
    His bosom with the beat of fists, and whiles his face he tears:
    Then forth he falls, and grovelling there upon the ground doth lie.
    They bring the war-wain now, o'errained with blood of Rutuli:
    Æthon his war-horse comes behind, stripped of his gear of state,
    Mourning he goes, and wets his face with plenteous tear-drops great.  90
    Some bring the dead man's spear and helm: victorious Turnus' hand
    Hath all the rest: then follow on the woeful Teucrian band,
    All Tuscans, and Arcadian folk with weapons turned about.

    But now, when all the following folk were got a long way out,
    Æneas stood and groaned aloud, and spake these words withal:
    "Us otherwhere to other tears the same dread war-fates call;
    Undying greetings go with thee! farewell for evermore,
    O mightiest Pallas!"
                        Ending so, to those high walls of war
    He turned about, and went his ways unto his war-folks' home.

    But from the Latin city now were fair speech-masters come,           100
    Half-hidden by the olive-boughs, and praying for a grace,
    That he would give them back their men who lay about the place
    O'erthrown by steel, and let them lie in earth-mound duly dight;
    Since war was not for men o'ercome, or those that lack the light--
    That he would spare his whileome hosts, the kinsmen of his bride.

    But good Æneas, since their prayer might not be put aside,
    Let all his pardon fall on them, and sayeth furthermore:
    "O Latin folk, what hapless fate hath tangled you in war
    So great and ill? From us, your friends, why must ye flee away?
    For perished men, dead thralls of Mars, a little peace ye pray,      110
    But to your living folk indeed fain would I grant the grace.
    I had not come here, save that Fate here gave me home and place:
    No battle with your folk I wage; nay, rather 'twas your lord
    Who left my friendship, trusting him to Turnus' shield and sword.
    For Turnus to have faced the death were deed of better worth:
    If he deems hands should end the war and thrust the Teucrians forth,
    'Twere lovely deed to meet my hand amid the rain of strife;
    Then let him live to whom the Gods have given the gift of life.
    Go ye, and 'neath your hapless ones lay ye the bale-fire's blaze."

    He made an end; but still they stood and hushed them in amaze,       120
    And each on each they turned their eyes, and every tongue refrained,
    Till elder Drances, whom for foe child Turnus well had gained
    By hate-filled charges, took the word, and in such wise began:
    "O great in fame, in dint of war yet greater, Trojan man!
    What praise of words is left to me to raise thee to the sky?
    For justice shall I praise thee most, or battle's mastery?
    Now happy, to our fathers' town this answer back we bear,
    And if good-hap a way thereto may open anywhere,
    Thee to Latinus will we knit--let Turnus seek his own!--
    Yea, we shall deem it joy forsooth about your fateful town:          130
    To raise the walls, and Trojan stones upon our backs to lay."

    Such words he spake, and with one mouth did all men murmur yea.
    For twice six days they covenant; and in war-sundering peace
    The Teucrians and the Latins blent about the woods increase,
    About the hill-sides wander safe; the smitten ash doth know
    The ring of steel; the pines that thrust heaven-high they overthrow;
    Nor cease with wedge to cleave the oak and cedar shedding scent,
    Or on the wains to lead away the rowan's last lament.

    And now the very Wingèd Fame, with that great grief she bears,
    Filleth Evander's town and house, filleth Evander's ears;            140
    Yea, Fame, who erst of Pallas' deeds in conquered Latium told:
    Rush the Arcadians to the gates, and as they used of old,
    Snatch up the torches of the dead, and with the long array
    Of flames the acre-cleaving road gleams litten far away:
    Then meeteth them the Phrygian crowd, and swells the wailing band;
    And when the mothers saw them come amid the house-built land,
    The woeful town they set afire with clamour of their ill.
    But naught there is hath any might to hold Evander still;
    He comes amidst, and on the bier where Pallas lies alow
    He grovels, and with weeping sore and groaning clings thereto;       150
    And scarce from sorrow at the last his speech might win a way:
    "Pallas, this holdeth not the word thou gavest me that day,
    That thou wouldst ward thee warily in game of bitter Mars:
    Though sooth I knew how strong it is, that first fame of the wars;
    How strong is that o'er-sweet delight of earliest battle won.
    O wretched schooling of my child! O seeds of war begun,
    How bitter hard! O prayers of mine, O vows that none would hear
    Of all the Gods! O holiest wife, thy death at least was dear,
    And thou art happy to be gone, not kept for such a tide.
    But I--my life hath conquered Fate, that here I might abide          160
    A lonely father. Ah, had I gone with the Trojan host,
    To fall amid Rutulian spears! were mine the life-days lost;
    If me, not Pallas, this sad pomp were bringing home today!--
    Yet, Teucrians, on your troth and you no blaming would I lay,
    Nor on our hands in friendship joined: 'twas a foreordered load
    For mine old age: and if my son untimely death abode,
    'Tis sweet to think he fell amidst the thousand Volscians slain,
    And leading on the men of Troy the Latin lands to gain.
    Pallas, no better funeral rites mine heart to thee awards
    Than good Æneas giveth thee, and these great Phrygian lords,         170
    The Tyrrhene dukes, the Tyrrhene host, a mighty company;
    While they whom thine own hand hath slain great trophies bear for thee.
    Yea, Turnus, thou wert standing there, a huge trunk weapon-clad,
    If equal age, if equal strength from lapse of years ye had.
    --But out!--why should a hapless man thus stay the Teucrian swords?
    Go, and be mindful to your king to carry these my words:
    If here by loathèd life I bide, with Pallas dead and gone,
    Thy right hand is the cause thereof, which unto sire and son
    Owes Turnus, as thou wottest well: no other place there is
    Thy worth and fate may fill. God wot I seek no life-days' bliss,     180
    But might I bear my son this tale amid the ghosts of earth!"

    Meanwhile the loveliness of light Aurora brought to birth
    For heartsick men, and brought aback the toil of heart and hand:
    Father Æneas therewithal down on the hollow strand,
    And Tarchon with him, rear the bales; and each man thither bears
    His dead friend in the ancient guise: beneath the black flame flares,
    The heaven aloft for reek thereof with night is overlaid:
    Three times about the litten bales in glittering arms arrayed
    They run the course; three times on steed they beat the earth about
    Those woeful candles of the dead and sing their wailing out;         190
    The earth is strewn with tears of men, and arms of men forlorn,
    And heavenward goes the shout of men and blaring of the horn:
    But some upon the bale-fires cast gear stripped from Latins slain:
    War-helms, and well-adornèd swords, and harness of the rein,
    And glowing wheels: but overwell some knew the gifts they brought,
    The very shields of their dead friends and weapons sped for nought.
    Then oxen manifold to Death all round about they slay,
    And bristled boars, and sheep they snatch from meadows wide away,
    And hew them down upon the flame; then all the shore about
    They gaze upon their burning friends, and watch the bale-fires out.  200
    Nor may they tear themselves away until the dewy night
    Hath turned the heavens about again with gleaming stars bedight.

    Nor less the unhappy Latins build upon another stead
    The bale-fires numberless of tale: but of their warriors dead,
    A many bodies there they dig into the earth adown,
    And bear them into neighbouring lands, or back into the town:
    The rest, a mighty heap of death piled up confusedly,
    Untold, unhonoured, there they burn: then that wide-lying lea
    Glareth with fires that thick and fast keep rising high and high.
    But when the third dawn drew away cold shadows from the sky,         210
    Weeping, great heaps of ashes there and blended bones they made,
    And over them the weight of earth yet warm with fire they laid.

    But in the houses, in the town of that rich Latin king
    More heavy was the wail, more sore the long-drawn sorrowing:
    Here mothers, wretched fosterers here, here sisters loved and lorn,
    And sorrowing sore, and lads whose lives from fathers' care were torn,
    Were cursing of the cruel war, and Turnus and his bride,
    "He, he, in arms, he with the sword should play it out," they cried,
    "Who claims the realm of Italy and foremost lordship there."
    And bitter Drances weights the scale, and witnessing doth bear       220
    That Turnus only is called forth, the battle-bidden man.
    But divers words of many folk on Turnus' side yet ran,
    And he was cloaked about withal by great Amata's name,
    And plenteous signs of battle won upheld his fair-won fame.

    Now midst these stirs and flaming broils the messengers are here
    From Diomedes' mighty walls; and little is the cheer
    Wherewith they bring the tidings back that every whit hath failed
    Their toil and pains: that not a whit hath gold or gifts availed,
    Or mighty prayers, that Latin folk some other stay in war
    Must seek, or from the Trojan king a craven peace implore.           230
    Then e'en Latinus' counsel failed amid such miseries:
    The wrath of God, the tombs new-wrought that lay before their eyes,
    Made manifest Æneas come by will of God and Fate.
    Therefore a mighty parliament, the firstlings of estate,
    By his commandment summoned there, unto his house he brings.
    Wherefore they gather, streaming forth unto that house of kings
    By the thronged ways: there in the midst Latinus sitteth now,
    First-born of years, first lord of rule, with little joyful brow.

    Hereon the men come back again from that Ætolian wall
    He biddeth tell their errand's speed, what answers did befall,       240
    Each in their order: thereupon for speech was silence made,
    And Venulus, obeying him, suchwise began and said:

    "Friends, we have looked on Diomede and on the Argive home,
    And all the road and every hap thereby have overcome:
    Yea, soothly, we have touched the hand that wracked the Ilian earth:
    Argyripa he buildeth there, named from his land of birth,
    In Iapygian Garganus, where he hath conquered place.
    Where, entered in, and leave being given to speak before his face,
    We gave our gifts, and told our names, and whence of lands we were,
    Who waged us war, and for what cause to Arpi we must fare.           250
    He hearkened and from quiet mouth gave answer thus again:

    "'O happy folk of Saturn's land, time-old Ausonian men,
    What evil hap hath turmoiled you amid your peaceful life,
    Beguiling you to stir abroad the doubtfulness of strife?
    All we who on the Ilian fields with sword-edge compassed guilt,
    --Let be the war-ills we abode before the wall high built;
    Let be the men whom Simoïs hides--we o'er the wide world driven,
    Have wrought out pain and punishment for ill deed unforgiven,
    Till Priam's self might pity us. Witness the star of bane
    Minerva sent; Euboea's cliffs, Caphereus' vengeful gain!             260
    'Scaped from that war, and driven away to countries sundered wide,
    By Proteus' Pillars exiled now, must Menelaüs bide;
    And those Ætnæan Cyclop-folk Ulysses look upon:
    Of Pyrrhus's land why tell, or of Idomeneus, that won
    To ruined house; of Locrian men cast on the Libyan shore?
    Mycenæ's lord, the duke and king of all the Argive war,
    There, on the threshold of his house, his wicked wife doth slay.
    --Asia o'ercome--and in its stead Adultery thwart the way!--
    Ah, the Gods' hate, that so begrudged my yearning eyes to meet
    My father's hearth, my longed-for wife, and Calydon the sweet!       270
    Yea, and e'en now there followeth me dread sight of woeful things:
    My lost companions wend the air with feathery beat of wings,
    Or wander, fowl on river-floods: O woe's me for their woe!
    The voices of their weeping wail about the sea-cliffs go.
    But all these things might I have seen full surely for me stored
    Since then, when on the flesh of God I fell with maddened sword,
    And on the very Venus' hand a wicked wound I won.
    Nay, nay, to no such battles more I pray you drive me on!
    No war for me with Teucrian men since Pergamus lies low;
    Nor do I think or joy at all in ills of long ago.                    280
    The gifts, that from your fatherland unto my throne ye bear,
    Turn toward Æneas. We have stood, time was, spear meeting spear,
    Hand against hand: trust me, who tried, how starkly to the shield
    He riseth up, how blows the wind when he his spear doth wield.
    If two such other men had sprung from that Idæan home,
    Then Dardanus with none to drive to Inachus had come,
    And seen our walls, and Greece had mourned reversal of her day.
    About the walls of stubborn Troy, whatso we found of stay,
    By Hector's and Æneas' hands the Greekish victory
    Was tarried, and its feet held back through ten years wearing by.    290
    Both these in heart and weapon-skill were full of fame's increase,
    But this one godlier: let your hands meet in the plighted peace
    E'en as ye may: but look to it if sword to sword ye bring.'

    "Thus have ye heard, most gracious one, the answer of the King,
    And therewithal what thought he had about this heavy war."

    Scarce had he said, when diverse voice of murmuring ran all o'er
    Those troubled mouths of Italy: as when the rocks refrain
    The rapid streams, and sounds arise within the eddies' chain,
    And with the chatter of the waves the neighbouring banks are filled.
    But when their minds were soothed and all the wildering voices stilled,
    The King spake first unto the Gods, then thus began to say:          301

    "Latins, that ye had counselled you hereon before today
    Was both my will, and had been good: no time is this to fall
    To counsel now, when as we speak the foe besets the wall.
    With folk of God ill war we wage, lords of the Latin town,
    With all-unconquerable folk; no battles wear them down;
    Yea, beaten never have they heart to cast the sword away.
    Lay down the hope ye had to gain Ætolian war-array;
    Let each man be his proper hope. Lo ye, the straits are sore.
    How all things lie about us now by ruin all toppled o'er,            310
    Witness of this the eyes of you, the hands of you have won.
    No man I blame, what valour could hath verily been done:
    With all the manhood of our land the battle hath been fought:
    But now what better way herein my doubtful mind hath thought
    Will I set forth, and shortly tell the rede that is in me:
    Hearken! beside the Tuscan stream I own an ancient lea,
    Which, toward the sunset stretching far, yea o'er Sicanian bounds,
    Aruncans and Rutulians sow, working the rough hill grounds
    With draught of plough, but feeding down the roughest with their sheep.
    Let all this land, and piny place upon the mountain-steep,           320
    Be yielded for the Teucrian peace: the laws let us declare
    For plighted troth, and bid the men as friends our realm to share.
    There let them settle and build walls, if thitherward they yearn;
    But if unto another land their minds are set to turn,
    And other folk, and all they ask is from our shore to flee,
    Then let us build them twice ten ships from oak of Italy,
    Or more if they have men thereto: good store of ship-stuff lies
    Hard by the waves; and they shall show their number and their guise;
    But toil of men, and brass and gear we for their needs will find.
    And now to carry these our words, and fast the troth-plight bind,    330
    Send we an hundred speech-masters, the best of Latin land,
    To seek them thither, stretching forth the peace-bough in the hand,
    And bearing gifts; a talent's weight of gold and ivory,
    The throne therewith and welted gown, signs of my lordship high.
    Take open counsel; stay the State so faint and weary grown."

    Then Drances, ever full of hate, whom Turnus' great renown
    With bitter stings of envy thwart goaded for evermore;
    Lavish of wealth and fair of speech, but cold-hand in the war;
    Held for no unwise man of redes, a make-bate keen enow;
    The lordship of whose life, forsooth, from well-born dam did flow,   340
    His father being of no account--upriseth now this man,
    And piles a grievous weight of words with all the wrath he can.
    "A matter dark to none, and which no voice of mine doth need,
    Thou counsellest on, sweet King: for all confess in very deed
    They wot whereto our fortune drives; but fear their speech doth hide:
    Let him give liberty of speech, and sink his windy pride,
    Because of whose unhappy fate, and evil life and will--
    Yea, I will speak, despite his threats to smite me and to kill--
    So many days of dukes are done, and all the city lies                349
    O'erwhelmed with grief, the while his luck round camps of Troy he tries,
    Trusting to flight, and scaring heaven with clashing of his sword.
    One gift meseems thou shouldest add, most gracious king and lord,
    Unto the many gifts thou bid'st bear to the Dardan folk,
    Nor bow thyself to violence, nor lie beneath its yoke.
    Father, thy daughter nobly wed unto a glorious son,
    And knit the bonds of peace thereby in troth-plight never done.
    Or if such terror and so great upon our hearts doth lie,
    Let us adjure the man himself, and pray him earnestly
    To yield up this his proper right to country and to king:--
    --O why into the jaws of death wilt thou so often fling              360
    Thine hapless folk, O head and fount of all the Latin ill?
    No safety is in war; all we, for peace we pray thee still,
    O Turnus,--for the only pledge of peace that may abide.
    I first, whom thou call'st foe (and nought that name I thrust aside),
    Lo, suppliant to thy feet I come! Pity thy people then!
    Sink thine high heart, and, beaten, yield; surely we broken men
    Have seen enough of deaths, laid waste enough of field and fold.
    But if fame stir thee, if thine heart such dauntless valour hold,
    If such a longing of thy soul a kingly dowry be,
    Dare then, and trust thee in thy might, and breast the enemy.        370
    Forsooth all we, that Turnus here a queenly wife might gain--
    We common souls--a heap unwept, unburied, strew the plain.
    And now for thy part, if in thee some valour hath a place
    Or memory of the ancient wars, go look him in the face
    Who calleth thee to come afield."

    But Turnus' fury at the word outbrake in sudden flame.
    He groaned, and from his inmost soul this speech of his outpoured:
    "O Drances, when the battle-day calleth for hand and sword,
    Great words good store thou givest still, and first thou comest still
    When so the Sires are called: but why with words the council fill?   380
    Big words aflying from thee safe, while yet the walls hold good
    Against the foe, nor yet the ditch is swimming with our blood.
    Go, thunder out thy wonted words! lay craven fear on me,
    O Drances, thou, whose hand has heaped the Teucrian enemy
    Dead all about, and everywhere has glorified the meads
    With war-spoil! Thou thyself may'st try how lively valour speeds!
    'Tis well the time: forsooth the road lieth no long way out
    To find the foe! on every side they hedge the wall about
    Go we against them!--tarriest thou? and is thy Mars indeed
    A dweller in the windy tongue and feet well learned in speed,        390
    The same today as yesterday?
    --I beaten! who of right, O beast! shall brand me beaten man,
    That seeth the stream of Ilian blood swelling the Tiber's flow,
    Who seeth all Evander's house uprooted, laid alow;
    Who seeth those Arcadian men stripped of their battle-gear?
    Big Pandarus, stout Bitias, found me no craven there,
    Or all the thousand whom that day to Tartarus I sent,
    When I was hedged by foeman's wall and mound's beleaguerment
    No health in war? Fool, sing such song to that Dardanian head,       399
    And thine own day! cease not to fright all things with mighty dread.
    Cease not to puff up with thy pride the poor twice-conquered folk,
    And lay upon the Latin arms the weight of wordy yoke.
    Yea, sure the chiefs of Myrmidons quake at the Phrygian sword,
    Tydides and Achilles great, the Larissæan lord;
    And Aufidus the flood flees back unto the Hadriac sea.
    But now whereas this guile-smith fains to dread mine enmity,
    And whetteth with a fashioned fear the bitter point of strife--
    Nay, quake no more! for this mine hand shall spill no such a life;
    But it shall dwell within thy breast and have thee for a mate.--
    Now, Father, unto thee I turn, and all thy words of weight;          410
    If every hope of mending war thou verily lay'st down;
    If we are utterly laid waste, and, being once overthrown,
    Have fallen dead; if Fate no more may turn her feet about,
    Then pray we peace, and deedless hands, e'en as we may, stretch out.
    Yet if of all our ancient worth some little yet abide,
    I deem him excellent of men, craftsmaster of his tide,
    A noble heart, who, lest his eyes should see such things befall,
    Hath laid him down in death, and bit the earth's face once for all.
    And if we still have store of force, and crop of youth unlaid,
    And many a town, and many a folk of Italy to aid;                    420
    And if across a sea of blood the Trojan glory came,
    And they too died, and over all with one blast and the same
    The tempest swept; why shameless thus do our first footsteps fail?
    Why quake our limbs, yea e'en before they feel the trumpet's gale?
    A many things the shifting time, the long laborious days,
    Have mended oft: a many men hath Fortune's wavering ways
    Made sport of, and brought back again to set on moveless rock.
    The Ætolian and his Arpi host help not our battle-shock.
    Yet is Messapus ours, and ours Tolumnius fortunate,
    And many a duke and many a folk; nor yet shall tarry late            430
    The glory of our Latin lords and this Laurentian lea.
    Here too Camilla, nobly born of Volscian stock, shall be,
    Leading her companies of horse that blossom brass all o'er.
    But if the Teucrians me alone are calling to the war,
    And thus 'tis doomed, and I so much the common good withstand--
    Well, victory hath not heretofore so fled my hated hand
    That I should falter from the play with such a prize in sight:
    Fain shall I face him, yea, though he outgo Achilles' might,
    And carry battle-gear as good of Vulcan's fashioning,
    For you, and for Latinus here, my father and my king,                440
    I, Turnus, second unto none in valour of old years,
    Devote my life. Æneas calls me only of the peers?
    --O that he may!--not Drances here--the debt of death to pay
    If God be wroth, or if Fame win, to bear the prize away."

    But while amid their doubtful fate the ball of speech they tossed,
    Contending sore, Æneas moved his camp and battle-host;
    And lo, amid the kingly house there runs a messenger
    Mid tumult huge, who all the town to mighty dread doth stir,
    With tidings how the Teucrian host and Tuscan men of war
    Were marching from the Tiber flood, the meadows covering o'er.       450
    Amazèd are the minds of men; their hearts with tremor shake,
    And anger stirred by bitter stings is presently awake:
    In haste and heat they crave for arms; the youth cries on the sword,
    The Fathers mutter sad and weep: with many a wrangling word
    A mighty tumult goeth up, and toward the sky doth sweep:
    Not otherwise than when the fowl amid the thicket deep
    Sit down in hosts; or when the swans send forth their shrilling song
    About Padusa's fishy flood, the noisy pools among.

    "Come, fellow-folk," cries Turnus then, for he the time doth seize,
    "Call ye to council even now, and sit and praise the peace,          460
    And let the armed foe wrack the realm!"
                                               Nor more he said withal,
    But turned about and went his ways from that high-builded hall.
    Said he: "Volusus, lead away the Volscian ranks to fight,
    And Rutuli! Messapus, thou, afield with horse and knight!
    Thou, Coras, with thy brother duke sweep down the level mead.
    Let some make breaches good, and some man the high towers with heed;
    And let the rest bear arms with me whereso my bidding sends."

    Then straightway, running in all haste, to wall the city wends.
    Sore shaken in his very heart, by that ill tide undone,
    His council Sire Latinus leaves and those great redes begun:         470
    Blaming himself that he took not Æneas of free will,
    Nor gave the town that Dardan lord the place of son to fill.

    Now some dig dykes before the gate, or carry stones and stakes,
    And bloody token of the war the shattering trump awakes.
    Mothers and lads, a motley guard, they crown the threatened wall,
    For this last tide of grief and care hath voice to cry for all.
    Moreover to the temple-stead, to Pallas' house on high,
    The Queen goes forth hedged all about by matron company,
    And bearing gifts: next unto whom, the cause of all this woe,
    With lovely eyes cast down to earth, doth maid Lavinia go.           480
    They enter and with frankincense becloud the temple o'er,
    And cast their woeful voices forth from out the high-built door:
    "O Weapon-great Tritonian Maid, O front of war-array,
    Break thou the Phrygian robber's sword, and prone his body lay
    On this our earth; cast him adown beneath our gates high-reared!"

    Now eager Turnus for the war his body did begird:
    The ruddy-gleaming coat of mail upon his breast he did,
    And roughened him with brazen scales; with gold his legs he hid;
    With brow yet bare, unto his side he girt the sword of fight,
    And all a glittering golden man ran down the castle's height.        490
    High leaps his heart, his hope runs forth the foeman's host to face:
    As steed, when broken are the bonds, fleeth the stabling place,
    Set free at last, and, having won the unfenced open mead,
    Now runneth to the grassy grounds wherein the mare-kind feed;
    Or, wont to water, speedeth him in well-known stream to wash,
    And, wantoning, with uptossed head about the world doth dash,
    While wave his mane-locks o'er his neck, and o'er his shoulders play.

    But, leading on the Volscian host, there comes across his way
    Camilla now, who by the gate leapt from her steed adown,
    And in likewise her company, who left their horses lone,             500
    And earthward streamed: therewith the Queen such words as this gave forth:

    "Turnus, if any heart may trust in manly might and worth,
    I dare to promise I will meet Æneas' war array,
    And face the Tyrrhene knights alone, and deal them battle-play.
    Let my hand be the first to try the perils of the fight,
    The while the foot-men townward bide, and hold the walls aright."

    Then Turnus answered, with his eyes fixed on the awful maid:
    "O glory of Italian land, how shall the thanks be paid
    Worthy thy part? but since all this thy great soul overflies,
    To portion out our work today with me indeed it lies.                510
    Æneas, as our spies sent out and rumour saith for sure,
    The guileful one, his light-armed horse hath now sent on before
    To sweep the lea-land, while himself, high on the hilly ground,
    Across the desert mountain-necks on for our walls is bound.
    But I a snare now dight for him in woodland hollow way
    Besetting so the straitened pass with weaponed war-array.
    But bear thy banners forth afield to meet the Tyrrhene horse,
    With fierce Messapus joined to thee, the Latin battle-force,
    Yea, and Tiburtus: thou thyself the leader's care shalt take."

    So saith he, and with such-like words unto the war doth wake         520
    Messapus and his brother-lords; then 'gainst the foeman fares.

    There was a dale of winding ways, most meet for warlike snares
    And lurking swords: with press of leaves the mountain bent is black
    That shutteth it on either side: thence leads a scanty track;
    By strait-jawed pass men come thereto, a very evil road:
    But thereabove, upon the height, lieth a plain abode,
    A mountain-heath scarce known of men, a most safe lurking-place,
    Whether to right hand or to left the battle ye will face,
    Or hold the heights, and roll a storm of mighty rocks adown.
    Thither the war-lord wends his way by country road well known,       530
    And takes the place, and bideth there within the wood accursed.

    Meanwhile within the heavenly house Diana speaketh first
    To Opis of the holy band, the maiden fellowship,
    And words of grief most sorrowful Latonia's mouth let slip:
    "Unto the bitter-cruel war the maid Camilla wends,
    O maid: and all for nought indeed that dearest of my friends
    Is girding her with arms of mine."

    Nought new-born was the love
    Diana owned, nor sudden-sweet the soul in her did move:
    When Metabus, by hatred driven, and his o'erweening pride,
    Fled from Privernum's ancient town, his fathers' country-side,       540
    Companion of his exile there, amid the weapon-game,
    A babe he had with him, whom he called from her mother's name
    Casmilla, but a little changed, and now Camilla grown.
    He, bearing her upon his breast, the woody ridges lone
    Went seeking, while on every side the sword-edge was about,
    And all around were scouring wide the weaponed Volscian rout.
    But big lay Amasenus now athwart his very road,
    Foaming bank-high, such mighty rain from out of heaven had flowed.
    There, as he dight him to swim o'er, love of his babe, and fear
    For burden borne so well-beloved, his footsteps back did bear.       550
    At last, as all things o'er he turned, this sudden rede he took:
    The huge spear that in mighty hand by hap the warrior shook,
    A close-knit shaft of seasoned oak with many a knot therein,
    Thereto did he his daughter bind, wrapped in the cork-tree's skin,
    And to the middle of the beam he tied her craftily;
    Then, shaking it in mighty hand, thus spoke unto the sky:
    "O kind, O dweller in the woods, Latonian Virgin fair,
    A father giveth thee a maid, who holds thine arms in air
    As from the foe she flees to thee: O Goddess, take thine own,
    That now upon the doubtful winds by this mine arm is thrown!"        560
    He spake, and from his drawn-back arm cast forth the brandished wood;
    Sounded the waves; Camilla flew across the hurrying flood,
    A lorn thing bound to whistling shaft, and o'er the river won.
    But Metabus, with all the band of chasers pressing on,
    Unto the river gives himself, and reaches maid and spear,
    And, conquering, from the grassy bank Diana's gift doth tear.
    To roof and wall there took him thence no city of the land,
    Nay, he himself, a wild-wood thing, to none had given the hand;
    Upon the shepherd's lonely hills his life thenceforth he led;
    His daughter mid the forest-brake, and wild deers' thicket-stead,    570
    He nourished on the milk that flowed from herd-mare's untamed breast,
    And to the maiden's tender lips the wild thing's udder pressed;
    Then from the first of days when she might go upon her feet,
    The heft of heavy sharpened dart her hand must learn to meet,
    And from the little maiden's back he hung the shaft and bow;
    While for the golden hair-clasp fine and long-drawn mantle's flow
    Down from her head, along her back, a tiger's fell there hung.
    E'en then too from her tender hand a childish shot she flung,
    The sling with slender smoothened thong she drave about her head
    To bring the crane of Strymon down, or lay the white swan dead.      580
    Then many a mother all about the Tyrrhene towns in vain
    Would wed her to their sons; but she, a maid without a stain,
    Alone in Dian's happiness the spear for ever loved,
    For ever loved the maiden life.
                                        --"O had she ne'er been moved
    By such a war, nor dared to cross the Teucrian folk in fight!
    Then had she been a maid of mine, my fellow and delight.
    But since the bitterness of fate lies round her life and me,
    Glide down, O maiden, from the pole, and find the Latin lea,
    Where now, with evil tokens toward, sad battle they awake;
    Take these, and that avenging shaft from out the quiver take,        590
    Wherewith whoso shall wrong with wound my holy-bodied may,
    Be he of Troy or Italy, see thou his blood doth pay:
    And then will I her limbs bewept, unspoiled of any gear,
    Wrap in a hollow cloud, and lay in kindred sepulchre."

    She spoke; the other slipped adown the lightsome air of heaven,
    With wrapping cloak of mirky cloud about her body driven.

    But in meanwhile the Trojan folk the city draw anigh,
    The Tuscan dukes and all their horse in many a company
    Well ordered: over all the plain neighing the steed doth fare,
    Prancing, and champing on the bit that turns him here and there,     600
    And far and wide the lea is rough with iron harvest now.
    And with the weapons tossed aloft the level meadows glow.
    Messapus and the Latins swift, lo, on the other hand;
    And Coras with his brother-lord, and maid Camilla's band,
    Against them in the field; and lo, far back their arms they fling
    In couching of the level spears, and shot spears' brandishing.
    All is afire with neigh of steeds and onfall of the men.
    And now, within a spear-shot come, short up they rein, and then
    They break out with a mighty cry, and spur the maddened steeds;
    And all at once from every side the storm of spear-shot speeds,      610
    As thick as very snowing is, and darkens down the sun.

    And thereon with their levelled spears each against each they run,
    Tyrrhenus and Aconteus fierce: in forefront of the fight
    They meet and crash with thundering sound; wracked are the steeds outright,
    Breast beating in each breast of them: far is Aconteus flung
    In manner of the lightning bolt, or stone from engine slung;
    Far off he falls, and on the air pours all his life-breath out.

    Then wildered is the war array; the Latins wheel about
    And sling their targets all aback, and townward turn their steeds.
    The Trojans follow; first of whom the ranks Asylas leads.            620
    But when they draw anigh the gates once more the Latin men
    Raise up the cry, and turn about the limber necks again;
    Then flee their foes, and far afield with loosened reins they ride;
    As when the sea-flood setting on with flowing, ebbing tide,
    Now earthward rolling, overlays the rocks with foaming sea,
    And with its bosom overwhelms the sand's extremity,
    Now swiftly fleeing back again, sucks back into its deep
    The rolling stones, and leaves the shore with softly-gliding sweep.
    Twice did the Tuscans townward drive the host of Rutuli;
    Twice, looking o'er their shielded backs, afield they needs must fly;  630
    But when they joined the battle thrice knit up was all array
    In one great knot, and man sought man wherewith to play the play.
    Then verily the dying groans up to the heavens went;
    Bodies and arms lie deep in blood, and with the men-folk blent,
    The dying horses wallow there, and fearful fight arose.

    Orsilochus with Remulus had scant the heart to close,
    But hurled his shaft against the horse, and smote him 'neath the ear;
    The smitten beast bears not the wound, but, maddened, high doth rear
    The legs of him and breast aloft: his master flung away,
    Rolls on the earth: Catillus there doth swift Iolas slay;            640
    Yea, and Herminius, big of soul, and big of limbs and gear,
    Who went with head by nothing helmed save locks of yellow hair,
    Who went with shoulders all unarmed, as one without a dread,
    So open unto fight was he; but through his shoulders sped
    The quivering spear, and knit him up twi-folded in his pain.
    So black blood floweth everywhere; men deal out iron bane,
    And, struggling, seek out lovely death amid the wounds and woe.

    But through the middle of the wrack doth glad Camilla go,
    The quivered war-maid, all one side stripped naked for the play;
    And now a cloud of limber shafts she scattereth wide away,           650
    And now with all unwearied hand catcheth the twi-bill strong.
    The golden bow is at her back, and Dian's arrow-song.
    Yea, e'en and if she yielded whiles, and showed her back in flight,
    From back-turned bow the hurrying shaft she yet would aim aright.
    About her were her chosen maids, daughters of Italy,
    Larina, Tulla, and Tarpeia, with brazen axe on high,
    Whom that divine Camilla chose for joy and fame's increase,
    Full sweet and goodly hand-maidens in battle and in peace:
    E'en as the Thracian Amazons thresh through Thermodon's flood,
    When they in painted war-gear wend to battle and to blood:           660
    Or those about Hippolyta, or round the wain of Mars
    Wherein Panthesilea wends, when hubbub of the wars
    The maiden-folk exulting raise, and moony shields uprear.

    Whom first, whom last, O bitter Maid, didst thou overthrow with spear?
    How many bodies of the slain laidst thou upon the field?
    Eunæus, Clytius' son, was first, whose breast for lack of shield
    The fir-tree long smit through and through, as there he stood in face;
    He poureth forth a sea of blood, and, falling in his place,
    Bites the red earth, and dying writhes about the bitter bane.
    Liris and Pagasus she slays; one, catching at the rein               670
    Of his embowelled steed rolls o'er, the other as he ran
    To aid, and stretched his swordless hand unto the fallen man,
    Fell headlong too, and there they lie: with these Amastus wends,
    The son of Hippotas; her spear in chase of men she sends,
    Harpalycus, Demophoön, Tereus, and Chromis stout
    As many as her maiden hand the whirling darts send out
    So many Phrygian falls there are. Far off, in uncouth gear,
    The hunter Ornytus upon Apulian steed doth fare,
    Whose warring shoulders bigly wrought with stripped-off bullock's hide
    Are covered; but his head is helmed with wood-wolf's gaping wide,    680
    A monstrous mouth, wherein are left the teeth all gleaming white:
    A wood-spear arms the hand of him, he wheels amid the fight,
    And by the head he overtops all other men about.
    Him she o'ertakes, no troublous deed amid the fleeing rout,
    And, slaying him, from bitter heart this word withal she spake:

    "Tuscan, thou deem'dst thee hunting still the deer amid the brake;
    The day has come when women's arms have cast thy boasting back:
    Yet going to thy fathers' ghosts a word thou shalt not lack
    To praise thy life; for thou mayst say, Camilla was my bane."

    Orsilochus and Butes next, two huge-wrought Trojans, gain            690
    Death at her hands: Butes aback she smit through with the spear
    Betwixt the mail-coat and the helm, wherethrough the neck doth peer
    As there he sits, and on his left hangs down the target round;
    But from Orsilochus she flees, wide circling o'er the ground,
    Then, slipping inward of the ring, chaseth the chaser there,
    And, rising high, her mighty axe driveth through bones and gear.
    With blow on blow, mid all his prayers and crying out for grace,
    Until his hot and bloody brain is flooding all his face.

    A man haps on her now, and stands afeard such sight to see;
    Of Aunus of the Apennines the warring son was he,                    700
    Great of Ligurians, while the Fates his guile would yet allow:
    But he, since fleeing out of fight, would nought avail him now,
    Nor knew he how in any wise to turn the Queen away,
    With rede of guile and cunning words began to play the play:

    "What deed of fame, for woman's heart to trust a horse's might?
    Wilt thou not set thy speed aside, and 'gainst me dare the fight
    On equal ground, and gird thyself for foot-fight face to face?
    See then to whom the windy fame shall bring the victory's grace!"

    He spake; but she, in bitter rage, and stung to her heart's root,
    Unto her fellow gave her steed and faced him there afoot,            710
    Most unafeard, with naked glaive and target bare and white.
    Thereat the youth deemed guile had won, and turned at once to flight;
    Nought tarrying but to turn the reins, he fleeth on his road,
    And ever with his iron heel the four-foot thing doth goad.

    "Empty Ligurian, all in vain thine high heart dost thou raise,
    And all in vain thou triest today thy father's crafty ways.
    Nor shall thy lying bring thee safe to lying Aunus' head."

    So spake the maid, and all afire on flying feet she sped,
    Outwent the horse and crossed his road, and catching at the rein,
    There made her foeman pay for all with bloody steel-wrought bane,    720
    As easily the holy hawk from craggy place on high
    In winged chase follows on the dove aloft along the sky,
    And taketh her in hookèd hold with bitter feet to tear,
    While blood and riven feathers fall from out the upper air.

    Nathless the Sower of manfolk and all the Godly Kind,
    Upon Olympus set aloft, to this was nothing blind,
    And Tarchon of the Tyrrhene folk he stirreth up to war,
    And stingeth all the heart of him with anger bitter-sore;
    Who, borne on horse 'twixt death of men and faltering war-array,
    Goads on his bands unto the fight, and many a word doth say,         730
    And calleth each man by his name, and bids the beaten stand:

    "What fear, O hearts that nought may shame, O folk of deedless hand,
    What dastardy, O Tyrrhene folk, hath now so caught your souls?
    A woman drives us scattering wide, and back our war-wall rolls.
    Why bear our hands these useless spears, this steel not made for fight?
    Ye are not slack in Venus' play or battle of the night,
    Or when the crookèd fife gives sign that Bacchus' dance is toward
    Well wait ye onset of the feast and cups of plenteous board:
    Your love, your hearts, are there, whereas the lucky priest doth bid
    The holy words, and victims fat call to the thickets hid."           740

    He spake, and, fain of death himself, against the foemen spurs,
    And full in face of Venulus his eager body bears,
    And catcheth him by arm about, and tears him from his horse,
    And bears him off on saddle-bow in grip of mighty force:
    Then goes the clamour up to heaven, and all the Latin eyes
    Turn thitherward: but fiery-swift across the field he flies,
    Bearing the weapons and the man; then from his foeman's spear
    Breaks off the head, and searches close for opening here and there
    Whereby to give the deadly wound: the foe doth ever fight,           749
    Thrusting the hand from threatened throat, and puts back might with might.
    As when a yellow erne aloft skyward a dragon draws,
    And knits him up within her feet and gripping of her claws:
    But still the wounded serpent turns in many a winding fold,
    And bristles all his spiky scales, and hissing mouth doth hold
    Aloft against her; she no less through all his struggles vain
    Drives hookèd beak, and still with wings beats through the airy plain;
    E'en so from those Tiburtine ranks glad Tarchon bears the prey:
    And, following on their captain's deed, fall on amid the fray
    Mæonia's sons.
                    But Arruns now, the foredoomed man of fate,
    Encompassing Camilla's ways with spear and guile, doth wait          760
    On all her goings; spying out what hap is easiest.
    Now, wheresoe'er the hot-heart maid amid the battle pressed,
    There Arruns winds, and silently holds watch on all her ways:
    And when from forth the foe she comes, bearing the victory's praise,
    Still speedily in privy wise the rein he turns about:
    This way he tries, that way he tries, still wandering in and out
    On all sides; shaking spear of doom with evil heart of guile.

    Now Chloreus, bond of Cybele and priest upon a while,
    Afar as happed in Phrygian gear gleamed out upon his steed,
    Foaming and goodly: clad was he in skin-wrought battle-weed,         770
    With brazen scales done feather-wise, and riveted with gold,
    And grand was he in outland red and many a purple fold;
    Gortynian arrows from afar with Lycian horn he sped;
    Gold rang the bow upon his back; gold-mitred was his head
    In priestly wise; his saffron scarf, the crackling folds of it
    Of linen fine, in knot about a red-gold buckle knit;
    His kirtle was embroidered fair, his hosen outland-wrought.
    The maiden, whether Trojan gear for temple-gate she sought,
    Or whether she herself would wend, glorious in war-got gold,
    Amidst of all the press of arms this man in chase must hold          780
    Blind as a hunter; all unware amidst the war-array
    She burned with all a woman's lust for spoil of men and prey:
    When now, the time at last being seized, from out its lurking-place
    Arruns drew forth his spear, and prayed the Gods above for grace:

    "Highest of Gods, Apollo, ward of dear Soracte's stead,
    Whom we first honour, unto whom the piny blaze is fed;
    Whom worshipping, we, waxen strong in might of godliness,
    The very midmost of the fire with eager foot-soles press--
    Almighty Father, give me grace to do away our shame!
    No battle-gear, no trophies won from vanquished maid I claim,        790
    No spoils I seek; my other deeds shall bring me praise of folk;
    Let but this dreadful pest of men but fall beneath my stroke,
    And me wend back without renown unto my father's place!"

    Apollo heard, and half the prayer he turned his heart to grace,
    The other half he flung away adown the wind to go.
    That he by sudden stroke of death should lay Camilla low,--
    He granted this: that his high house should see his safe return,
    He granted not: the hurrying gusts that word to breezes turn.

    So when the shaft hurled from his hand gave sound upon the air,
    All Volscians turn their hardy hearts, and all men's eyen bear       800
    Upon the Queen: but she no whit had any breeze in mind,
    Or whistle of the spear that sped from out the house of wind,
    Until the hurrying shaft beneath her naked bosom stood,
    And clung there, deeply driven home, drinking her virgin blood.
    Her frighted damsels run to her and catch the falling maid,
    But Arruns fleeth fast, forsooth more than all they afraid--
    Afraid and glad--nor durst he more to trust him to the spear,
    Or 'neath the hail of maiden darts his body forth to bear.
    And as the murder-wolf, ere yet the avenging spear-points bite,
    Straight hideth him in pathless place amid the mountain-height,      810
    When he hath slain some shepherd-lad or bullock of the fold;
    Down goes his tail, when once he knows his deed so overbold,
    Along his belly close it clings as he the woodland seeks.
    Not otherwise from sight of men the wildered Arruns sneaks,
    And mingles in the middle fight, glad to be clear away.

    Death-smitten, at the spear she plucks; amidst her bones it lay,
    About the ribs, that iron point in baneful wound and deep:
    She droopeth bloodless, droop her eyes acold in deadly sleep;
    From out her cheeks the colour flees that once therewith were clear.
    Then, passing, Acca she bespeaks, her very maiden peer,              820
    Her who alone of all the rest might share Camilla's rede,
    A trusted friend: such words to her the dying mouth doth speed:

    "Sister, thus far my might hath gone; but now this bitter wound
    Maketh an end, and misty dark are grown all things around:
    Fly forth, and unto Turnus bear my very latest words;
    Let him to fight, and from the town thrust off the Trojan swords--
    Farewell, farewell!"--
                          And with the word the bridle failed her hold,
    And unto earth unwilling now she flowed, and waxen cold
    Slowly she slipped her body's bonds; her languid neck she bent,
    Laid down the head that death had seized, and left her armament;     830
    And with a groan her life flew forth disdainful into night.

    Then rose the cry and smote aloft the starry golden height,
    And with the Queen so felled to field the fight grew young again,
    And thronged and serried falleth on the Teucrian might and main,
    The Tuscan Dukes, Evander's host, the wings of Arcady.

    But Opis, Dian's watch of war, set on the mountain high,
    A long while now all unafeard had eyed the battle o'er,
    And when far off, amid the cries of maddened men of war,
    She saw Camilla win the death by bitter ill award,                   839
    She groaned, and from her inmost heart such words as these she poured:
    "Alas, O maid, thou payest it o'ermuch and bitterly,
    That thou unto the Teucrian folk the challenge needs must cry.
    Ah, nothing it availed thee, maid, through deserts of the deer
    To worship Dian, or our shafts upon thy back to bear.
    And yet the Queen hath left thee not alone amidst of shame
    In grip of death; nor shalt thou die a death without a name
    In people's ears; nor yet as one all unavenged be told:
    For whosoever wronged thy flesh with wounding overbold
    Shall pay the penalty well earned."
                                          Now 'neath the mountains high,
    All clad with shady holm-oaks o'er, a mighty mound doth lie,         850
    The tomb of King Dercennus called, Laurentum's lord of yore;
    And thitherward her speedy feet that loveliest Goddess bore,
    And there abiding, Arruns spied from off the high-heaped mound
    But when the wretch in gleaming arms puffed up with pride she found,
    "Why," quoth she, "dost thou turn away? Here, hither wend thy feet;
    Come here and perish; take reward for slain Camilla meet!
    But ah, for death of such an one is Dian's arrow due?"

    Then from the Thracian quiver gilt a wingèd shaft she drew,
    And bent the horn-wrought bow withal with heart on slaying set:
    Far drew she, till the curving horns each with the other met:        860
    Alike she strained her hands to shoot; the left hand felt the steel,
    The right that drew the string aback her very breast did feel.
    Then straightway Arruns heard in one the bow-string how it rung,
    And whistle of the wind; and there the shaft within him clung:
    His fellows leave him dying there and groaning out his last,
    Forgotten in an unknown field, amid the sand downcast;
    While to Olympus on the wing straightway is Opis borne.

    But now first flees Camilla's band, their Queen and mistress lorn,
    And flee the beaten Rutuli, and fierce Atinas flees;
    The Dukes of men in disarray, the broken companies                   870
    Now turn their faces to the town, and seek a sheltering place,
    Nor yet may any turn with spear upon the Teucrian chase,
    That beareth death of men in hand, or bar the homeward road:
    Cast back on fainting shoulders now the loose bow hangs a load;
    The horny hoofs of four-foot things shake down the dusty mead,
    The mirky cloud of rolling dust doth ever townward speed;
    And mothers beating of their breasts stand on the watch-towers high,
    And cast abroad their woman's wail up to the starry sky.
    But they who in their fleeing first break through the open doors,
    In mingled tumult on their backs a crowd of foemen pours;            880
    Nor do they 'scape a wretched death: there, on the threshold-stead,
    Within their fathers' walls, amidst the peace of home, they shed
    The lives from out their bodies pierced: then some men shut the gate,
    Nor durst they open to their friends, or take in them that wait
    Praying without; and there indeed is woeful slaughter towards
    Of them that fence the wall with swords, and rushers on the swords.
    Those shut out 'neath the very eyes of weeping kith and kin,
    Some headlong down the ditches roll, by fleeing rout thrust in;
    Some blindly and with loosened rein spur on their steeds to meet
    As battering-rams the very gates, the ruthless door-leaves beat      890
    And now, in agony of fight, the mothers on the walls,
    E'en as they saw Camilla do, (so love of country calls),
    With hurrying hands the javelins cast, and in the iron's stead
    Make shift of hardened pale of oak and stake with half-burned head.
    Hot-heart they are, afire to die the first their town to save.

    Meanwhile to Turnus in the woods sweeps in that cruel wave
    Of tidings: trouble measureless doth Acca to him bring,--
    The wasting of the Volscian host, Camilla's murdering,
    The onset of the baneful foe with favouring Mars to aid;
    The ruin of all things; present fear e'en on the city laid,          900
    He, madly wroth, (for even so Jove's dreadful might deemed good),
    Leaveth the hills' beleaguerment and mirky rugged wood.
    Scarce was he out of sight thereof, and nigh his camp to win,
    When mid the opened pass and bare Æneas entereth in,
    Climbeth the ridge, and slippeth through the thicket's shadowy night.

    So either toward the city fares with all their battle-might,
    And no long space of way indeed there was betwixt the twain,
    For e'en so soon as far away Æneas saw the plain
    Through dusty reek, and saw withal Laurentum's host afar,
    Turnus the fierce Æneas knew in all array of war,                    910
    And heard the marching footmen tramp, and coming horses neigh.
    Then had they fallen to fight forthwith and tried the battle-play,
    But rosy Phoebus sank adown amidst Iberian flood
    His weary steeds, and brought back Night upon the failing day.
    So there they pitch before the town and make their ramparts good.

BOOK XII.

ARGUMENT.

HEREIN ARE ÆNEAS AND TURNUS PLEDGED TO FIGHT THE MATTER OUT IN SINGLE
COMBAT; BUT THE LATINS BREAK THE PEACE AND ÆNEAS IS WOUNDED: IN THE END
ÆNEAS MEETETH TURNUS INDEED, AND SLAYETH HIM.

    When Turnus sees the Latin men all failing from the sword,
    Broken by Mars, and that all folk bethink them of his word,
    And fall to mark him with their eyes, then fell he burns indeed,
    And raises up his heart aloft; e'en as in Punic mead
    The smitten lion, hurt in breast by steel from hunters' ring,
    Setteth the battle in array, and joyfully doth fling
    The mane from off his brawny neck, and fearless of his mood
    Breaks off the clinging robber-spear, and roars from mouth of blood;
    E'en so o'er Turnus' fiery heart the tide of fury wins,
    And thus he speaketh to the King, and hasty speech begins:            10

    "No hanging back in Turnus is, and no Ænean thrall
    Hath aught to do to break his word or plighted troth recall:
    I will go meet him: Father, bring the Gods, the peace-troth plight;
    Then either I this Dardan thing will send adown to night,--
    This rag of Asia,--Latin men a-looking on the play,
    And all alone the people's guilt my sword shall wipe away;
    Or let him take us beaten folk, and wed Lavinia then!"

    But unto him from quiet soul Latinus spake again:
    "Great-hearted youth, by e'en so much as thou in valorous might
    Dost more excel, by so much I must counsel me aright,                 20
    And hang all haps that may betide in those sad scales of mine.
    Thine are thy father Daunus' realms, a many towns are thine,
    Won by thine hand: Latinus too his gold and goodwill yields;
    But other high-born maids unwed dwell in Laurentine fields
    Or Latin land,--nay, suffer me to set all guile apart,
    And say a hard thing--do thou take this also to thine heart:
    To none of all her wooers of old my daughter may I wed;
    This warning word of prophecy all men and Gods have sped.
    But by thy kindred blood o'ercome, and by the love of thee,
    And by my sad wife's tears, I broke all bonds and set me free.        30
    From son-in-law I rapt his bride, I drew a godless sword.
    What mishaps and what wrack of peace have been my due reward
    Thou seest, Turnus, and what grief I was the first to bear.
    Twice beaten in a woeful fight, scarce is our city here
    Held by the hope of Italy: still Tiber-flood rolls by,
    Warm with our blood, and 'neath our bones wide meadows whitening lie.
    But whither waver I so oft? what folly shifts my mind?
    If I am ready, Turnus dead, peace with these men to bind,
    Shall I not rather while thou liv'st cast all the war away?
    What shall my kindred Rutuli, what shall Italia say,                  40
    If I deliver thee to death, (Fate thrust the words aside!)
    Thee, who hast wooed me for thy sire, my daughter for thy bride?
    Look on the wavering hap of war, pity thy father's eld,
    Now far from thee in sorrow sore by ancient Ardea held."

    But not a whit might all these words the wrath of Turnus bend.
    Nay, worser waxed he, sickening more by medicine meant to mend:
    And e'en so soon as he might speak, such words were in his mouth:
    "Thy trouble for my sake, best lord, e'en for my sake forsooth,
    Lay down, I prithee; let me buy a little praise with death.
    I too, O father, sow the spear, nor weak hand scattereth              50
    The iron seed, with me afield: the blood-springs know my stroke.
    Nor here shall be his Goddess-dame with woman's cloud to cloak
    A craven king, and hide herself in empty mirky shade."

    But now the Queen, by this new chance of battle sore afraid,
    Fell weeping, as her fiery son she held with dying eyes:
    "O Turnus, by these tears, by what of worship for me lies
    Anigh thy heart; O, only hope of this my latter tide,
    Sole rest from sorrow! thou, in whom all worship doth abide,
    All glory of the Latin name, our falling house-wall stay!
    Set not thine hand to Teucrian war; this thing alone I pray.          60
    Whatever lot abideth thee, O Turnus, mid the fight,
    Abideth me, and I with thee will leave the loathed light;
    Nor will I, made Æneas' thrall, behold him made my son."

    Lavinia heard her mother's words with burning cheeks, whereon
    Lay rain of tears, for thereunto exceeding ruddy flush
    Had brought the fire that now along her litten face did rush:
    As when the Indian ivory they wrong with blood-red dye,
    Or when mid many lilies white the ruddy roses lie,
    E'en such a mingled colour showed upon the maiden's face.
    Sore stirred by love upon the maid he fixed his constant gaze,        70
    And, all the more afire for fight, thus to Amata said:

    "I prithee, mother, with these tears, such sign of coming dread,
    Dog not my feet as forth I wend to Mavors' bitter play;
    For Turnus is not free to thrust the hour of death away.
    Go, Idmon, bear the Phrygian lord these very words of mine,
    Nought for his pleasure: When the dawn tomorrow first shall shine,
    And from her purple wheels aloft shall redden all the sky,
    Lead not thy Teucrians to the fight: Teucrians and Rutuli
    Shall let their swords be; and we twain, our blood shall quench the strife,
    And we upon that field shall woo Lavinia for a wife."                 80

    He spake, and to the roofed place now swiftly wending home,
    Called for his steeds, and merrily stood there before their foam,
    E'en those that Orithyia gave Pilumnus, gift most fair,
    Whose whiteness overpassed the snow, whose speed the wingèd air.
    The busy horse-boys stand about, and lay upon their breasts
    The clapping of their hollow hands, and comb their manèd crests.
    But he the mail-coat doth on him well-wrought with golden scale
    And latten white; he fits the sword unto his hand's avail:
    His shield therewith, and hornèd helm with ruddy crest o'erlaid:
    That sword, the very Might of Fire for father Daunus made,            90
    And quenched the white-hot edge thereof amidst the Stygian flood.
    Then the strong spear he took in hand that 'gainst the pillar stood,
    Amidmost of the house: that spear his hand won mightily
    From Actor of Auruncum erst; he shakes the quivering tree
    Loud crying: "Now, O spear of mine, who never heretofore
    Hast failed my call, the day draws on: thee the huge Actor bore,
    Now Turnus' right hand wieldeth thee: to aid, that I prevail
    To lay the Phrygian gelding low, and strip his rended mail
    By might of hand; to foul with dust the ringlets of his hair,
    Becrisped with curling-irons hot and drenched with plenteous myrrh!"  100

    By such a fury is he driven; from all his countenance
    The fiery flashes leap, the flames in his fierce eyeballs dance:
    As when a bull in first of fight raiseth a fearful roar,
    And teacheth wrath unto his horns and whets them for the war,
    And 'gainst the tree-trunks pusheth them, and thrusts the breezes home,
    And with the scattering of the sand preludeth fight to come.

    Nor less Æneas, terrible, in Venus' armour dight,
    Now whetteth war; and in his heart stirreth the wrath of fight,
    That plighted peace shall lay the war fain is his heart and glad;
    His fellows' minds and bitter fear that makes Iulus sad              110
    He solaceth with fate-wise words; then bids his folk to bear
    His answer to the Latin king and peace-laws to declare.

    But scarce the morrow's dawn of day had lit the mountain steeps,
    And scarce the horses of the Sun drew upward from the deeps,
    And from their nostrils raised aloft blew forth the morning clear,
    When Trojans and Rutulian men the field of fight prepare,
    And measure out a space beneath the mighty city's wall.
    Midmost the hearths they hallow there to common Gods of all,
    And grassy altars: other some bear fire, and fountain's flow,
    All linen clad, and vervain leaves are crowning every brow.          120
    Forth comes the host of Italy, the men that wield the spear
    Pour outward from the crowded gate; the Trojan host is there,
    And all the Tyrrhene company in battle-gear diverse,
    Nor otherwise in iron clad, than if the War-god fierce
    Cried on to arms: and in the midst of war-ranks thousandfold
    The dukes are flitting, well beseen in purple dye and gold,
    E'en Mnestheus of Assaracus, Asylas huge of force,
    Messapus, Neptune's very son, the tamer of the horse.
    But when the sign was given abroad each to his own place won,
    And set his spear-shaft in the earth and leaned his shield thereon.  130
    Then streamed forth mothers fain to see and elders feeble grown;
    The unarmed crowd beset the towers and houses of the town,
    And others of the people throng the high-built gates around.

    But Juno from the steep that men now call the Alban mound
    (Though neither worship, name, nor fame it bore upon that day),
    Was looking down upon the lists and either war-array
    Of Trojan and Laurentine men, and King Latinus' wall,
    Then upon Turnus' sister's ear her words of God did fall:
    A goddess she, the queen of mere and sounding river-wave;
    Which worship Jupiter the King, the Heaven-Abider gave               140
    A hallowed gift to pay her back for ravished maidenhood:

    "O Nymph, the glory of the streams, heart well-beloved and good,
    Thee only, as thou know'st, I love of all who e'er have come
    Into the unkind bed of Jove from out a Latin home,
    With goodwill have I granted thee the heavenly house to share;
    Therefore, Juturna, know thy grief lest I the blame should bear:
    While Fortune would, and while the Fates allowed the Latin folk
    A happy day, so long did I thy town and Turnus cloak;
    But now I see him hastening on to meet the fated ill:
    His doomsday comes, the foeman's hand shall soon his hour fulfil.    150
    I may not look upon the fight, or see the wagered field;
    But thou, if any present help thou durst thy brother yield,
    Haste, it behoves thee!--happier days on wretches yet may rise."

    Scarce spake she ere Juturna poured the tear-flood from her eyes,
    And thrice and four times smote with hand her bosom well beseen.
    "Nay, this is now no weeping-time," saith that Saturnian Queen,
    "Haste; snatch thy brother from the death if all be not undone,
    Or wake up war and rend apart the treaty scarce begun;
    And I am she that bids thee dare."
                                        She urged her, and she left
    Her wavering mind and turmoiled heart with sorrow's torment cleft.   160

    Meantime the Kings--Latinus there, a world of state around,
    Is borne upon the fourfold car, his gleaming temples bound
    With twice six golden rays, the sign of his own grandsire's light,
    The heavenly Sun; and Turnus wends with twi-yoked horses white,
    Tossing in hand two shafts of war with broad-beat points of steel.
    And hither Father Æneas, spring of the Roman weal,
    Flaming with starry shield and arms wrought in the heavenly home,
    And next to him Ascanius young, the second hope of Rome,
    Fare from the camp: the priest thereon, in unstained raiment due,
    Offereth a son of bristly sow and unshorn yearling ewe,              170
    And bringeth up the four-foot hosts unto the flaming place.
    But they, with all eyes turned about the rising sun to face,
    Give forth the salt meal from the hand, and with the iron sign
    The victims' brows, and mid the flame pour out the bowls of wine:
    Then good Æneas draws his sword, and thuswise prays the prayer:
    "Bear witness, Sun, and thou, O Land, who dost my crying hear!
    Land, for whose sake I waxed in might, sustaining toils enow;
    And Thou, Almighty Father, hear! Saturnian Juno thou,
    Grown kinder, Goddess, I beseech; and thou, most glorious Mars,
    Father, whose hand of utter might is master of all wars;             180
    Ye Springs, and River-floods I call, and whatsoever God
    Is in the air, or whatso rules the blue sea with its rod--
    If to Ausonian Turnus here Fortune shall give the day,
    The conquered to Evander's town shall straightly wend their way;
    Iulus shall depart the land, nor shall Æneas' folk
    Stir war hereafter, or with sword the Latin wrath provoke.
    But if the grace of victory here bow down upon our fight;
    --(As I believe, as may the Gods make certain with their might!)--
    I will not bid the Italian men to serve the Teucrian's will;
    Nor for myself seek I the realm; but all unconquered still           190
    Let either folk with equal laws plight peace for evermore:
    The Gods and worship I will give, Latinus see to war;
    My father lawful rule shall have; for me my Teucrians here
    Shall build a city, and that home Lavinia's name shall bear."

    So first Æneas: after whom Latinus swears and says,
    Looking aloft, and stretching hands up towards the starry ways:
    "E'en so, Æneas, do I swear by Stars, and Sea, and Earth,
    By twi-faced Janus, and the twins Latona brought to birth,
    And by the nether Might of God and shrine of unmoved Dis;
    And may the Sire who halloweth in all troth-plight hearken this:     200
    I hold the altars, and these Gods and fires to witness take,
    That, as for Italy, no day the peace and troth shall break,
    What thing soever shall befall; no might shall conquer me.
    Not such as with the wrack of flood shall mingle earth and sea,
    Nor such as into nether Hell shall melt the heavenly land.
    E'en as this sceptre"--(for by chance he bore a staff in hand)--
    "Shall never more to leafage light and twig and shadow shoot,
    Since when amid the thicket-place, cut off from lowest root,
    It lost its mother, and the knife hath lopped it, leaf and bough,--
    A tree once, but the craftsman's hand hath wrapped it seemly now     210
    With brass about, and made it meet for hands of Latin lords."

    So in the sight of all the chiefs with such abundant words
    They bound the troth-plight fast and sure: then folk in due wise slay
    The victims on the altar-flame, and draw the hearts away
    Yet living, and with platters full the holy altars pile.

    But unto those Rutulian men unequal this long while
    The fight had seemed, and in their hearts the mingled trouble rose;
    And all the more, as nigher now they note the ill-matched foes,
    This helpeth Turnus' silent step, and suppliant worshipping
    About the altars, and his eyes that unto earth do cling,             220
    His faded cheeks, his youthful frame that wonted colour lacks.
    Wherefore Jaturna, when she hears the talk of people wax,
    And how the wavering hearts of men in diverse manner sway,
    Like unto Camers wendeth now amidst of that array;
    --A mighty man, from mighty blood, his father well renowned
    For valorous worth, and he himself keen in the battle found.
    So through the mid array she speeds, well knowing what is toward,
    And soweth rumour on the wind and speaketh such a word:

    "O shame ye not, Rutulian men, to offer up one soul
    For all your warriors? lack we aught in might or muster-roll         230
    To match them? Here is all they have--Trojans, Arcadian peers,
    And that Etruscan Turnus' bane, the fateful band of spears:
    Why, if we meet, each second man shall scantly find a foe.
    And now their king, upborne by fame, unto the Gods shall go,
    Upon whose shrines he vows himself; his name shall live in tale.
    But we shall lose our fatherland and 'neath proud lords shall fail,
    E'en those that sit there heavy-slow upon our fields today."

    So with such words she lit the hearts of all that young array;
    Yet more and more a murmur creeps about the ranks of men;
    Changed even are Laurentine folk; changed are the Latins then;       240
    They who had hoped that rest from fight and peaceful days were won,
    Are now but fain of battle-gear, and wish the troth undone,
    For ruth that such a cruel fate on Turnus' head should fall.
    But unto these a greater thing Jaturna adds withal,
    A sign from heaven; and nought so much stirred Italy that day,
    As this whose prodigy beguiled men's hearts to go astray:
    For now the yellow bird of Jove amid the ruddy light
    Was chasing of the river-fowl, and drave in hurried flight
    The noisy throng; when suddenly down to the waves he ran,
    And caught in greedy hookèd claws a goodly-bodied swan:              250
    Uprose the hearts of Italy, for all the fowl cry out,
    And, wonderful for eyes to see, from fleeing turn about,
    Darken the air with cloud of wings, and fall upon the foe;
    Till he, oppressed by might of them and by his prey held low,
    Gives way, and casts the quarry down from out his hookéd claws
    Into the river, and aback to inner cloud-land draws.

    Then to the sign the Rutuli shout greeting with one breath,
    And spread their hands abroad; but first the seer Tolumnius saith:
    "This, this is that, which still my prayers sought oft and o'er again.
    I take the sign, I know the God! to arms with me, O men!             260
    Poor people, whom the stranger-thief hath terrified with war.
    E'en like these feeble fowl; who wastes the acres of your shore,
    Yet shall he fly, and give his sails unto the outer sea:
    But ye, your ranks with heart and mind now serry manfully,
    And ward your ravished King and Duke with all your battle-world!"

    He spake, and, running forth, a shaft against the foe he hurled.
    Forth whizzed the cornel through the air, cleaving its way aright,
    And therewithal great noise outbreaks, and every wedge of fight
    Is turmoiled, and the hearts of men are kindled for the fray.
    On sped the shaft to where there stood across its baneful way        270
    Nine fair-shaped brethren, whom whilom one faithful Tuscan wife
    Amid Gylippus' Arcad house brought forth to light and life:
    Now one of these, e'en where the belt of knitted stitches wrought
    Chafed on the belly, and the clasp the joining edges caught,
    A youth most excellent of frame and clad in glittering gear--
    It pierced his ribs; on yellow sand it stretched him dying there.
    Thereat his brethren, a fierce folk, with grief and rage alight,
    Some draw their swords and some catch up the steel of speedy flight,
    And rush on blind: Laurentum's ranks, against them swift they go,
    And thick the Trojans from their side the meadows overflow,          280
    Agyllans and Arcadian men with painted war array;
    And one lust winneth over all with point and edge to play.
    They strip the altars; drifting storm of weapon-shot doth gain
    O'er all the heavens, and ever grows the iron battle-rain.

    The bowls and hearths they bear away: Latinus gets him gone,
    Bearing aback the beaten Gods and troth-plight all undone,
    But other men rein in the car and leap upon the steed,
    And there with naked swords they sit, all ready for the need.

    Messapus, fain to rend the troth, on hostile horse down-bears
    Upon Aulestes, Tuscan king, who kingly raiment wears:                290
    He fled, but as abackward there away from him he went,
    Came on the altars at his back in hapless tanglement
    Of head and shoulders: thitherward doth hot Messapus fly
    With spear in hand, and from his steed he smites him heavily
    With the great beam amid his prayers, and word withal doth say:
    "He hath it, and the Gods have got a better host today!"
    Therewith to strip his body warm up runs the Italian band;
    But Corynæus from the hearth catches a half-burnt brand,
    And e'en as Ebusus comes up, and stroke in hand doth bear,
    He filleth all his face with flame; out doth his great beard flare,  300
    And sendeth stink of burning forth: the Trojan followed on
    The wildered man, and with his left grip of his tresses won,
    And, straining hard with weight of knee, to earth he pinned his foe,
    And drave the stark sword through his side.
                                                See Podalirius go,
    Chasing the shepherd Alsus through the front of weapon-wrack;
    O'er him he hangs with naked sword; but he, with bill swung back,
    Cleaveth the foeman facing him through midmost brow and chin,
    And all about his battle-gear the bloody rain doth win:
    Then iron slumber fell on him, hard rest weighed down his eyes,
    And shut were they for evermore in night that never dies.            310

    Then good Æneas stretched forth hands all empty of the sword,
    And called bare-headed on his folk, with eager shouted word:
    "Where rush ye on, and whither now doth creeping discord rise?
    Refrain your wrath; the troth is struck; its laws in equal wise
    Are doomed; and 'tis for me alone the battle to endure.
    Nay, let me be! cast fear away; my hand shall make it sure.
    This troth-plight, all these holy things, owe Turnus to my sword."

    But while his voice was sounding, lo, amidmost of his word,
    A whistling speedy-wingèd shaft unto the hero won;
    Unknown what hand hath sped it forth, what whirlwind bore it on;     320
    What God, what hap, such glory gave to hands of Rutuli;
    Beneath the weight of things unknown dead doth the honour lie,
    Nor boasted any of the hurt Æneas had that day.

    But Turnus, when he saw the King give back from that array,
    And all the turmoil of the Dukes, with hope his heart grew fain;
    He cried for horse and arms, and leapt aloft to battle-wain,
    And high of heart set on apace, the bridle in his hand;
    And many a brave man there he gave unto the deadly land,
    And rolled o'er wounded men in heaps, and high in car wore down
    The ranks of men; and fleers' spears from out his hand were thrown:
    E'en as when litten up to war by Hebrus' chilly flood                331
    Red Mavors beateth on his shield, and rouseth fightful mood
    Amid the fury of his steeds, who o'er the level lea
    In uttermost hoof-smitten Thrace the south and west outflee.
    And lo, the fellows of the God, the black Fear's bitter face,
    The Rage of men, the Guile of War anigh him wend apace:
    E'en so amid the battle-field his horses Turnus sped,
    Reeking with sweat: there tramples he the woeful heaps of dead,
    The hurrying hoofs go scattering wide a drift of bloody rain;
    The gore, all blent with sandy dust, is pounded o'er the plain.      340
    To death he casteth Sthenelus, Pholus, and Thamyris;
    Those twain anigh, but him afar; from far the bane he is
    Of Glaucus and of Lades, sons of Imbrasus, whom he
    In Lycia bred a while agone, and armed them equally
    To fight anigh, or on their steeds the winds to overrun.

    But otherwhere amidst the fight Eumedes fareth on,
    The son of Dolon of old time, most well-renowned in fight,
    And bringing back his father's name in courage and in might:
    For that was he who while agone the Danaan camp espied,
    And chose Achilles' car for spoil in his abundant pride:             350
    But otherwise Tydides paid for such a deed o'erbold,
    And no more had he any hope Achilles' steeds to hold.
    So Turnus, when adown the lea this warrior he had seen,
    First a light spear he sent in chase across the void between,
    Then stayed his steeds, and leaping down unto the fallen ran,
    And set his foot upon the neck of that scarce-breathing man,
    And from his right hand wrenched the sword and bathed its glittering blade
    Deep in his throat, and therewithal such spoken chiding said:
    "Down, Trojan! measure out the mead, and that Hesperean land
    Thou sought'st in war: such are the gifts that fall unto the hand    360
    Of those that dare the sword with me; such city-walls they raise!"

    Asbutes wends 'neath spear-cast then, a fellow of his ways;
    Chloreus, Dares, Thersilochus, and Sybaris, withal;
    Thymoetes, who from rearing horse had hap to catch a fall;
    And e'en as when the breathing forth of Thracian Boreas roars
    O'er deep Ægean, driving on the wave-press to the shores,
    Then wheresoe'er the wind stoops down the clouds flee heaven apace;
    So wheresoe'er cleaves Turnus way all battle giveth place,
    All war-array is turned to wrack: his onrush beareth him,
    And in the breeze that meets his car his tossing crest doth swim.    370

    This onset of the maddened heart nought Phegeus might abide,
    But cast himself before the steeds, and caught and wrenched aside
    The bit-befoaming mouths of them, the heart-stung hurrying steeds.
    But while he hangeth dragged along, the spear broad-headed speeds
    Unto his shieldless side, and rends the twilinked coat of mail,
    And for the razing of his flesh a little doth avail:
    But he turned round about his shield and at the foemen made,
    And from his naked sword drawn forth sought most well-needed aid;
    When now the axle-tree and wheel, unto fresh speeding won,
    Cast him down headlong unto earth, and Turnus following on,          380
    Betwixt the lowest of the helm and haubert's upper lip
    Sheared off his head, and left the trunk upon the sand to slip.

    But while victorious Turnus gives these deaths unto the plain,
    Mnestheus and that Achates leal, Ascanius with the twain,
    Bring great Æneas to the camp all covered with his blood;
    There, propping up his halting steps with spear-shaft long, he stood:
    Mad wroth he is, and strives to pluck the broken reed away,
    And bids them help by any road, the swiftest that they may,
    To cut away the wound with sword, cut to the hiding-place
    Where lies the steel, and send him back to meet the battle's face.   390
    Iapis, son of Iasus, by Phoebus best beloved,
    Draws nigh now: Phoebus on a time, by mighty longing moved,
    Was fain to give him gifts of God, his very heavenly craft--
    Foresight, or skill of harp-playing, or mastery of the shaft:
    But he, that from his bed-rid sire the death he yet might stave,
    Would liefer know the might of herbs, and how men heal and save,
    And, speeding of a silent craft, inglorious life would wear.

    Æneas, fretting bitterly, stood leaning on his spear
    Midst a great concourse of the lords, with sad Iulus by,
    Unmoved amid their many tears: the elder, girded high                400
    In folded gown, in e'en such wise as Pæon erst was dight,
    With hurrying hand speeds many a salve of Phoebus' herbs of might;
    But all in vain: his right hand woos the arrow-head in vain;
    For nought the teeth of pincers grip the iron of the bane;
    No happy road will Fortune show, no help Apollo yields:
    And grimly terror more and more prevaileth o'er the fields,
    And nigher draws the evil hour: they see the dusty pall
    Spread o'er the heaven; draw horsemen nigh, and shafts begin to fall
    Thick in the midmost of the camp: grim clamour smites the stars,
    The shouts of men, the cries of men that fall in game of Mars.       410

    Now Mother Venus, sore at heart for her sore-wounded son,
    Plucketh a stalk of dittany from Cretan Ida won,
    That with a downy leaf of grey and purple head doth grow,
    And well enough the mountain-goats the herbage of it know
    What time the winged shaft of man within them clingeth sore.
    This Venus brought, with cloudy cloak her body covered o'er,
    This in the waves of glittering rims she steepeth privily,
    Drugging the cup, and wholesome juice withal there blendeth she,
    Wrought of ambrosia; heal-all too most sweet of heavenly smell.
    So with that stream Iapis old the shaft-wound cherished well         420
    Unwitting: sudden from the flesh all grievance doth depart,
    And all the blood is staunched at once up from the wound's deep heart,
    And comes the shaft unto the hand with nought to force it forth,
    And freshly to the king returns his ancient might and worth.
    Then cries Iapis:
                      "Loiter ye? arms for the hero then!"
    And he is first against the foe to whet the hearts of men.
    "Lo, not from any help of man, nor from art's mastery
    These things have happed, nor hath mine hand, Æneas, holpen thee.
    A great God wrought to send thee back great deeds of fame to win."

    Then, fain of fight, on either side the king his legs shuts in       430
    With ruddy gold: he loathes delay, and high his war-shaft shakes;
    And then his left side meets the shield, his back the hauberk takes,
    And round Iulus casteth he a steel-clad man's embrace,
    And saith, but lightly kissing him from midst the helmet's space:

    "Child, the bare valour learn of me and very earthly toil,
    Good-hap of others; my right hand shall ward thee in the broil
    These days that are, and gain for thee exceeding great rewards;
    But thou, when ripe thine age shall grow, remember well the swords;
    Then as thine heart seeks through the past for kin to show the road,
    Well shall thy sire Æneas stir, thine uncle Hector goad."            440

    But when these words are cast abroad, huge through the gate he goes,
    Shaking in hand a mighty spear; then in arrayment close
    Antheus and Mnestheus rush to war: the camp is left behind,
    And all the host flows forth; the fields are blent with dust-cloud blind,
    And, stirred by trample of the feet, the earth's face trembleth sore.
    But Turnus from a facing mound beheld that coming war.
    The Ausonians looked, and through their hearts swift ran the chilly fear:
    And now before all other men first doth Jaturna hear,
    And know the sound, and, quaking sore, she fleeth back again.
    On comes he, hurrying on the host black o'er the open plain:         450
    As when a storm cast on the world from heaven asunder rent,
    Wendeth across the middle sea: out! how the dread is sent
    Deep to the field-folks' boding hearts:--here comes the orchards' bane,
    Here comes the acres' utter wrack, the ruin of all the plain!
    The gale that goes before its face brings tidings to the shore:
    So 'gainst the foe the Trojan Duke led on his hosts of war;
    And gathering in the wedge-array all knit them close around.

    Now hath Thymbræus' battle-blade the huge Osiris found,
    And Mnestheus slays Archetius, Achates Epulo,
    And Gyas Ufens: yea, the seer Tolumnius lieth low,                   460
    He who was first against the foe to hurl the war-shaft out.
    The cry goes up unto the heaven; the war-tide turns about,
    Dust-cloud of flight the Rutuli raise up across the field:
    But he, the King, thinks scorn of it to smite the backs that yield;
    Nay, those that meet him foot to foot, the wielders of the spear,
    He followeth not: Turnus alone his eyes track everywhere
    Amid the dust-cloud, him alone he crieth unto fight.
    Hereby Jaturna's manly mind is shaken with affright;
    Metiscus, Turnus' charioteer, she plucketh from the rein,
    And leaveth him fallen down afar from yoking pole and wain:          470
    But she mounts up, and with her hand the waving bridle guides,
    The while Metiscus' voice, and limbs, and war-gear with her bides:
    As when amid a lordling's house there flits a swallow black,
    On skimming wings she seeks to still her noisy nestlings' lack,
    And wandering through the lofty halls but little feast doth get,
    Then soundeth through the empty porch, and round the fish-pools wet,
    So is Jaturna borne on wheels amidmost of the foe,
    And flying on in hurrying chase by everything doth go,
    Now here, now there, her brother shows all flushed with victory,
    But still refrains him from the press; far o'er the waste they fly.  480

    No less Æneas picks his way amid the winding road,
    Tracking the man, and through the rout cries ever high and loud;
    But e'en as oftentimes as he his foeman caught with eye,
    And 'gainst the flight of wingèd steeds his running feet would try,
    So oft the speedy wain of war Jaturna turned aside.
    Ah, what to do? In vain he went, borne on a shifting tide,
    While diverse cares to clashing ways the soul within him drave.
    But lo, Messapus, speedy-light, who chanced in hand to have
    Two light and limber shafts of tree, each with its iron head,
    Now whirling one, a shot well aimed unto the hero sped:              490
    Ænesis stayed, and gathered him behind his shielding-gear,
    And sank upon his knee; no less the eager-driven spear
    Smote on his helm, and shore away the topmost of his crest
    Then verily his wrath arose; by all that guile oppressed,
    When he beheld the steeds and car far from his battle borne,
    He bade Jove witness, and the hearths of troth-plight wronged and torn:
    He breaks at last amidst of them with Mars to help him on,
    And fearful speedeth work of death wherein he spareth none,
    And casteth every rein aside that held his anger in.

    What God shall tell me all the woe, what God the song shall win      500
    Of shifting death and Dukes undone, and all those many dead,
    By Turnus and by him of Troy about the fight-field spread?
    O Jupiter, was this thy will, that nations doomed to live
    In peace hereafter, on that day in such a broil should strive?

    Rutulian Sucro was the first that Trojan onset stayed;
    Æneas met him, and forsooth no long delay he made,
    But smote his side, and through his ribs and fencing of the breast
    Drave on his bitter naked sword where way was easiest.

    Turnus afoot met Amycus, cast down from off his horse,
    His brother, swift Diores, too: the first amidst his course          510
    The long spear smote, the sword the last; the heads of both the twain
    He hangeth up and beareth on shedding a bloody rain.

    Talon and Tanais therewith, Cethegus stout to do,
    All three at once the Trojan sped, and sad Onytes slew,
    Whom to the name of Echion Peridia's womb did yield.

    Then Turnus slew the brethren sent from Phoebus' Lycian field:
    Menates, too, of Arcady, who loathed the war in vain;
    By fruitful fishy Lerna's flood was once his life and gain,
    And unrich house, and nought he knew of mighty men's abode,
    And hired for a price of men the earth his father sowed.             520

    As when two fires, that on a while are sped from diverse ways,
    Run through the dry and tinder wood, and crackling twigs of bays;
    As when from off the mountain-tops two hurrying rivers speed,
    And foaming, roaring, as they rush, drive down to ocean's mead,
    And each one wastes his proper road; no slothfuller than these,
    Æneas, Turnus, fare afield; swell up the anger-seas
    In both their hearts; torn are their breasts that know not how to yield,
    In speeding of the wounding-craft their utter might they wield.

    Murranus, as his sires of sires and ancient name he sings,
    And boasts his blood come far adown the line of Latin kings,         530
    Æneas, with a mighty rock and whirlwind of a stone,
    O'erthrows, and stretches on the earth; the wain-wheels roll him on,
    Amid the bridle and the yoke, whom there upon the sward
    The hurrying hoofs of horses pound, remembering not their lord.

    Then Hyllus' onset, and his heart with fury all aglow,
    Doth Turnus meet; who hurls a shaft against his golden brow,
    And through the helm the war-spear flies, and in the brain is stayed.
    Thee, Cretheus, bravest of the Greeks, thine hands did nothing aid
    To snatch from Turnus.
                           Nought his Gods did their Cupencus cloak
    Against Æneas' rush of war; breast-on he met the stroke,             540
    And nought availed that hapless one the tarrying golden shield.

    Thee also, warring Æolus, did that Laurentine field
    See fallen, and cumbering the earth with body laid alow;
    Thou diest, whom the Argive hosts might never overthrow,
    Nor that Achilles' hand that wrought the Priam's realm its wrack.
    Here was thy meted mortal doom; high house 'neath Ida's back,
    High house within Lyrnessus' garth, grave in Laurentine lea.
    Now all the hosts to fight are turned, and blent in battle's sea,
    All Latin folk, all Dardan sons, Mnestheus, Serestus keen,
    Messapus tamer of the horse, Asylas fame-beseen,                     550
    The Tuscan host, Evander's men, the Arcadian wings of fight,
    Each for himself the warriors play, and strive with utter might;
    No tarrying, no rest, they strain in contest measureless.

    But now a thought his mother sent Æneas' mind to bless.
    That he should wend unto the walls, and townward turn his host,
    And blend amid destruction swift the Latin people lost.
    For he, now marking Turnus' ways through many a company,
    Hither and thither turns his eyes, and sees the city lie
    At peace amid the mighty stir, unharmed amid the fight,
    And image of a greater war set all his soul alight.                  560
    Mnestheus, Sergestus then he calls, Serestus battle-strong,
    The Dukes of war; he mounts a knoll; thither the Teucrians throng
    In serried ranks, yet lay not by the battle-spear and shield:
    So there from off the mound he speaks amidmost of the field:

    "Let none hang back from these my words, for Jove is standing by;
    Let none be dull herein because it cometh suddenly:
    Today the town, the cause of war, the king Latinus' home,
    Unless they cry them craven men, and 'neath the yoke they come,
    Will I o'erthrow; the smoking towers upon the ground will lay.
    What! must I wait till Turnus grows fain of the battle-play?         570
    And shall he, conquered, take his ease to fight me o'er and o'er?
    O fellows, this is head and well of all the wicked war.
    Haste with the torches, set we forth the troth with fire to find!"

    He spake; but all they set to work, and striving with one mind
    Knit close their ranks, and on the town a world of battle bear:
    Unlooked-for ladders are at hand, and sudden fires appear;
    While some they run unto the gates, and there the out-guards slay,
    Or hurl the spears, and with their cloud dim down the light of day.
    Æneas, in the front of men, lifts hand unto the walls,
    And in a great and mighty voice guilt on Latinus calls,              580
    And bids the Gods to witness him twice to the battle driven,
    Italians twice become his foes, and twice the treaty riven.
    But mid the turmoiled city-folk arose the bickering then,
    Some bade unbar and open gates unto the Dardan men;
    Yea, some unto the walls would drag their very king and lord;
    But some bear arms and go their ways the walls of war to ward:
    E'en as the shepherd finds the bees shut in, a fencèd folk,
    In chinky pumice rock, and fills their house with bitter smoke;
    But they, all busy-fearful grown within their waxen wall,
    Run here and there and whet their wrath with mighty humming call:    590
    The black stink rolleth through their house, and with a murmuring blind
    The stony hollows moan: the reek the empty air doth find.

    Here on the weary Latins fell another stroke of fate,
    That moved the city deep adown with sorrow sore and great;
    For when the Queen from house aloft beheld the foe draw nigh,
    The walls beset, the flaming brands unto the house-roofs fly,
    And nowhere the Rutulian ranks or Turnus' warring host,
    The hapless woman deems the youth in stress of battle lost,
    And, all bewildered in her mind by these so sudden woes,
    Curses herself for head and spring whence all the evil flows;        600
    And crying many a bitter word, and mad with sorrow grown,
    She riveth with her dying hand the queenly purple gown,
    And knits the knot of loathly death from lofty beam on high.
    But when the wretched Latin wives know all this misery,
    Her daughter first, Lavinia, wastes the blossom of her hair,
    And wounds her rosy cheeks; then they that stood about her there
    Run wild about, and all the house resoundeth with their wail.
    Thence through the city flies the sound of that unhappy tale,
    And all hearts sink: Latinus goes with raiment rent and torn,
    Stunned by his wife's unhappy lot, and city lost and lorn,           610
    And scattering o'er his hoariness defilement of the dust;
    And often he upbraids himself that he took not to trust
    That Dardan lord, nor willingly had hallowed him his son.

    Meanwhile across the outer plain war-Turnus followeth on
    The last few stragglers, duller grown, and less and less his heart
    Rejoices in his hurrying steed and their victorious part.
    The air bore to him noise of men with doubtful terror blent,
    And round about his hearkening ears confusèd murmur sent;
    The noise of that turmoilèd town, a sound of nought but woe:
    "Ah, me!" he cried, "what mighty grief stirs up the city so?         620
    Why from the walls now goeth up this cry and noise afar?"

    He spake, and, wildered, drew the rein and stayed the battle-car:
    His sister met his questioning, as she in seeming clad
    Of that Metiscus, all the rule of battle-chariot had,
    And steeds and bridle:
                           "Hereaway, O Turnus, drive we on
    The sons of Troy; where victory shows a road that may be won:
    For other hands there are, belike, the houses to defend.
    Æneas falls on Italy, and there doth battle blend;
    So let our hands give cruel death to Teucrian men this day,
    No less in tale: so shalt thou hold thine honour in the fray."       630

    But Turnus sayeth thereunto:
    "Sister, I knew thee long ago, when first by art and craft
    Thou brok'st the troth-plight, and therewith amidst the battle went;
    And now thou hidest God in vain. But whose will thee hath sent
    From high Olympus' house to bear such troubles, and so great?
    Was it to see thy brother's end and most unhappy fate?
    For what do I? What heal is left in aught that may befall?
    Mine eyes beheld Murranus die, on me I heard him call:
    No dearer man in all the world is left me for a friend:
    Woe's me I that mighty man of men a mighty death must end.           640
    Ufens is dead, unhappy too lest he our shame behold;
    E'en as I speak the Teucrians ward his arms and body cold.
    And now--the one shame wanting yet--shall I stand deedless by
    Their houses' wrack, nor let my sword cast back that Drances' lie?
    Shall I give back, and shall this land see craven Turnus fled?
    Is death, then, such a misery? O rulers of the dead,
    Be kind! since now the high God's heart is turned away from me;
    A hallowed soul I go adown, guiltless of infamy,
    Not all unworthy of the great, my sires of long ago."

    Scarce had he said when, here behold, from midmost of the foe,       650
    Comes Saces on his foaming steed, an arrow in his face,
    Who, crying prayers on Turnus' name, onrusheth to the place:
    "Turnus, in thee our last hope lies! pity thy wretched folk!
    Æneas thundereth battle there, and threateneth with his stroke
    The overthrow of tower and town, and wrack of Italy.
    The flames are flying toward the roofs; all mouths of Latins cry
    On thee; all eyes are turned to thee: yea, the king wavereth there,
    Whom shall he call his son-in-law, to whom for friendship fare.
    The Queen to wit, thy faithfullest, is dead by her own hand,
    And, fearful of the things to come, hath left the daylight land.     660
    Messapus and Atinas keen alone upbear our might
    Before the gates: round each of them are gathered hosts of fight
    Thick-thronging, and a harvest-tide that bristles with the sword;
    While here thou wendest car about the man-deserted sward."

    Bewildered then with images of diverse things he stood
    In silent stare; and in his heart upswelled a mighty flood
    Of mingled shame and maddening grief: the Furies goaded sore
    With bitter love and valour tried and known from time of yore.
    But when the cloud was shaken off and light relit his soul,
    His burning eyeballs toward the town, fierce-hearted, did he roll,  670
    And from the wheels of war looked back unto the mighty town;
    And lo, behold, a wave of flame into a tongue-shape grown
    Licked round a tower, and 'twixt its floors rolled upward unto heaven:
    A tower that he himself had reared with timbers closely driven,
    And set beneath it rolling-gear, and dight the bridges high.

    "Now, sister, now the Fates prevail! no more for tarrying try.
    Nay, let us follow where the God, where hard Fate calleth me!
    Doomed am I to Æneas' hand; doomed, howso sore it be,
    To die the death; ah, sister, now thou seest me shamed no more:
    Now let me wear the fury through ere yet my time is o'er."           680

    He spake, and from the chariot leapt adown upon the mead,
    And left his sister lone in grief amidst the foe to speed,
    Amidst the spears, and breaketh through the midmost press of fight,
    E'en as a headlong stone sweeps down from off the mountain-height,
    Torn by the wind; or drifting rain hath washed it from its hold,
    Or loosed, maybe, it slippeth down because the years grow old:
    Wild o'er the cliffs with mighty leap goes down that world of stone,
    And bounds o'er earth, and woods and herds and men-folk rolleth on
    Amidst its wrack: so Turnus through the broken battle broke
    Unto the very city-walls, where earth was all a-soak                 690
    With plenteous blood, and air beset with whistling of the shafts;
    There with his hand he maketh sign, and mighty speech he wafts:

    "Forbear, Rutulians! Latin men, withhold the points of fight!
    Whatever haps, the hap is mine; I, I alone, of right
    Should cleanse you of the broken troth, and doom of sword-edge face."

    So from the midst all men depart, and leave an empty space;
    But now the Father Æneas hath hearkened Turnus' name,
    And backward from the walls of war and those high towers he came.
    He casts away all tarrying, sets every deed aside,
    And thundering in his battle-gear rejoicing doth he stride:          700
    As Athos great, as Eryx great, great as when roaring goes
    Amid the quaking oaken woods and glory lights the snows,
    And Father Apennine uprears his head amidst the skies.
    Then Trojan and Rutulian men turn thither all their eyes,
    And all the folk of Italy, and they that hold the wall,
    And they that drive against its feet the battering engines' fall
    All men do off their armour then. Amazed Latinus stands
    To see two mighty heroes, born in such wide-sundered lands,
    Meet thus to try what deed of doom in meeting swords may be.

    But they, when empty space is cleared amid the open lea,             710
    Set each on each in speedy wise, and with their war-spears hurled
    Amid the clash of shield and brass break into Mavors' world;
    Then groaneth earth; then comes the hail of sword-strokes thick and fast,
    And in one blended tangle now are luck and valour cast:
    As when on mighty Sila's side, or on Taburnus height,
    Two bulls with pushing horny brows are mingled in the fight:
    The frighted herdsmen draw aback, and all the beasts are dumb
    For utter fear; the heifers too misdoubt them what shall come,
    Who shall be master of the grove and leader of the flock;
    But each on each they mingle wounds with fearful might of shock,     720
    And gore and push home fencing horns, and with abundant blood