The Aeneid Part 44

In high Lyrnessus, and in Troy, he held Two palaces, and was from each expell'd: Of all the mighty man, the last remains A little spot of foreign earth contains.

And now both hosts their broken troops unite In equal ranks, and mix in mortal fight.

Seresthus and undaunted Mnestheus join The Trojan, Tuscan, and Arcadian line: Sea-born Messapus, with Atinas, heads The Latin squadrons, and to battle leads.

They strike, they push, they throng the scanty s.p.a.ce, Resolv'd on death, impatient of disgrace; And, where one falls, another fills his place.

The Cyprian G.o.ddess now inspires her son To leave th' unfinish'd fight, and storm the town: For, while he rolls his eyes around the plain In quest of Turnus, whom he seeks in vain, He views th' unguarded city from afar, In careless quiet, and secure of war.

Occasion offers, and excites his mind To dare beyond the task he first design'd.

Resolv'd, he calls his chiefs; they leave the fight: Attended thus, he takes a neighb'ring height; The crowding troops about their gen'ral stand, All under arms, and wait his high command.

Then thus the lofty prince: "Hear and obey, Ye Trojan bands, without the least delay Jove is with us; and what I have decreed Requires our utmost vigor, and our speed.

Your instant arms against the town prepare, The source of mischief, and the seat of war.

This day the Latian tow'rs, that mate the sky, Shall level with the plain in ashes lie: The people shall be slaves, unless in time They kneel for pardon, and repent their crime.

Twice have our foes been vanquish'd on the plain: Then shall I wait till Turnus will be slain?

Your force against the perjur'd city bend.

There it began, and there the war shall end.

The peace profan'd our rightful arms requires; Cleanse the polluted place with purging fires."

He finish'd; and, one soul inspiring all, Form'd in a wedge, the foot approach the wall.

Without the town, an unprovided train Of gaping, gazing citizens are slain.

Some firebrands, others scaling ladders bear, And those they toss aloft, and these they rear: The flames now launch'd, the feather'd arrows fly, And clouds of missive arms obscure the sky.

Advancing to the front, the hero stands, And, stretching out to heav'n his pious hands, Attests the G.o.ds, a.s.serts his innocence, Upbraids with breach of faith th' Ausonian prince; Declares the royal honor doubly stain'd, And twice the rites of holy peace profan'd.

Dissenting clamors in the town arise; Each will be heard, and all at once advise.

One part for peace, and one for war contends; Some would exclude their foes, and some admit their friends.

The helpless king is hurried in the throng, And, whate'er tide prevails, is borne along.

Thus, when the swain, within a hollow rock, Invades the bees with suffocating smoke, They run around, or labor on their wings, Disus'd to flight, and shoot their sleepy stings; To shun the bitter fumes in vain they try; Black vapors, issuing from the vent, involve the sky.

But fate and envious fortune now prepare To plunge the Latins in the last despair.

The queen, who saw the foes invade the town, And brands on tops of burning houses thrown, Cast round her eyes, distracted with her fear- No troops of Turnus in the field appear.

Once more she stares abroad, but still in vain, And then concludes the royal youth is slain.

Mad with her anguish, impotent to bear The mighty grief, she loathes the vital air.

She calls herself the cause of all this ill, And owns the dire effects of her ungovern'd will; She raves against the G.o.ds; she beats her breast; She tears with both her hands her purple vest: Then round a beam a running noose she tied, And, fasten'd by the neck, obscenely died.

Soon as the fatal news by Fame was blown, And to her dames and to her daughter known, The sad Lavinia rends her yellow hair And rosy cheeks; the rest her sorrow share: With shrieks the palace rings, and madness of despair.

The spreading rumor fills the public place: Confusion, fear, distraction, and disgrace, And silent shame, are seen in ev'ry face.

Latinus tears his garments as he goes, Both for his public and his private woes; With filth his venerable beard besmears, And sordid dust deforms his silver hairs.

And much he blames the softness of his mind, Obnoxious to the charms of womankind, And soon seduc'd to change what he so well design'd; To break the solemn league so long desir'd, Nor finish what his fates, and those of Troy, requir'd.

Now Turnus rolls aloof o'er empty plains, And here and there some straggling foes he gleans.

His flying coursers please him less and less, Asham'd of easy fight and cheap success.

Thus half-contented, anxious in his mind, The distant cries come driving in the wind, Shouts from the walls, but shouts in murmurs drown'd; A jarring mixture, and a boding sound.

"Alas!" said he, "what mean these dismal cries?

What doleful clamors from the town arise?"

Confus'd, he stops, and backward pulls the reins.

She who the driver's office now sustains, Replies: "Neglect, my lord, these new alarms; Here fight, and urge the fortune of your arms: There want not others to defend the wall.

If by your rival's hand th' Italians fall, So shall your fatal sword his friends oppress, In honor equal, equal in success."

To this, the prince: "O sister- for I knew The peace infring'd proceeded first from you; I knew you, when you mingled first in fight; And now in vain you would deceive my sight- Why, G.o.ddess, this unprofitable care?

Who sent you down from heav'n, involv'd in air, Your share of mortal sorrows to sustain, And see your brother bleeding on the plain?

For to what pow'r can Turnus have recourse, Or how resist his fate's prevailing force?

These eyes beheld Murra.n.u.s bite the ground: Mighty the man, and mighty was the wound.

I heard my dearest friend, with dying breath, My name invoking to revenge his death.

Brave Ufens fell with honor on the place, To shun the shameful sight of my disgrace.

On earth supine, a manly corpse he lies; His vest and armor are the victor's prize.

Then, shall I see Laurentum in a flame, Which only wanted, to complete my shame?

How will the Latins hoot their champion's flight!

How Drances will insult and point them to the sight!

Is death so hard to bear? Ye G.o.ds below, (Since those above so small compa.s.sion show,) Receive a soul unsullied yet with shame, Which not belies my great forefather's name!"

He said; and while he spoke, with flying speed Came Sages urging on his foamy steed: Fix'd on his wounded face a shaft he bore, And, seeking Turnus, sent his voice before: "Turnus, on you, on you alone, depends Our last relief: compa.s.sionate your friends!

Like lightning, fierce Aeneas, rolling on, With arms invests, with flames invades the town: The brands are toss'd on high; the winds conspire To drive along the deluge of the fire.

All eyes are fix'd on you: your foes rejoice; Ev'n the king staggers, and suspends his choice; Doubts to deliver or defend the town, Whom to reject, or whom to call his son.

The queen, on whom your utmost hopes were plac'd, Herself suborning death, has breath'd her last.

'T is true, Messapus, fearless of his fate, With fierce Atinas' aid, defends the gate: On ev'ry side surrounded by the foe, The more they kill, the greater numbers grow; An iron harvest mounts, and still remains to mow.

You, far aloof from your forsaken bands, Your rolling chariot drive o'er empty sands.

Stupid he sate, his eyes on earth declin'd, And various cares revolving in his mind: Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast, And sorrow mix'd with shame, his soul oppress'd; And conscious worth lay lab'ring in his thought, And love by jealousy to madness wrought.

By slow degrees his reason drove away The mists of pa.s.sion, and resum'd her sway.

Then, rising on his car, he turn'd his look, And saw the town involv'd in fire and smoke.

A wooden tow'r with flames already blaz'd, Which his own hands on beams and rafters rais'd; And bridges laid above to join the s.p.a.ce, And wheels below to roll from place to place.

"Sister, the Fates have vanquish'd: let us go The way which Heav'n and my hard fortune show.

The fight is fix'd; nor shall the branded name Of a base coward blot your brother's fame.

Death is my choice; but suffer me to try My force, and vent my rage before I die."

He said; and, leaping down without delay, Thro' crowds of scatter'd foes he freed his way.

Striding he pa.s.s'd, impetuous as the wind, And left the grieving G.o.ddess far behind.

As when a fragment, from a mountain torn By raging tempests, or by torrents borne, Or sapp'd by time, or loosen'd from the roots- p.r.o.ne thro' the void the rocky ruin shoots, Rolling from crag to crag, from steep to steep; Down sink, at once, the shepherds and their sheep: Involv'd alike, they rush to nether ground; Stunn'd with the shock they fall, and stunn'd from earth rebound: So Turnus, hasting headlong to the town, Should'ring and shoving, bore the squadrons down.

Still pressing onward, to the walls he drew, Where shafts, and spears, and darts promiscuous flew, And sanguine streams the slipp'ry ground embrue.

First stretching out his arm, in sign of peace, He cries aloud, to make the combat cease: "Rutulians, hold; and Latin troops, retire!

The fight is mine; and me the G.o.ds require.

'T is just that I should vindicate alone The broken truce, or for the breach atone.

This day shall free from wars th' Ausonian state, Or finish my misfortunes in my fate."

Both armies from their b.l.o.o.d.y work desist, And, bearing backward, form a s.p.a.cious list.

The Trojan hero, who receiv'd from fame The welcome sound, and heard the champion's name, Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls, Greedy of war where greater glory calls.

He springs to fight, exulting in his force His jointed armor rattles in the course.

Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows, Or Father Apennine, when, white with snows, His head divine obscure in clouds he hides, And shakes the sounding forest on his sides.

The nations, overaw'd, surcease the fight; Immovable their bodies, fix'd their sight.

Ev'n death stands still; nor from above they throw Their darts, nor drive their batt'ring-rams below.

In silent order either army stands, And drop their swords, unknowing, from their hands.

Th' Ausonian king beholds, with wond'ring sight, Two mighty champions match'd in single fight, Born under climes remote, and brought by fate, With swords to try their t.i.tles to the state.

Now, in clos'd field, each other from afar They view; and, rus.h.i.+ng on, begin the war.

They launch their spears; then hand to hand they meet; The trembling soil resounds beneath their feet: Their bucklers clash; thick blows descend from high, And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly.

Courage conspires with chance, and both ingage With equal fortune yet, and mutual rage.

As when two bulls for their fair female fight In Sila's shades, or on Taburnus' height; With horns adverse they meet; the keeper flies; Mute stands the herd; the heifers roll their eyes, And wait th' event; which victor they shall bear, And who shall be the lord, to rule the l.u.s.ty year: With rage of love the jealous rivals burn, And push for push, and wound for wound return; Their dewlaps gor'd, their sides are lav'd in blood; Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow thro' the wood: Such was the combat in the listed ground; So clash their swords, and so their s.h.i.+elds resound.

Jove sets the beam; in either scale he lays The champions' fate, and each exactly weighs.

On this side, life and lucky chance ascends; Loaded with death, that other scale descends.

Rais'd on the stretch, young Turnus aims a blow Full on the helm of his unguarded foe: Shrill shouts and clamors ring on either side, As hopes and fears their panting hearts divide.

But all in pieces flies the traitor sword, And, in the middle stroke, deserts his lord.