by Virgil
With very blood, and death of men in that first battle gained,
Leaveth the Westland, and upborne along the hollow sky,
To Juno such a word of pride sets forth victoriously:
“Lo thou, the discord fashioned fair with misery of fight!
Come let them join in friendship now, and troth together plight!
But now, since I have sprinkled Troy with that Ausonian blood,
I will do more, if thereunto thy will abideth good;
For all the cities neighbouring to war my word shall bring,
And in their souls the love of Mars and maddening fire shall fling
Till all strike in, and all the lea crops of my sowing bear.”
But Juno answered: “Full enough there is of fraud and fear;
Fast stands the stumbling-block of war, and hand to hand they fight:
The sword that Fate first gave to them hath man’s death stained aright
Forsooth let King Latinus now and Venus’ noble son
Join hand to hand, and hold high feast for such a wedding won.
But thee, the Father of the Gods, lord of Olympus high,
Will nowise have a-wandering free beneath the worldly sky:
Give place; and whatso more of toil Fortune herein may make
Myself shall rule.”
Such words as these Saturnian Juno spake,
And on the wing the Evil rose, with snaky sweeping whirr,
Seeking Cocytus’ house, and left the light world’s steep of air.
Midst Italy a place there is ‘neath mountains high set down,
Whose noble tale in many a land hath fame and great renown,
The valley of Amsanctus called, hemmed in by woody steep
On either side, and through whose midst a rattling stream doth leap,
With clattering stones and eddying whirl: a strange den gapeth there,
The very breathing-hole of Dis; an awful place of fear,
A mighty gulf of baneful breath that Acheron hath made
When he brake forth: therein as now the baneful Fury laid
Her hated godhead, lightening so the load of earth and heaven.
No less meanwhile did Saturn’s Queen still turn her hand to leaven
That war begun. The shepherd folk rush from the battle-wrack
Into the city of the king, bearing their dead aback,
Almo the lad, Galæsus slain with changed befoulèd face.
They bid Latinus witness bear, and cry the Gods for grace.
Turnus is there, and loads the tale of bale-fire and the sword,
And swells the fear: “The land shall have a Teucrian host for lord:
With Phrygians shall ye foul your race and drive me from your door.”
Then they, whose mothers midst the wood God Bacchus overbore,
To lead the dance — Amata’s name being held in nowise light —
Together draw from every side, and weary for the fight.
Yea, all with froward heart and voice cry out for war and death,
That signs of heaven forbid so sore, that high God gainsayeth,
And King Latinus’ house therewith beset they eagerly;
But he unmoved against them stands as crag amid the sea;
As crag amid the sea, that stands unmoved and huge to meet
The coming crash, while plenteously the waves bark round its feet:
Vain is the roaring on the rocks and rattling shingly crash,
The wrack from off its smitten sides falls down amid the wash.
But when no might is given him their blindness to o’ercome,
And by the road fell Juno would the matter must win home,
Sore called the father on the Gods and emptiness of air:
“Ah, broken by the Fates,” he cried, “amid the storm we bear!
Ye with your godless blood yourselves shall pay the penalty,
Unhappy men! But Turnus, thou, thine ill deed bideth thee
With woe enough, and overlate the Gods shalt thou adore.
For me, my rest is gained, my foot the threshold passeth o’er;
Yet is my happy ending spilled.”
Nor further would he say;
But, hedged within his house, he cast the reins of rule away.
In Latium of the Westland world a fashion was whilome,
Thence hallowed of the Alban folk, held holy thence by Rome,
Earth’s mightiest thing: and this they used what time soe’er they woke
Mars unto battle; whether they against the Getic folk,
Ind, Araby, Hyrcanian men, fashioned the woeful wrack,
Or mid the dawn from Parthian men the banners bade aback.
For twofold are the Gates of War — still bear they such a name —
Hallowed by awe of Mars the dread, and worship of his fame,
Shut by an hundred brazen bolts, and iron whose avail
Shall never die: nor ever thence doth door-ward Janus fail.
Now when amid the Fathers’ hearts fast is the war-rede grown,
The Consul, girt in Gabine wise, and with Quirinus gown
Made glorious, doth himself unbar the creaking door-leaves great,
And he himself cries on the war; whom all men follow straight,
The while their brazen yea-saying the griding trumpets blare.
In e’en such wise Latinus now was bidden to declare
The battle ‘gainst Æneas’ folk, and ope the gates of woe.
But from their touch the Father shrank, and fleeing lest he do
The evil deed, in eyeless dark he hideth him away.
Then slipped the Queen of Gods from heaven, and ended their delay;
For back upon their hinges turned the Seed of Saturn bore
The tarrying leaves, and burst apart the iron Gates of War,
And all Ausonia yet unstirred brake suddenly ablaze:
And some will go afoot to field, and some will wend their ways
Aloft on horses dusty-fierce: all seek their battle-gear.
Some polish bright the buckler’s face and rub the pike-point clear
With fat of sheep; and many an axe upon the wheel is worn.
They joy to rear the banners up and hearken to the horn.
And now five mighty cities forge the point and edge anew
On new-raised anvils; Tibur proud, Atina staunch to do,
Ardea and Crustumerium’s folk, Antemnæ castle-crowned.
They hollow helming for the head; they bend the withe around
For buckler-boss: or other some beat breast-plates of the brass,
Or from the toughened silver bring the shining greaves to pass.
Now fails all prize of share and hook, all yearning for the plough;
The swords their fathers bore afield anew they smithy now.
Now is the gathering-trumpet blown; the battle-token speeds;
And this man catches helm from wall; this thrusteth foaming steeds
To collar; this his shield does on, and mail-coat threesome laid
Of golden link, and girdeth him with ancient trusty blade.
O Muses, open Helicon, and let your song awake
To tell what kings awoke to war, what armies for whose sake
Filled up the meads; what men of war sweet mother Italy
Bore unto flower and fruit as then; what flame of fight ran high:
For ye remember, Holy Ones, and ye may tell the tale;
But we — a slender breath of fame scarce by our ears may sail.
Mezentius first, the foe of Gods, fierce from the Tuscan shore
Unto the battle wends his way, and armeth host of war:
Lausus, his son, anigh him wends; — no lovelier man than he,
Save Turnus, the Laurentine-born, the crown of all to see. —
Lausus, the tamer of the horse, the wood-deer’s following bane,
Who led from Agyllina’s wall a thousand men in vain.
Worthy was he to have more mirth than ‘neath Mezentius’ sway;
&
nbsp; Worthy that other sire than he had given him unto day.
The goodly Aventinus next, glorious with palm of prize,
Along the grass his chariot shows and steeds of victories,
Sprung from the goodly Hercules, marked by his father’s shield,
Where Hydra girded hundred-fold with adders fills the field:
Him Rhea the priestess on a day gave to the sun-lit earth,
On wooded bent of Aventine, in secret stolen birth;
The woman mingled with a God, what time that, Geryon slain,
The conquering man of Tiryns touched the fair Laurentian plain,
And washed amidst the Tuscan stream the bulls Iberia bred.
These bear in war the bitter glaive and darts with pilèd head:
With slender sword and Sabine staff the battle they abide;
But he afoot and swinging round a monstrous lion’s hide,
Whose bristly brow and terrible with sharp white teeth a-row
Hooded his head, beneath the roof where dwelt the king did go
All shaggy rough, his shoulders clad with Herculean cloak.
Then next twin brethren wend away from Tibur’s town and folk,
Whose brother-born, Tiburtus, erst had named that citied place;
Catillus, eager Coras they, men of the Argive race;
In forefront of the battle-wood, mid thick of sleet they fare,
Like as two centaurs cloud-begot, that down the mountains bear,
Leaving the high-piled Homole, and Othrys of the snow
With hurrying hoofs: the mighty wood yields to them as they go;
The tangle of the thicket-place before them gives aback.
Nor did Præneste’s raiser-up from field of battle lack,
That Cæculus, whom king of men mid cattle of the mead,
All ages of the world have trowed was Vulcan’s very seed
Found on the hearth: from wide away gathered his rustic band:
Those housed upon Præneste’s steep; they of the Juno land
Of Gabii: abiders near cool Anio, they that dwell
On Hernic rocks, the stream-bedewed: they whom thou feedest well,
Anagnia rich; the foster-sons of Amasenus’ coast.
Not all had arms, or clash of shield, or war-wain; but the most
Cast the grey plummets forth, and some, the dart in hand they bear,
And on the head the fallow fell of woodland wolf they wear
For helming: now with all of them the left foot goes aground,
Naked and bare; but with the hide untanned the left is bound.
Messapus lo, the horse-tamer, a child by Neptune won,
Ne’er by the fire to be spilled, nor by the steel undone;
His folk this long while sunk in peace, a battle-foolish band,
He calleth suddenly to fight, and taketh sword in hand;
Æqui Falisci are of these, Fescennium’s folk of fight,
These lie upon Flavinium’s lea, and hold Soracte’s hight,
And mere and mound of Ciminus, Capena’s woodland broad.
With measured footfalls on they go, a-singing of their lord:
As whiles the snowy swans will fare amid the world of cloud,
Returning from their feeding-field; far goes the song and loud,
Whose notes along their necks they pour: the flood resounds, and all
The Asian marish beat with song.
Scarce might ye deem the brazen ranks of such a mighty host
Were gathered there: but rather fowl a-driving toward the coast,
An airy cloud of hoarse-voiced things drawn from the wallowing sea.
Lo sprung from ancient Sabine blood comes Clausus presently,
Leading a mighty host, himself a very host of war;
From whom the Claudian tribe and race hath spread itself afar
Through Latium, since the Sabine folk was given a share in Rome:
With him the Amiternian host and old Quirites come;
Eretus’ host and they that keep Mutusca’s olive gain,
The biders in Nomentum’s wall, and Veline Rosea’s plain,
The bristling rocks of Tetricæ and high Severus’ flank,
Casperia and Foruli and wet Himella’s bank;
The drinkers of the Tiber-stream and Fabaris, and folk
Cool Nursia sends, and Horta’s troop, and men of Latin yoke;
And they whom hapless Allia parts with wash of waters wan:
As many as on Lybian main the tumbling waves roll on
When fierce Orion falls to sleep in wintry waters’ lair;
Or thick as stand the wheaten ears the young sun burneth there
On Hermus’ plain or Lycia’s lea a-yellowing for the hook:
Loud clashed the shields, and earth afeared beneath their footfalls shook.
Halæsus, Agamemnon’s blood, a foe to Troy inbred,
Next yoked the horses to the car; a thousand men he led,
Fierce folk for Turnus: they that hoe the vine-fair Massic soil;
And they that from their lofty hills adown unto the broil
Aruncan fathers sent, and they of Sidicinum’s lea;
All who leave Cales, all whose homes beside Vulturnus be,
The shoally water: with them went Saticula’s fierce band,
And host of Oscans: slender shafts are weapons of their hand,
Which same to toughened casting-thong amid the fight they tie;
With bucklered left and scanty blade they come to blows anigh.
Nor, Oebalus, shalt thou unsung from this our story fail,
Whom Telon on nymph Sebethis begat as tells the tale
When Teleboan Capreæ he reigned o’er waxen old;
Whose son might not abide to sit within his father’s fold;
But even then held neath his sway the country far and wide,
Sarrastes’ folk, and all the plain along the Sarnus side.
Celenna’s lea, and Batulum, and folk of Rufra’s town,
And those on whom Abella’s walls, the apple-rich, look down.
But these are wont to hurl the spear after the Teuton wise,
Their heads are helmed with e’en such bark as on the holm-oak lies:
All brazen-wrought their targets gleam, their brazen sword-blades flash.
’Twas Nursæ in the heart of hills sent thee to battle-clash,
O Ufens, well renowned of fame, and rich in battle’s grace;
Whose folk are roughest lived of men, eager for woodland chase;
Æquiculi they hight; who dwell on land of little gain,
And ever armed they till the earth, and ever are they fain
To drive the spoil from hour to hour, and live upon the prey.
Then Umbro of the hardy heart went on the battle-way;
Priest was he of Marruvian folk; about his helm was bent
The happy olive, leaf and twig: him King Archippus sent:
Wont was he with his hand and voice the bitter viper-kind
And water-worms of evil breath in bonds of sleep to bind;
And he would soothe the wrath of them, and dull their bite by craft,
Yet nothing might he heal the hurt that came of Dardan shaft;
Nay, nothing might the sleepy song avail against his bane,
All herbs on Marsian mountains plucked were nought thereto and vain.
Anguitia’s thicket wept for thee, Fucinus wave of glass,
The thin wan waters wept for thee.
Most goodly Virbius went to war, Hippolytus’ own son:
His mother fair Aricia sent this battle-glorious one
From fostering of Egeria’s wood, from out the marish place
Where standeth Dian’s altar rich fulfilled of plenteous grace.
For folk say, when Hippolytus, undone by step-dame’s lie,
Had paid unto his father’s wrath that utmost penalty,
He, piecemeal torn by maddened steeds, yet came aback to live
Beneath the starry firmament, and air t
hat heaven doth give,
Brought back to life by healing herbs and Dian’s cherishing:
Then the Almighty Father, wroth that any mortal thing
Should rise again to light of life from nether shadows wan,
Beat down with bolt to Stygian wave the Phoebus-gotten man,
The finder of such healing craft, the wise in such an art.
But Trivia’s lovingkindness hid Hippolytus apart,
And in the nymph Egeria’s wood she held him many a day:
Alone in woods of Italy he wore his life away,
Deedless, his very name all changed, and Virbius by-named then.
So for this cause to Trivia’s fane and hallowed grove do men
Drive horn-foot steeds, because, o’ercome by sea-beasts dread of yore,
Piecemeal the chariot and the man they strewed about the shore.
No less his son would drive the steeds across the level plain
For all their heat, and rush to war aloft in battle-wain.
Now mid the forefront Turnus self of body excellent,
Strode sword in hand: there by the head all others he outwent:
His threefold crested helm upbore Chimæra in her wrath;
Where very flame of Ætna’s womb her jaws were pouring forth;
And fiercer of her flames was she, and madder of her mood
As bloomed the battle young again with more abundant blood.
But on the smoothness of his shield was golden Io shown
With upraised horns, with hairy skin, a very heifer grown, —
A noble tale; — and Argus there was wrought, the maiden’s ward;
And father Inachus from bowl well wrought the river poured.
A cloud of foot-folk follow him; his shielded people throng
The meadows all about; forth goes the Argive manhood strong;
Aruncan men and Rutuli, Sicanians of old years,
Sacranian folk, Labicus’ band the blazoned shield-bearers:
Thy thicket-biders, Tiber; those that holy acres till
Beside Numicus, those that plough Rutulian holt and hill,
And ridges of Circæi: they whose meadows Anxur Jove
Looks down on, where Feronia joys amid her fair green grove;
Where Satura’s black marish lies, where chilly Ufens glides,
Seeking a way through lowest dales, till in the sea he hides.
And after these from Volscian folk doth fair Camilla pass,
Leading a mighty host of horse all blossoming with brass;
A warrior maid, whose woman’s hands unused to ply the rock,
Unused to bear Minerva’s crate, were wise in battle’s shock.
The very winds might she outgo with hurrying maiden feet,