by Virgil
A talent’s weight, and store therewith of wrought and unwrought gold:
This will not snatch the victory from out the Teucrian’s hold,
Nor can the life of one alone such mighty matter make.”
So he, but answering thereunto this word Æneas spake:
“Thy gold and silver talent’s weight, whereof thou tell’st such store,
Spare for thy sons! thy Turnus slew such chaffering of war
When Pallas’ death he brought about a little while ago;
So deems my sire Anchises’ ghost, Iulus deemeth so.”
Then with his left he caught the helm and hilt-deep thrust the blade
Into the back-bent throat of him e’en as the prayer he prayed.
Not far hence was Hæmonides, Phoebus’ and Trivia’s priest,
The holy fillets on his brow, his glory well increased
With glorious arms, and glittering gear shining on every limb.
Him the King chaseth o’er the field, and, standing over him,
Hides him in mighty dusk of death; whose gleanèd battle-gear,
A gift to thee, O battle-god, back doth Serestus bear.
Then Cæculus of Vulcan’s stem the hedge of battle fills,
And Umbro cometh unto fight down from the Marsian hills.
On them his rage the Dardan child let slip. But next his blade
Anxur’s left hand and orbèd shield upon the meadow laid.
Proud things had Anxur said, and deemed his word was matched by might,
And so perchance he raised his soul up to the heavenly height,
And hoary eld he looked to see, and many a peaceful year.
Tarquitius, proud of heart and soul, in glittering battle-gear,
Whom the nymph Dryope of yore to woodland Faunus gave,
Came thrusting thwart his fiery way; his back-drawn spear he drave,
Pinning his mail-coat unto him, and mighty mass of shield:
His vainly-praying head, that strove with words, upon the field
He swept therewith, and rolling o’er his carcase warm with death,
Above him from the heart of hate such words as this he saith:
“Lie there, fear-giver! no more now thy mother most of worth
Shall load thee with thy father’s tomb, or lay thee in the earth:
Thou shalt be left to birds of prey, or deep adown the flood
The waves shall bear thee, and thy wounds be hungry fishes’ food.”
Next Lucas and Antæus stout, foremost of Turnus’ men,
He chaseth: Numa staunch of heart and yellow Camers then;
A man from high-souled Volscens sprung, field-wealthiest one of all
Ausonian men, and lord within the hushed Amyclæ’s wall.
E’en as Ægæon, who they say had arms an hundred-fold,
And hundred hands, from fifty mouths and maws the wildfire rolled,
What time in arms against the bolts from Jove of Heaven that flew
He clashed upon the fifty shields and fifty sword-points drew:
So conquering, over all the mead Æneas’ fury burns
When once his sword is warm with death: and now, behold, he turns
Upon Niphæus’ four-yoked steeds, and breasts their very breath.
But when they see him striding far, and threatening doom and death,
In utter dread they turn about, and rushing back again,
They shed their master on the earth and shoreward drag the wain.
Meanwhile with twi-yoked horses white fares Lucagus midst men,
His brother Liger by his side, who holdeth rein as then,
And turneth steed, while Lucagus the drawn sword whirleth wide.
Them and their war-rage in no wise Æneas might abide,
But on he rushes, showing huge with upheaved threatening shaft.
Then Liger cast a word at him:
“No steeds of Diomede thou seest, and no Achilles’ car
Or Phrygian fields: this hour shall end thy life-days and the war
Here on this earth.”
Such words as these from witless Liger stray,
But nought in bandying of words the man of Troy would play;
Rather his mighty battle-shaft he hurled against the foe,
While Lucagus his horses drives with spear-butt, bending low
Over the lash, and setteth forth his left foot for the fight.
Beneath the bright shield’s nether rim the spear-shaft takes its flight,
Piercing his groin upon the left: then shaken from his wain,
He tumbleth down and rolleth o’er in death upon the plain.
To whom a fierce and bitter word godly Æneas said:
“Ho, Lucagus! no dastard flight of steeds thy car betrayed,
No empty shadow turned them back from facing of the foe,
But thou thyself hast leapt from wheel and let the yoke-beasts go.”
He spake, and caught the reins withal; slipped down that wretched one
His brother, and stretched forth the hands that little deed had done:
“By thee, by those that brought thee forth so glorious unto day,
O Trojan hero, spare my life, and pity me that pray!”
Æneas cut athwart his speech: “Not so erewhile ye spake.
Die! ill it were for brother thus a brother to forsake.”
And in his breast the sword he drave home to the house of breath.
Thus through the meads the Dardan Duke set forth the tale of death,
With rage as of the rushing flood, or whirl-storm of the wind.
At last they break forth into field and leave their camp behind,
Ascanius and the lads of war in vain beleaguerèd.
Meanwhile to Juno Jupiter set forth the speech and said:
“O thou who art my sister dear and sweetest wife in one,
’Tis Venus as thou deemedst, (nought thy counsel is undone),
Who upholds Trojan might forsooth: they lack fight-eager hand,
They lack fierce heart and steady soul the peril to withstand!”
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.”
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
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, —
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?
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.
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?
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,
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:
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
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
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:
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
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,
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 ste
eds cast down,
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;
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,
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,
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.