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Complete Works of Virgil

Page 196

by Virgil


  our ship’s side in so sure an anchorage,

  if once we land.” While Tarchon urged them thus,

  the crews bent all together to their blades

  and sped their foaming barks to Latium’s plain,

  till each beak gripped the sand and every keel

  lay on dry land unscathed: — all save thine own,

  O Tarchon! dashed upon a sand-bar, she!

  Long poised upon the cruel ridge she hung,

  tilted this way or that and beat the waves,

  then split, and emptied forth upon the tide

  her warriors; and now the drifting wreck

  of shattered oars and thwarts entangles them,

  or ebb of swirling waters sucks them down.

  Turnus no lingering knows, but fiercely hurls

  his whole line on the Teucrians, and makes stand

  along the shore. Now peals the trumpet’s call.

  Aeneas in the van led on his troop

  against the rustic foe, bright augury

  for opening war, and laid the Latins low,

  slaughtering Theron, a huge chief who dared

  offer Aeneas battle; through the scales

  of brazen mail and corselet stiff with gold

  the sword drove deep, and gored the gaping side.

  Then smote he Lichas, from his mother’s womb

  ripped in her dying hour, and unto thee,

  O Phoebus, vowed, because his infant days

  escaped the fatal steel. Hard by him fell

  stout Cisseus and gigantic Gyas; these

  to death were hurled, while with their knotted clubs

  they slew opposing hosts; but naught availed

  Herculean weapons, nor their mighty hands,

  or that Melampus was their sire, a peer

  of Hercules, what time in heavy toils

  through earth he roved. See next how Pharon boasts!

  But while he vainly raves, the whirling spear

  smites full on his loud mouth. And also thou,

  Cydon, wast by the Trojan stroke o’erthrown,

  while following in ill-omened haste the steps

  of Clytius, thy last joy, whose round cheek wore

  its youthful golden down: soon hadst thou lain

  in death, unheeding of thy fancies fond

  which ever turned to youth; — but now arose

  the troop of all thy brothers, Phorcus’ sons,

  a close array of seven, and seven spears

  they hurled: some from Aeneas’ helm or shield

  glanced off in vain; some Venus’ kindly power,

  just as they touched his body, turned away.

  Aeneas then to true Achates cried:

  “Bring on my spears: not one shall fruitless fly

  against yon Rutules, even as they pierced

  the breasts of Greeks upon the Ilian plain.”

  Then one great shaft he seized and threw; it sped

  straight into Maeon’s brazen shield, and clove

  his mail-clad heart. Impetuous to his aid

  brother Alcanor came, and lifted up

  with strong right hand his brother as he fell:

  but through his arm a second skilful shaft

  made bloody way, and by the sinews held

  the lifeless right hand from the shoulder swung.

  Then from his brother’s body Numitor

  the weapon plucked and hurled it, furious,

  upon Aeneas; but it could not strike

  the hero’s self, and grazed along the thigh

  of great Achates. Next into the fight

  Clausus of Cures came, in youthful bloom

  exulting, and with far-thrown javelin

  struck Dryops at the chin, and took away

  from the gashed, shrieking throat both life and voice;

  the warrior’s fallen forehead smote the dust;

  his lips poured forth thick blood. There also fell

  three Thracians, odspring of the lordly stem

  of Boreas, and three of Idas’ sons

  from Ismara, by various doom struck down.

  Halaesus here his wild Auruncans brings;

  and flying to the fight comes Neptune’s son,

  Messapus, famous horseman. On both sides

  each charges on the foe. Ausonia’s strand

  is one wide strife. As when o’er leagues of air

  the envious winds give battle to their peers,

  well-matched in rage and power; and neither they

  nor clouds above, nor plunging seas below

  will end the doubtful war, but each withstands

  the onset of the whole — in such wild way

  the line of Trojans on the Latian line

  hurls itself, limb on limb and man on man.

  But at a distance where the river’s flood

  had scattered rolling boulders and torn trees

  uprooted from the shore, young Pallas spied

  th’ Arcadian band, unused to fight on foot,

  in full retreat, the Latins following close —

  who also for the roughness of the ground

  were all unmounted: he (the last resource

  of men in straits) to wild entreaty turned

  and taunts, enkindling their faint hearts anew:

  “Whither, my men! O, by your own brave deeds,

  O, by our lord Evander’s happy wars,

  the proud hopes I had to make my name

  a rival glory, — think not ye can fly!

  Your swords alone can carve ye the safe way

  straight through your foes. Where yonder warrior-throng

  is fiercest, thickest, there and only there

  your Country’s honor calls for men like you,

  and for your captain Pallas. Nay, no gods

  against us fight; we are but mortal men

  pressed by a mortal foe. Not more than ours

  the number of their lives or swords. Behold,

  the barrier of yonder spreading sea

  emprisons us, and for a craven flight

  yon lands are all too small. Ha! Shall we steer

  across the sea to Troy?” He said, and sprang

  full in the centre of his gathered foes.

  First in his path was Lagus, thither led

  by evil stars; whom, as he tried to lift

  a heavy stone, the shaft of Pallas pierced

  where ribs and spine divide: backward he drew

  the clinging spear; But Hisbo from above

  surprised him not, though meaning it; for while

  (In anger blind for friend unpitying slain)

  at Pallas’ face he flew: — he, standing firm,

  plunged deep into that swelling breast the sword.

  Then Sthenius he slew; and next Anchemolus

  of Rhoetus’ ancient line, who dared defile

  his step-dame’s bridal bed. And also ye,

  fair Thymber and Larides, Daucus’ twins,

  fell on that Rutule field; so like were ye,

  your own kin scarce discerned, and parents proud

  smiled at the dear deceit; but now in death

  cruel unlikeness Pallas wrought; thy head

  fell, hapless Thymber, by Evander’s sword;

  and thy right hand, Larides, shorn away,

  seemed feeling for its Iord; the fingers cold

  clutched, trembling, at the sword. Now all the troop

  of Arcady, their chief’s great action seen,

  and by his warning roused, made at their foes,

  spurred on by grief and shame. Next Pallas pierced

  the flying Rhoetus in his car; this gained

  for Ilus respite and delay, for him

  the stout spear aimed at; but its flight was stopped

  by Rhoetus, as in swift retreat he rode,

  by the two high-born brothers close pursued,

  Teuthras and Tyres: from his car he rolled,

  making deep furrows with his lifeless heels />
  along the Rutule plain. Oft when the winds

  of summer, long awaited, rise and blow,

  a shepherd fires the forest, and the blaze

  devours the dense grove, while o’er the fields,

  in that one moment, swift and sudden spread

  grim Vulcan’s serried flames; from some high seat

  on distant hill, the shepherd peering down

  sees, glad at heart, his own victorious fires:

  so now fierce valor spreads, uniting all

  in one confederate rage, ‘neath Pallas’ eyes.

  But the fierce warrior Halaesus next

  led on the charge, behind his skilful shield

  close-crouching. Ladon and Demodocus

  and Pheres he struck down; his glittering blade

  cut Strymon’s hand, which to his neck was raised,

  sheer off; with one great stone he crushed the brows

  of Thoas, scattering wide the broken skull,

  bones, brains, and gore. Halaesus’ prophet-sire,

  foreseeing doom, had hid him in dark groves;

  but when the old man’s fading eyes declined

  in death, the hand of Fate reached forth and doomed

  the young life to Evander’s sword; him now

  Pallas assailed, first offering this prayer:

  “O Father Tiber, give my poising shaft

  through stout Halaesus’ heart its lucky way!

  The spoil and trophy of the hero slain

  on thine own oak shall hang.” The god received

  the vow, and while Halaesus held his shield

  over Imaon, his ill-fated breast

  lay naked to th’ Arcadian’s hungry spear.

  But Lausus, seeing such a hero slain,

  bade his troop have no fear, for he himself

  was no small strength in war; and first he slew

  Abas, who fought hard, and had ever seemed

  himself the sticking-point and tug of war.

  Down went Arcadia’s warriors, and slain

  etruscans fell, with many a Trojan brave

  the Greek had spared. Troop charges upon troop

  well-matched in might, with chiefs of like renown;

  the last rank crowds the first; — so fierce the press

  scarce hand or sword can stir. Here Pallas stands,

  and pushes back the foe; before him looms

  Lausus, his youthful peer, conspicuous both

  in beauty; but no star will them restore

  to home and native land. Yet would the King

  of high Olympus suffer not the pair

  to close in battle, but each hero found

  a later doom at hands of mightier foes.

  Now Turnus’ goddess-sister bids him haste

  to Lausus’ help. So he, in wheeling car,

  cut through the lines; and when his friends he saw,

  “Let the fight stop! “ he cried, “for none but I

  may strike at Pallas; unto me alone

  the prize of Pallas falls. I would his sire

  stood by to see.” He spake: his troop withdrew

  a fitting space. But as they made him room,

  the young prince, wondering at the scornful words,

  looked upon Turnus, glancing up and down

  that giant frame, and with fierce-frowning brows

  scanned him from far, hurling defiant words

  in answer to the King’s. “My honor now

  shall have the royal trophy of this war,

  or glorious death. For either fortune fair

  my sire is ready. Threaten me no more!”

  So saying, to the midmost space he strode,

  and in Arcadian hearts the blood stood still.

  Swift from his chariot Turnus leaped, and ran

  to closer fight. As when some lion sees

  from his far mountain-lair a raging bull

  that sniffs the battle from the grassy field,

  and down the steep he flies — such picture showed

  grim Turnus as he came. But when he seemed

  within a spear’s cast, Pallas opened fight,

  expecting Fortune’s favor to the brave

  in such unequal match; and thus he prayed:

  “O, by my hospitable father’s roof,

  where thou didst enter as a stranger-guest,

  hear me, Alcides, and give aid divine

  to this great deed. Let Turnus see these hands

  strip from his half-dead breast the bloody spoil!

  and let his eyes in death endure to see

  his conqueror!” Alcides heard the youth:

  but prisoned in his heart a deep-drawn sigh,

  and shed vain tears; for Jove, the King and Sire, .

  spoke with benignant accents to his son:

  “To each his day is given. Beyond recall

  man’s little time runs by: but to prolong

  life’s glory by great deeds is virtue’s power.

  Beneath the lofty walls of fallen Troy

  fell many a son of Heaven. Yea, there was slain

  Sarpedon, my own offspring. Turnus too

  is summoned to his doom, and nears the bounds

  of his appointed span.” So speaking, Jove

  turned from Rutulia’s war his eyes away.

  But Pallas hurled his lance with might and main,

  and from its hollow scabbard flashed his sword.

  The flying shaft touched where the plated steel

  over the shoulders rose, and worked its way

  through the shield’s rim — then falling, glanced aside

  from Turnus’ giant body. Turnus then

  poised, without haste, his iron-pointed spear,

  and, launching it on Pallas, cried, “Look now

  will not this shaft a good bit deeper drive?”

  He said: and through the mid-boss of the shield,

  steel scales and brass with bull’s-hide folded round,

  the quivering spear-point crashed resistlessly,

  and through the corselet’s broken barrier

  pierced Pallas’ heart. The youth plucked out in vain

  the hot shaft from the wound; his life and blood

  together ebbed away, as sinking prone

  on his rent side he fell; above him rang

  his armor; and from lips with blood defiled

  he breathed his last upon his foeman’s ground.

  Over him Turnus stood: “Arcadians all,”

  He cried, “take tidings of this feat of arms

  to King Evander. With a warrior’s wage

  his Pallas I restore, and freely grant

  what glory in a hero’s tomb may lie,

  or comfort in a grave. They dearly pay

  who bid Aeneas welcome at their board.”

  So saying, with his left foot he held down

  the lifeless form, and raised the heavy weight

  of graven belt, which pictured forth that crime

  of youthful company by treason slain,

  all on their wedding night, in bridal bowers

  to horrid murder given, — which Clonus, son

  of Eurytus, had wrought in lavish gold;

  this Turnus in his triumph bore away,

  exulting in the spoil. O heart of man,

  not knowing doom, nor of events to be!

  Nor, being lifted up, to keep thy bounds

  in prosperous days! To Turnus comes the hour

  when he would fain a prince’s ransom give

  had Pallas passed unscathed, and will bewail

  cuch spoil of victory. With weeping now

  and lamentations Ioud his comrades lay

  young Pallas on his shield, and thronging close

  carry him homeward with a mournful song:

  alas! the sorrow and the glorious gain

  thy sire shall have in thee. For one brief day

  bore thee to battle and now bears away;

  yet leavest thou full tale of
foemen slain.

  No doubtful rumor to Aeneas breaks

  the direful news, but a sure messenger

  tells him his followers’ peril, and implores

  prompt help for routed Troy. His ready sword

  reaped down the nearest foes, and through their line

  clove furious path and broad; the valiant blade

  through oft-repeated bloodshed groped its way,

  proud Turnus, unto thee! His heart beholds

  Pallas and Sire Evander, their kind board

  in welcome spread, their friendly league of peace

  proffered and sealed with him, the stranger-guest.

  So Sulmo’s sons, four warriors, and four

  of Ufens sprung, he took alive — to slay

  as victims to the shades, and pour a stream

  of captives’ blood upon a flaming pyre.

  Next from afar his hostile shaft he threw

  at Mago, who with wary motion bowed

  beneath the quivering weapon, as it sped

  clean over him; then at Aeneas’ knees

  he crouched and clung with supplicating cry:

  “O, by thy father’s spirit, by thy hope

  in young Iulus, I implore thee, spare

  for son and father’s sake this life of mine.

  A lofty house have I, where safely hid

  are stores of graven silver and good weight

  of wrought and unwrought gold. The fate of war

  hangs not on me; nor can one little life

  thy victory decide.” In answer spoke

  Aeneas: “Hoard the silver and the gold

  for thy own sons. Such bartering in war

  finished with Turnus, when fair Pallas fell.

  Thus bids Anchises’ shade, Iulus — thus!”

  He spoke: and, grasping with his mighty left

  the helmet of the vainly suppliant foe,

  bent back the throat and drove hilt-deep his sword.

  A little space removed, Haemonides,

  priest of Phoebus and pale Trivia, stood,

  whose ribboned brows a sacred fillet bound:

  in shining vesture he, and glittering arms.

  Him too the Trojan met, repelled, and towered

  above the fallen form, o’ermantling it

  in mortal shade; Serestus bore away

  those famous arms a trophy vowed to thee,

  Gradivus, Iord of war! Soon to fresh fight

  came Caeculus, a child of Vulcan’s line,

  and Umbro on the Marsic mountains bred:

  these met the Trojan’s wrath. His sword shore off

  Anxur’s left hand, and the whole orbed shield

  dropped earthward at the stroke: though Anxur’s tongue

  had boasted mighty things, as if great words

  would make him strong, and lifting his proud heart

  as high as heaven, had hoped perchance to see

  gray hairs and length of days. Then Tarquitus

 

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