Complete Works of Virgil

by Virgil

  XLV . Thence, burning, to Messapus’ camp he speeds,

  Where faint the watch-fires flicker far away,

  And tethered on the herbage graze the steeds,

  When briefly thus speaks Nisus, fain to stay

  The lust of battle and mad thirst to slay:

  “Cease we; the light, our enemy, is near.

  Vengeance is glutted; we have hewn our way.”

  Bowls, solid silver armour here and there 397

  They leave behind untouched, and arras rich and rare.

  XLVI . The arms and belt of Rhamnes, bossed with gold,

  Which Cædicus, his friendship to attest,

  Sent to Tiburtine Remulus of old,

  Whose grandson took it, as a last bequest

  (Rutulians thence these spoils of war possessed) —

  These trophies seized Euryalus, and braced

  The useless trappings on his valorous breast,

  And on his head Messapus’ helm he placed, 406

  Light and with graceful plumes; and from the camp they haste.

  XLVII . Meanwhile from out Laurentum rides a train

  With news of Turnus, while the main array

  With marshalled ranks is lingering on the plain,

  Three hundred shieldsmen Volscens’ lead obey.

  Now to the ramparts they have found their way,

  When lo, to leftward, hurrying from their raid,

  They mark the youths amid the twilight grey.

  His glittering helm Euryalus betrayed, 415

  That flashed the moonbeams back, and pierced the glimmering shade.

  XLVIII . Nor passed the sight unheeded. Shrill and loud

  “Stand, who are ye in armour dight, and why?

  What make ye there?” cries Volscens from the crowd,

  “And whither wend ye?” Naught the youths reply,

  But swiftly to the bordering forest fly,

  And trust to darkness. Then around each way

  The horsemen ride, all outlet to deny;

  Circling, like huntsmen, closely as they may, 424

  They watch the well-known turns, and wait the expected prey.

  XLIX . Shagg’d with rough brakes and sable ilex, spread

  The wood, and, glimmering in the twilight grey,

  Through broken tracks a narrow pathway led.

  The shadowy boughs, the cumbrous spoils delay

  Euryalus, and fear mistakes the way.

  Nisus, unheeding, through the foemen flies,

  And gains the place, — called Alba now — where lay

  Latinus’ pastures; then with back-turned eyes 433

  Stands still, and seeks in vain his absent friend, and cries:

  L . “Where, in what quarter, have I left thee? Where,

  Euryalus, shall I follow thee? What clue

  Shall trace the mazes of this silvan snare,

  The tangled path unravelling?” Back he flew,

  Picking his footsteps with observant view,

  And roamed the silent brushwood. Steeds he hears,

  The noise, the signs of foemen who pursue.

  A moment more, and, bursting on his ears, 442

  There came a shout, and lo, Euryalus appears.

  LI . Him, in false ways, amid the darkness, ta’en,

  The gathering band with sudden rush o’erbear.

  Poor Nisus sees him struggling, but in vain.

  What should he do? By force of arms how dare

  His friend to rescue? Shall he face them there,

  And rush upon the foemen’s swords, to die,

  And welcome wounds that win a death so fair?

  His spear he poises, and with upturned eye 451

  And stalwart arm drawn back, invokes the Moon on high:

  LII . “Come thou, Latonia, succour my distress!

  Guardian of groves, bright glory of the sky,

  If e’er with offerings for his son’s success

  My sire thine altars hath adorned, or I

  Enriched them from the chase, and hung on high

  Spoils in thy deep-domed temple, or arrayed

  Thy roof with plunder; make this troop to fly,

  And guide my weapons through the air.” He prayed, 460

  And, winged with strength, the steel went whistling through the shade.

  LIII . It struck the shield of Sulmo at his side;

  There broke the shaft and splintered. Down he rolled

  Pierced through the midriff, and his life’s warm tide

  Poured from his bosom, and the long sobs told

  Its heavings, ere the stiffening limbs grew cold.

  All look around and tremble, when again

  The youth another javelin, waxing bold,

  Aimed from his ear-tip. Through the temples twain 469

  Of Tagus whizzed the steel, and warmed within the brain.

  LIV . Fierce Volscens raves with anger, nor espies

  The wielder of the weapon, nor which way

  To rush, aflame with fury. “Thou,” he cries,

  “Thy blood meanwhile the penalty shall pay

  For both,” and with his falchion bared to slay

  Springs at Euryalus. Then, wild with fear,

  Poor Nisus shouts, in frenzy of dismay,

  Nor longer in the dark can hide, nor bear 478

  A pang of grief so keen — to lose a friend so dear,

  LV . “Me — me, behold the doer! mine the deed!

  Kill me, Rutulians. By this hand they fell.

  He could not — durst not. By the skies I plead,

  By yon bright stars, that witnessed what befell,

  He only loved his hapless friend too well.”

  Vain was his prayer; the weapon, urged amain,

  Pierced through his ribs and snowy breast. Out swell

  Dark streams of gore his lovely limbs to stain; 487

  The sinking neck weighs o’er the shoulders of the slain.

  LVI . So doth the purple floweret, dying, droop,

  Smit by the ploughshare. So the poppy frail

  On stricken stalk its languid head doth stoop,

  And bows o’erladen with the drenching hail.

  But onward now, through thickest ranks of mail,

  Rushed Nisus. Volscens only will he slay;

  He waits for none but Volscens. They assail

  From right and left, and crowd his steps to stay. 496

  He whirls his lightning brand, and presses to his prey.

  LVII . Ere long he meets him clamouring, and down

  His throat he drives the griding sword amain,

  And takes his life, ere laying down his own.

  Then, pierced he sinks upon his comrade slain,

  And death’s long slumber puts an end to pain.

  O happy pair! if aught my verse ensure,

  No length of time shall make your memory wane,

  While, throned upon the Capitol secure, 505

  The Æneian house shall reign, and Roman rule endure.

  LVIII . Weeping, the victors took the spoils and prey,

  And back dead Volscens to their camp they bore.

  Nor less the wailing in the camp that day,

  Brave Rhamnes found, and many a captive more,

  Numa, Serranus, weltering in their gore.

  Thick round the dead and dying, where the plain

  Reeks freshly with the frothing blood, they pour.

  Sadly they know Messapus’ spoils again, 514

  The trappings saved with sweat, the helmet of the slain.

  LIX . Now, rising from Tithonus’ saffron couch,

  The Goddess of the dawn with orient ray

  Sprinkled the earth, and ‘neath the wakening touch

  Of sunlight, all things stand revealed to-day.

  Turnus himself, accoutred for the fray,

  Wakes up his warriors with the morning light.

  At once each captain marshals in array

  His company, in brazen arms bedight, 523

  And
rumours whet their rage, and prick them to the fight.

  LX . Nay more, aloft upon the javelin’s end,

  With shouts they bear — a miserable sight! —

  The heads, the heads of Nisus and his friend.

  On the walls’ left — the river flanked their right —

  The sturdy Trojans stand arrayed for fight,

  And line the trenches and each lofty tower,

  Sad, while the foemen, clamorous with delight,

  March onward, with the heroes’ heads before, 532

  Well known — alas! too well — and dropping loathly gore.

  LXI . Now Fame, winged herald, through the wildered town

  Swift to Euryalus’ mother speeds her way.

  Life’s heat forsakes her; from her hand drops down

  The shuttle, and the task-work rolls away.

  Forth with a shriek, like women in dismay,

  Rending her hair, in frantic haste she flies,

  And seeks the ramparts and the war’s array,

  Heedless of darts and dangers and surprise, 541

  Heedless of armèd men, and fills the heaven with cries.

  LXII . “Thou — is it thou, Euryalus, my own?

  Thou, the late solace of my age? Ah, why

  So cruel? Could’st thou leave me here alone,

  Nor let thy mother bid a last good-bye?

  Now left a prey on Latin soil to lie

  Of dogs and birds, nor I, thy mother, there

  To wash thy wounds, and close thy lightless eye,

  And shroud thee in the robe I wrought so fair, 550

  Fain with the busy loom to soothe an old wife’s care!

  LXIII . “Where shall I follow thee? Thy corpse defiled,

  Thy mangled limbs — where are they? Woe is me!

  Is this then all of what was once my child?

  Was it for this I roamed the land and sea?

  Pierce me, Rutulians; hurl your darts at me,

  Me first, if ye a mother’s love can know.

  Great Sire of Heaven, have pity! set me free.

  Hurl with thy bolt to Tartarus below 559

  This hateful head, that longs to quit a world of woe!”

  LXIV . So wails the mother, weeping and undone,

  And sorrow smites each warrior, as he hears,

  Each groaning, as a father for his son.

  Grief runs, like wildfire, through the Trojan peers,

  And numbs their courage, and augments their fears.

  Then, fain the spreading sorrow to allay,

  Ilioneus and Iulus, bathed in tears

  Call Actor and Idæus; gently they 568

  The aged dame lift up, and to her home convey.

  LXV . Now terribly the brazen trumpet pealed

  Its summons, and the war-shout rent the air.

  On press the Volscians, locking shield to shield,

  And fill the trenches, and the breastwork tear.

  These plant their ladders for assault, where’er

  A gap, just glimmering, shows the line less dense.

  Vain hope! the Teucrians with their darts are there.

  Stout poles they ply, and thrust them from the fence, 577

  Trained by a lingering siege, and tutored to defence.

  LXVI . Stones, too, they roll, to crush the serried shields:

  Blithely the warriors bear the storm below,

  Yet not for long; for, see, the penthouse yields.

  Down on the midst, where thickest press the foe,

  The Teucrians, rolling, with a crash let go

  A ponderous mass, that opens to the light

  The jointed shields, and lays the warriors low.

  Nor care they longer in the dark to fight, 586

  But vie with distant darts to sweep the rampart’s height.

  LXVII . Pine-stock in hand, Mezentius hurls the flame;

  There, fierce Messapus rends the palisade, —

  Tamer of steeds, from Neptune’s loins he came, —

  And shouts aloud for ladders to invade.

  Aid me, Calliope; ye Muses, aid

  To sing of Turnus and his deeds that day,

  The deaths he wrought, the havoc that he made,

  And whom each warrior singled for his prey; 595

  Roll back the war’s great scroll, the mighty leaves display.

  LXVIII . Built high, with lofty gangways, stood a tower,

  Fit post of vantage, which the Latins vied,

  With utmost effort and with all their power,

  To capture and destroy, while armed inside

  With stones, the Trojans through the loopholes plied

  Their missiles. Turnus, ‘mid the foremost, cast

  A blazing brand, and, fastening to the side,

  Up went the flame; from floor to floor it passed, 604

  Clung to and licked the posts, and maddened with the blast.

  LXIX . Within ’twas hurrying and tumultuous fright,

  As, crowding backward, they retreat before

  The advancing flames, and vainly long for flight.

  Lo! toppling suddenly, the tower went o’er,

  And shook the wide air with reverberant roar.

  Half-dead, the huge mass following amain,

  They come to earth, stabbed by the darts they bore,

  Or pierced by splinters through the breast. Scarce twain 613

  Escape — Helenor one, and Lycus — from the slain.

  LXX . Of these Helenor, — whom to Lydia’s lord

  By stealth his slave, the fair Licymnia, bore,

  And sent to Ilium, where a simple sword

  And plain, white shield, yet unrenowned, he wore, —

  He, when he sees, around him and before,

  The Latin hosts, as when in fierce disdain,

  Hemmed round by huntsmen, in his rage the boar

  O’erleaps the spears, so, where the thickest rain 622

  The foemen’s darts, springs forth Helenor to be slain.

  LXXI . But fleeter far, young Lycus hastes to slip

  Through swords, through foes, and gains the walls, and tries

  To climb them, and a comrade’s hand to grip.

  With foot and spear behind him, as he flies,

  Comes Turnus. Scornfully the victor cries,

  “Mad fool! to fly, whom I have doomed to fall;

  Think’st thou to baffle Turnus of his prize?”

  Therewith he grasps him hanging, and withal 631

  Down with his victim drags huge fragments of the wall.

  LXXII . E’en so some snowy swan, or timorous hare

  Jove’s armour-bearer, swooping from the sky,

  Grips in his talons, and aloft doth bear.

  So, where apart the folded weanlings lie,

  Swift at some lamb the warrior-wolf doth fly,

  And leaves the mother, bleating in her woe.

  Loud rings the noise of battle. With a cry

  The foe press on; these fill the trench below, 640

  These to the topmost towers the blazing firebrands throw.

  LXXIII . Ilioneus with a rock’s huge fragment quelled

  Lucetius, creeping to the gate below

  With fire. Asylas Corynæus felled,

  Liger Emathion, one skilled to throw

  The flying dart, one famous with the bow.

  Cænus — brief triumph! — made Ortygius fall,

  With Dioxippus, Turnus lays him low,

  Then Itys, Clonius, Promolus withal, 649

  Sagaris, and Idas last, the warder of the wall.

  LXXIV . There, slain by Capys, poor Privernus lay,

  Grazed by Themilla’s javelin; with a start

  The madman flung his trusty shield away,

  And clapped his left hand to the wounded part,

  Fain, as he thought, to ease him of the smart.

  Thereat, a light-winged arrow, unespied,

  Whirred on the wind. It missed the warrior’s heart,

  But pierced his hand, and
pinned it to his side, 658

  And, entering, clave the lung, and with a gasp he died.

  LXXV . With broidered scarf of Spanish crimson, stood

  A comely youth, young Arcens was his name,

  Sent by his father, from Symæthus’ flood,

  And nurtured in his mother’s grove, he came,

  Where, rich and kind, Palicus’ altars flame.

  His lance laid by, thrice whirling round his head

  The whistling thong, Mezentius took his aim.

  Clean through his temples hissed the molten lead, 667

  And prostrate in the dust, the gallant youth lay dead.

  LXXVI . Then first, ’tis said, in war Ascanius drew

  His bow, wherewith in boyish days he plied

  The flying game. His hand Numanus slew,

  Called Remulus, to Turnus late allied,

  For Turnus’ youngest sister was his bride.

  He, puffed with new-won royalty and proud,

  Stalked in the forefront of the fight, and cried

  With random clamour and big words and loud, 676

  Fain by his noise to show his grandeur to the crowd.

  LXXVII . “Think ye no shame, poor cowards, thus again

  Behind your sheltering battlements to stand,

  Twice-captured Phrygians! and to plant in vain

  These walls, to shield you from the foemen’s hand?

  Lo, these the varlets who our wives demand!

  What God, what madness blinded you, that e’er

  Ye thought to venture to Italia’s land?

  No wily-worded Ithacan is near; 685

  Far other foes than he or Atreus’ sons are here.

  LXXVIII . “Our babes are hardened in the frost and flood,

  Strong is the stock and sturdy whence we came.

  Our boys from morn till evening scour the wood,

  Their joy is hunting, and the steed to tame,

  To bend the bow, the flying shaft to aim.

  Patient of toil, and used to scanty cheer,

  Our youths with rakes the stubborn glebe reclaim,

  Or storm the town. Through life we grasp the spear. 694

  In war it strikes the foe, in peace it goads the steer.

  LXXIX . “Age cannot stale, nor creeping years impair

  Stout hearts as ours, nor make our strength decay.

  Our hoary heads the heavy helmet bear.