by Virgil
Like thine the vigour of his years. But O!
Why, Teucrians, do I keep you? wherefore claim
An old man’s privilege of empty woe? 190
This message bear your king, and con it as ye go.
XXIII . “If yet I linger on, with Pallas slain,
Loathing the light, and longing to expire,
’Tis thy right hand that tempts me to remain,
That hand from which — thou see’st it — son and sire
The penalty of Turnus’ blood require.
This niche of fame,— ’tis all the Fates bestow —
Awaits thee still. For me, all life’s desire —
‘Twere vain — hath fled; but gladly would I go, 199
And bear the welcome news to Pallas’ shade below.”
XXIV . Meanwhile to weary mortals fresh and fair
Upsprings the Dawn, and reawakes the land
To toil and labour. Reared with pious care
By Tarchon and the good Æneas, stand
The funeral pyres along the winding strand.
Here brings each warrior, as in days gone by,
His comrade’s corpse, and holds the lighted brand.
The dusk flames burn beneath them, and on high 208
The clouds of smoke roll up, and shroud the lofty sky.
XXV . Three times the Trojans, sheathed in shining mail,
Pace round the piles; three times they ride around
The funeral fire, and raise the warrior’s wail.
Tears bathe their arms, and tears bedew the ground,
And, mixt with clamour, comes the clarion’s sound.
Spoils of dead Latins on the flames are thrown,
Bits, bridles, glowing wheels and helmets crown’d
With glittering plumes, and, last, the gifts well-known, 217
The luckless spear and shield, the weapons of their own.
XXVI . Oxen in numbers round the pyres are slain
To Death’s dread power, and herds of bristly swine;
And cattle, snatched from all the neighbouring plain,
And sheep they slaughter for the flames divine.
Far down the sea-coast, where the bale-fires shine,
They guard and gaze upon the pyres, where lie
Their burning comrades, nor their watch resign,
Nor leave the spot, till dewy night on high 226
Rolls round the circling heavens, and starlight gilds the sky.
XXVII . Nor less the sorrowing Latins build elsewhere
Their countless piles. These burying they bemoan;
Those to the town or neighbouring fields they bear.
The rest, untold, unhonoured and unknown,
A mass of carnage, on the flames are thrown.
Thick blaze the fires, and light the plains around,
And on the third dawn, when the mists have flown,
The bones and dust, still smouldering on the ground, 235
Mourning, they rake in heaps, and cover with a mound.
XXVIII . But loudest in Laurentum rose the noise
Of woe and wailing for their friends who died.
Here, mothers, wives, sad sisters, orphaned boys
Curse the dire war, and Turnus and his bride.
“Let him, let Turnus fight it out,” they cried;
“Who claims chief honours and Italia’s throne,
And caused the quarrel, let his sword decide”;
And spiteful Drances: “Ay, ’tis he alone 244
Whom Latium’s foes demand; the challenge is his own.”
XXIX . And voices, too, with various reasons, plead
For Turnus, sheltered by the queen’s great name,
And spoils that speak for many a glorious deed.
Lo, in the midst, the tumult still aflame,
With doleful news from Diomede, back came
The envoys. All was useless, — gifts, and prayer,
And proffered gold; his answer was the same:
Let Latins look for other arms elsewhere, 253
Or beg the Trojan king in clemency to spare.
XXX . Grief bowed Latinus, and his heart sank low.
The wrath of Heaven, the recent funerals,
The graves before them — all Æneas show
The god’s true choice. A council straight he calls,
And Latium’s chiefs convenes within his walls.
All meet; along the crowded ways the peers
Stream at the summons. In his palace-halls
Amidst them sits Latinus, first in years, 262
And first in sceptred state, but filled with anxious fears.
XXXI . Forthwith the envoys he invites, each man
To tell his message, and the terms expound,
Then, silence made, thus Venulus began:
“Friends, we have seen great Diomede, and found
The Argive camp, and, safe from peril, crowned
Our journey’s end, and pressed the mighty hand
That razed old Troy. On Iapygian ground
By Garganus the conqueror hath planned 271
Argyripa’s new town, named from his native land.
XXXII . “There, audience gained and liberty to speak,
The gifts we tender, and our names declare
And country, who our foemen, what we seek,
And why to Arpi and his court we fare.
He hears, and gently thus bespeaks us fair:
‘O happy nations, once by Saturn blest,
Time-old Ausonians, what sad misfare,
What evil fortune mars your ancient rest 280
And tempts to wage strange wars, and dare the doubtful test?
XXXIII . “‘All we, whoever with the steel profaned
Troy’s fields (I leave the wasting siege alone,
The dead, who lie in Simois), all have drained
Evils past utterance, o’er the wide world blown,
And, suffering, learned our trespass to atone,
A hapless band! E’en Priam’s self might weep
For woes like ours, as Pallas well hath known,
Whose baleful star once wrecked us on the deep, 289
And grim Euboea’s rocks, Caphareus’ vengeful steep.
XXXIV . “‘Freed from that war, to distant shores we stray.
To Proteus’ Pillars, far remote from men
An exile, Menelaus wends his way;
Ulysses shudders at the Cyclops’ den;
Why speak of Pyrrhus, by Orestes slain?
Or poor Idomeneus, expelled his state?
Of Locrians, cast upon the Libyan plain?
Of Agamemnon, greatest of the great, 298
Mycenæ’s valiant lord, slain by his faithless mate,
XXXV . “‘E’en on his threshold, when the adulterer lay
In wait for Asia’s conqueror? Me, too,
Hath envious Heaven in exile doomed to stay,
Nor home, nor wife, nor Calydon to view.
Nay, ghastly prodigies my flight pursue.
Transformed to birds, my comrades wing the skies, —
Ah! cruel punishment for friends so true! —
Or skim the streams; from all the shores arise 307
Their piteous shrieks, the cliffs re-echo with their cries.
XXXVI . “‘Such woes had I to look for, from the day
I dared a goddess, and my javelin tore
The hand of Venus. To such fights, I pray,
Persuade me not. Troy fall’n, I fight no more
With Trojans, nor those evil days of yore
Now care to dwell on. To Æneas go,
And take these gifts. Once, hand to hand, we bore
The shock of battle; to my cost I know 316
How to his shield he towers, the whirlwind of his throw.
XXXVII . “‘Had Ida’s land two others borne as great,
To Argos Dardanus had found his way,
And Greece were mourning now a different fate.
The stubborn sieg
e, the conquerors kept at bay,
For ten whole years, the triumph’s long delay
Were his and Hector’s doing, each in might
Renowned, and each the foremost in the fray,
Æneas first in piety. Go, plight 325
What peace ye may, but shun to meet him in the fight.’
XXXVIII . “Thou hast, great king, the answer of the king,
And this, his sentence on the war.” So they,
And diverse murmurs in the crowd upspring;
As when big rocks a rushing torrent stay,
The prisoned waters, chafing with delay,
Boil, and the banks in many a foaming crest
Fling back with echoes the tumultuous spray.
Now from his throne, their murmurs laid to rest, 334
The King, first offering prayer, his listening folk addressed:
XXXIX . “I would, ye peers, and better it had been
An earlier hour had called us to debate,
Than thus in haste a council to convene,
And meet, while foemen battle at the gate.
A war ill-omened, with disastrous fate,
We wage with men unconquered in the field,
A race of gods, whose force nor toils abate,
Nor wounds can tire; who, driven back, still wield 343
The sword and shake the spear, and, beaten, scorn to yield.
XL . “What hope ye had in Diomede, give o’er;
Each for himself must be his hope and stay.
This hope how slender, and our straits how sore,
Ye see; the general ruin and decay
Is open, palpable and clear as day.
Yet blame I none; what valour could, was done.
Our country’s strength, our souls were in the fray.
Hear then in brief, and ponder every one, 352
What wavering thoughts have shaped, our present fate to shun.
XLI . “Far-stretching westward, past Sicania’s bound,
By Tiber’s stream, an ancient tract is mine.
Auruncans and Rutulians till the ground;
Their ploughshares cleave the stubborn slopes, their kine
Graze on the rocks. This tract, these hills of pine
Let Latins yield the Trojans for their own,
And both, as friends, in equal league combine
And share the realm. Here let them settle down, 361
If so they love the land, and build the wished-for town.
XLII . “But if new frontiers, and another folk,
They fain would look for, and can leave our shore,
Then twice ten ships of tough Italian oak
Build we, nor only let us build a score
Can they but man them (by the stream good store
Of timber is at hand); let them decide
The form, the number, and the size. What more
Is wanting, we will grudge not to provide, 370
Gold, labour, brass, and docks, and naval gear beside.
XLIII . “Nay more, to strike the proffered league, ‘twere good
That chosen envoys to their camp should fare,
A hundred Latins of the noblest blood,
The peaceful olive in their hands to bear,
With gifts, the choicest that the realm can spare,
Talents of gold and ivory, just in weight,
The royal mantle, and the curule chair,
The marks of rule. With freedom now debate, 379
Consult the common weal, and help the sickly state.”
XLIV . Up rose then Drances, with indignant mien,
Whom, spiteful still, the fame of Turnus stung
With carping envy, and malignant spleen;
Lavish of wealth, and fluent with his tongue,
No mean adviser in debate, and strong
In faction, but in battle cold and tame.
From royal seed his mother’s race was sprung,
His sire’s unknown. He thus with words of blame 388
Piles up the general wrath, and fans resentment’s flame.
XLV . “Good king, the matter — it is plain, for each
Knows well our needs, but hesitates to say.
Let him cease blustering, and allow free speech,
Him, for whose pride and sullen temper, yea,
I say it, let him threaten as he may —
Quenched is the light of many a chief, that lies
In earth’s cold lap, and mourning and dismay
Have filled the town, while, sure of flight, he tries 397
To storm the Trojan camp, and idly flouts the skies.
XLVI . “One gift, O best of monarchs, add, to crown
Thy bounty to the Dardans, — one, beside
These many, nor let bluster bear thee down.
A worthy husband for thy child provide,
And peace shall with the lasting pact abide.
Else, if such terror doth our souls enslave,
Him now, in hope to turn away his pride,
Him let us pray his proper right to waive, 406
And, pitying, deign to yield what king and country crave.
XLVII . “O Turnus, cause of all our ills to-day,
Why make the land these miseries endure?
The war is desperate; for peace we pray,
And that one pledge, inviolably sure,
Naught else but which can make the peace secure.
Thy foeman, I — nor be the fact concealed,
For so thou deem’st — entreat thee and adjure.
Blood flows enough on many a wasted field. 415
Relent, and spare thine own, and, beaten, learn to yield.
XLVIII . “Or, if fame tempt, and in thy bosom glow
Such fire, and so thou hankerest to gain
A kingdom’s dower, take heart and face the foe.
Must we, poor souls, that Turnus may obtain
A royal bride, like carrion strew the plain,
Unwept, unburied? If thine arm hath might,
If but a spark of native worth remain,
Go forth this hour; in arms assert thy right, 424
And meet him, face to face, who calls thee to the fight.”
XLIX . Fierce blazed the wrath of Turnus, and he wrung
Speech from his breast, deep groaning in his gall.
“Glib art thou, Drances, voluble of tongue,
When hands are needed, and the trumpets call.
The council summoned, thou art first of all.
Not this the hour thy vapouring to outpour,
Though big thy talk, and brave the words, that fall
From craven lips, while ramparts stand before, 433
To guard thee safe from foes, nor trenches swim with gore.
L . “Rave on, and thunder in thy wonted strain,
And brand me coward, thou whose hands can slay
Such Trojan hosts, whose trophies grace the plain.
What worth can do, and manhood can essay,
We twain may venture. Sooth, not far away
Need foes be sought; around the walls they throng.
March we to meet them! Dotard, why delay?
Still dwells thy War-God in a windy tongue, 442
And flying feet, and knees all feeble and unstrung?
LI . “I beaten? Who, foul spawn of earth, shall call
Me beaten? who, that saw swoln Tiber flow
Red with the blood of Trojans, ay, and all
Evander’s house and progeny laid low,
And fierce Arcadians vanquished at a blow?
Not such dead Pandarus and Bitias found
This right hand, nor those thousands hurled below
In one short day, when battlement and mound 451
Hemmed me in hostile walls, and foemen swarmed around.
LII . “No hope from war? — Go, fool, to Dardan ears
These bodings whisper, to thy new ally.
Go, swell the panic, spread the coward’s fears.
Puff up the foemen
’s prowess to the sky, —
Twice-conquered churls, — and Latin arms decry.
See now, forsooth, the Myrmidons afraid
Of Phrygian arms, Tydides fain to fly,
Achilles trembling, Aufidus in dread 460
Shrunk from the Hadrian deep, and cowering in his bed.
LIII . “Or mark the trickster’s cunning when he feigns
To fear my vengeance, whom his taunts revile!
Nay, Drances, be at ease; this hand disdains
To take the forfeit of a soul so vile.
Keep it, fit inmate of that breast of guile,
And now, good Sire, if, beaten, we despair,
If never Fate on Latin arms shall smile,
And naught our ruined fortunes can repair, 469
Stretch we our craven hands, and beg the foe to spare.
LIV . “Yet oh! if aught of ancient worth remain,
Him deem I noblest, and his end renowned,
Brave soul! who sooner than behold such stain,
Fell once for all, and, dying, bit the ground.
But, if fit men and martial means abound,
And towns and tribes, to muster at our call,
Hath Italy; if Trojans, too, have found
Fame dearly bought with many a brave man’s fall 478
(For they have, too, their deaths; the storm hath swept o’er all),
LV . “Why fail we on the threshold, faint with fears,
And sick knees tremble ere the trumpets bray?
Time — healing Time — and long, laborious years
Oft raise the humble; Fortune in her play
Lifts those to-morrow, whom she lowers to-day.
What though no aid Ætolian Arpi lends,
Ours is Messapus, ours Tolumnius, yea,
And all whom Latium or Laurentum sends, 487
Nor scanty fame, nor slow Italia’s hosts attends.
LVI . “Ours, too, is brave Camilla, noble maid,
The pride of Volscians, and she leads a band
Of horsemen fierce, in brazen arms arrayed.
If me the foe to single fight demand,
And so ye will, and I alone withstand
The common good, come danger as it may,
Not so hath victory fled this hated hand,
Not yet so weak is Turnus, as to stay 496
With such a prize unsnatched, and falter from the fray.