And thrice and four times smote with hand her bosom well beseen.

  “Nay, this is now no weeping-time,” saith that Saturnian Queen,

  “Haste; snatch thy brother from the death if all be not undone,

  Or wake up war and rend apart the treaty scarce begun;

  And I am she that bids thee dare.”

  She urged her, and she left

  Her wavering mind and turmoiled heart with sorrow’s torment cleft. 160

  Meantime the Kings — Latinus there, a world of state around,

  Is borne upon the fourfold car, his gleaming temples bound

  With twice six golden rays, the sign of his own grandsire’s light,

  The heavenly Sun; and Turnus wends with twi-yoked horses white,

  Tossing in hand two shafts of war with broad-beat points of steel.

  And hither Father Æneas, spring of the Roman weal,

  Flaming with starry shield and arms wrought in the heavenly home,

  And next to him Ascanius young, the second hope of Rome,

  Fare from the camp: the priest thereon, in unstained raiment due,

  Offereth a son of bristly sow and unshorn yearling ewe, 170

  And bringeth up the four-foot hosts unto the flaming place.

  But they, with all eyes turned about the rising sun to face,

  Give forth the salt meal from the hand, and with the iron sign

  The victims’ brows, and mid the flame pour out the bowls of wine:

  Then good Æneas draws his sword, and thuswise prays the prayer:

  “Bear witness, Sun, and thou, O Land, who dost my crying hear!

  Land, for whose sake I waxed in might, sustaining toils enow;

  And Thou, Almighty Father, hear! Saturnian Juno thou,

  Grown kinder, Goddess, I beseech; and thou, most glorious Mars,

  Father, whose hand of utter might is master of all wars; 180

  Ye Springs, and River-floods I call, and whatsoever God

  Is in the air, or whatso rules the blue sea with its rod —

  If to Ausonian Turnus here Fortune shall give the day,

  The conquered to Evander’s town shall straightly wend their way;

  Iulus shall depart the land, nor shall Æneas’ folk

  Stir war hereafter, or with sword the Latin wrath provoke.

  But if the grace of victory here bow down upon our fight;

  — (As I believe, as may the Gods make certain with their might!) —

  I will not bid the Italian men to serve the Teucrian’s will;

  Nor for myself seek I the realm; but all unconquered still 190

  Let either folk with equal laws plight peace for evermore:

  The Gods and worship I will give, Latinus see to war;

  My father lawful rule shall have; for me my Teucrians here

  Shall build a city, and that home Lavinia’s name shall bear.”

  So first Æneas: after whom Latinus swears and says,

  Looking aloft, and stretching hands up towards the starry ways:

  “E’en so, Æneas, do I swear by Stars, and Sea, and Earth,

  By twi-faced Janus, and the twins Latona brought to birth,

  And by the nether Might of God and shrine of unmoved Dis;

  And may the Sire who halloweth in all troth-plight hearken this: 200

  I hold the altars, and these Gods and fires to witness take,

  That, as for Italy, no day the peace and troth shall break,

  What thing soever shall befall; no might shall conquer me.

  Not such as with the wrack of flood shall mingle earth and sea,

  Nor such as into nether Hell shall melt the heavenly land.

  E’en as this sceptre” — (for by chance he bore a staff in hand) —

  “Shall never more to leafage light and twig and shadow shoot,

  Since when amid the thicket-place, cut off from lowest root,

  It lost its mother, and the knife hath lopped it, leaf and bough, —

  A tree once, but the craftsman’s hand hath wrapped it seemly now 210

  With brass about, and made it meet for hands of Latin lords.”

  So in the sight of all the chiefs with such abundant words

  They bound the troth-plight fast and sure: then folk in due wise slay

  The victims on the altar-flame, and draw the hearts away

  Yet living, and with platters full the holy altars pile.

  But unto those Rutulian men unequal this long while

  The fight had seemed, and in their hearts the mingled trouble rose;

  And all the more, as nigher now they note the ill-matched foes,

  This helpeth Turnus’ silent step, and suppliant worshipping

  About the altars, and his eyes that unto earth do cling, 220

  His faded cheeks, his youthful frame that wonted colour lacks.

  Wherefore Jaturna, when she hears the talk of people wax,

  And how the wavering hearts of men in diverse manner sway,

  Like unto Camers wendeth now amidst of that array;

  — A mighty man, from mighty blood, his father well renowned

  For valorous worth, and he himself keen in the battle found.

  So through the mid array she speeds, well knowing what is toward,

  And soweth rumour on the wind and speaketh such a word:

  “O shame ye not, Rutulian men, to offer up one soul

  For all your warriors? lack we aught in might or muster-roll 230

  To match them? Here is all they have — Trojans, Arcadian peers,

  And that Etruscan Turnus’ bane, the fateful band of spears:

  Why, if we meet, each second man shall scantly find a foe.

  And now their king, upborne by fame, unto the Gods shall go,

  Upon whose shrines he vows himself; his name shall live in tale.

  But we shall lose our fatherland and ‘neath proud lords shall fail,

  E’en those that sit there heavy-slow upon our fields today.”

  So with such words she lit the hearts of all that young array;

  Yet more and more a murmur creeps about the ranks of men;

  Changed even are Laurentine folk; changed are the Latins then; 240

  They who had hoped that rest from fight and peaceful days were won,

  Are now but fain of battle-gear, and wish the troth undone,

  For ruth that such a cruel fate on Turnus’ head should fall.

  But unto these a greater thing Jaturna adds withal,

  A sign from heaven; and nought so much stirred Italy that day,

  As this whose prodigy beguiled men’s hearts to go astray:

  For now the yellow bird of Jove amid the ruddy light

  Was chasing of the river-fowl, and drave in hurried flight

  The noisy throng; when suddenly down to the waves he ran,

  And caught in greedy hookèd claws a goodly-bodied swan: 250

  Uprose the hearts of Italy, for all the fowl cry out,

  And, wonderful for eyes to see, from fleeing turn about,

  Darken the air with cloud of wings, and fall upon the foe;

  Till he, oppressed by might of them and by his prey held low,

  Gives way, and casts the quarry down from out his hookéd claws

  Into the river, and aback to inner cloud-land draws.

  Then to the sign the Rutuli shout greeting with one breath,

  And spread their hands abroad; but first the seer Tolumnius saith:

  “This, this is that, which still my prayers sought oft and o’er again.

  I take the sign, I know the God! to arms with me, O men! 260

  Poor people, whom the stranger-thief hath terrified with war.

  E’en like these feeble fowl; who wastes the acres of your shore,

  Yet shall he fly, and give his sails unto the outer sea:

  But ye, your ranks with heart and mind now serry manfully,

  And ward your ravished King and Duke with all your battle-world!”

  He spake, and, running forth, a shaft against the foe he hurled.

  Forth whizzed the cornel through the air, cleaving its way aright,

  And therewithal great noise outbreaks, and every wedge of fight

  Is turmoiled, and the hearts of men are kindled for the fray.

  On sped the shaft to where there stood across its baneful way 270

  Nine fair-shaped brethren, whom whilom one faithful Tuscan wife

  Amid Gylippus’ Arcad house brought forth to light and life:

  Now one of these, e’en where the belt of knitted stitches wrought

  Chafed on the belly, and the clasp the joining edges caught,

  A youth most excellent of frame and clad in glittering gear —

  It pierced his ribs; on yellow sand it stretched him dying there.

  Thereat his brethren, a fierce folk, with grief and rage alight,

  Some draw their swords and some catch up the steel of speedy flight,

  And rush on blind: Laurentum’s ranks, against them swift they go,

  And thick the Trojans from their side the meadows overflow, 280

  Agyllans and Arcadian men with painted war array;

  And one lust winneth over all with point and edge to play.

  They strip the altars; drifting storm of weapon-shot doth gain

  O’er all the heavens, and ever grows the iron battle-rain.

  The bowls and hearths they bear away: Latinus gets him gone,

  Bearing aback the beaten Gods and troth-plight all undone,

  But other men rein in the car and leap upon the steed,

  And there with naked swords they sit, all ready for the need.

  Messapus, fain to rend the troth, on hostile horse down-bears

  Upon Aulestes, Tuscan king, who kingly raiment wears: 290

  He fled, but as abackward there away from him he went,

  Came on the altars at his back in hapless tanglement

  Of head and shoulders: thitherward doth hot Messapus fly

  With spear in hand, and from his steed he smites him heavily

  With the great beam amid his prayers, and word withal doth say:

  “He hath it, and the Gods have got a better host today!”

  Therewith to strip his body warm up runs the Italian band;

  But Corynæus from the hearth catches a half-burnt brand,

  And e’en as Ebusus comes up, and stroke in hand doth bear,

  He filleth all his face with flame; out doth his great beard flare, 300

  And sendeth stink of burning forth: the Trojan followed on

  The wildered man, and with his left grip of his tresses won,

  And, straining hard with weight of knee, to earth he pinned his foe,

  And drave the stark sword through his side.

  See Podalirius go,

  Chasing the shepherd Alsus through the front of weapon-wrack;

  O’er him he hangs with naked sword; but he, with bill swung back,

  Cleaveth the foeman facing him through midmost brow and chin,

  And all about his battle-gear the bloody rain doth win:

  Then iron slumber fell on him, hard rest weighed down his eyes,

  And shut were they for evermore in night that never dies. 310

  Then good Æneas stretched forth hands all empty of the sword,

  And called bare-headed on his folk, with eager shouted word:

  “Where rush ye on, and whither now doth creeping discord rise?

  Refrain your wrath; the troth is struck; its laws in equal wise

  Are doomed; and ’tis for me alone the battle to endure.

  Nay, let me be! cast fear away; my hand shall make it sure.

  This troth-plight, all these holy things, owe Turnus to my sword.”

  But while his voice was sounding, lo, amidmost of his word,

  A whistling speedy-wingèd shaft unto the hero won;

  Unknown what hand hath sped it forth, what whirlwind bore it on; 320

  What God, what hap, such glory gave to hands of Rutuli;

  Beneath the weight of things unknown dead doth the honour lie,

  Nor boasted any of the hurt Æneas had that day.

  But Turnus, when he saw the King give back from that array,

  And all the turmoil of the Dukes, with hope his heart grew fain;

  He cried for horse and arms, and leapt aloft to battle-wain,

  And high of heart set on apace, the bridle in his hand;

  And many a brave man there he gave unto the deadly land,

  And rolled o’er wounded men in heaps, and high in car wore down

  The ranks of men; and fleers’ spears from out his hand were thrown:

  E’en as when litten up to war by Hebrus’ chilly flood 331

  Red Mavors beateth on his shield, and rouseth fightful mood

  Amid the fury of his steeds, who o’er the level lea

  In uttermost hoof-smitten Thrace the south and west outflee.

  And lo, the fellows of the God, the black Fear’s bitter face,

  The Rage of men, the Guile of War anigh him wend apace:

  E’en so amid the battle-field his horses Turnus sped,

  Reeking with sweat: there tramples he the woeful heaps of dead,

  The hurrying hoofs go scattering wide a drift of bloody rain;

  The gore, all blent with sandy dust, is pounded o’er the plain. 340

  To death he casteth Sthenelus, Pholus, and Thamyris;

  Those twain anigh, but him afar; from far the bane he is

  Of Glaucus and of Lades, sons of Imbrasus, whom he

  In Lycia bred a while agone, and armed them equally

  To fight anigh, or on their steeds the winds to overrun.

  But otherwhere amidst the fight Eumedes fareth on,

  The son of Dolon of old time, most well-renowned in fight,

  And bringing back his father’s name in courage and in might:

  For that was he who while agone the Danaan camp espied,

  And chose Achilles’ car for spoil in his abundant pride: 350

  But otherwise Tydides paid for such a deed o’erbold,

  And no more had he any hope Achilles’ steeds to hold.

  So Turnus, when adown the lea this warrior he had seen,

  First a light spear he sent in chase across the void between,

  Then stayed his steeds, and leaping down unto the fallen ran,

  And set his foot upon the neck of that scarce-breathing man,

  And from his right hand wrenched the sword and bathed its glittering blade

  Deep in his throat, and therewithal such spoken chiding said:

  “Down, Trojan! measure out the mead, and that Hesperean land

  Thou sought’st in war: such are the gifts that fall unto the hand 360

  Of those that dare the sword with me; such city-walls they raise!”

  Asbutes wends ‘neath spear-cast then, a fellow of his ways;

  Chloreus, Dares, Thersilochus, and Sybaris, withal;

  Thymoetes, who from rearing horse had hap to catch a fall;

  And e’en as when the breathing forth of Thracian Boreas roars

  O’er deep Ægean, driving on the wave-press to the shores,

  Then wheresoe’er the wind stoops down the clouds flee heaven apace;

  So wheresoe’er cleaves Turnus way all battle giveth place,

  All war-array is turned to wrack: his onrush beareth him,

  And in the breeze that meets his car his tossing crest doth swim. 370

  This onset of the maddened heart nought Phegeus might abide,

  But cast himself before the steeds, and caught and wrenched aside

  The bit-befoaming mouths of them, the heart-stung hurrying steeds.

  But while he hangeth dragged along, the spear broad-headed speeds

  Unto his shieldless side, and rends the twilinked coat of mail,

  And for the razing of his flesh a little doth avail:

  But he turned round about his shield and at the foemen made,

  And from his naked sword drawn forth sought most well-needed aid;

  When now the axle-tree and wheel, unto fresh speeding won,

  Cast him down headlong unto earth, and Turnus following on, 380

  Betwixt the lowest of the helm and haubert’s upper lip

  Sheared off his head, and left the trunk upon the sand to slip.

  But while victorious Turnus gives these deaths unto the plain,

  Mnestheus and that Achates leal, Ascanius with the twain,

  Bring great Æneas to the camp all covered with his blood;

  There, propping up his halting steps with spear-shaft long, he stood:

  Mad wroth he is, and strives to pluck the broken reed away,

  And bids them help by any road, the swiftest that they may,

  To cut away the wound with sword, cut to the hiding-place

  Where lies the steel, and send him back to meet the battle’s face. 390

  Iapis, son of Iasus, by Phoebus best beloved,

  Draws nigh now: Phoebus on a time, by mighty longing moved,

  Was fain to give him gifts of God, his very heavenly craft —

  Foresight, or skill of harp-playing, or mastery of the shaft:

  But he, that from his bed-rid sire the death he yet might stave,

  Would liefer know the might of herbs, and how men heal and save,

  And, speeding of a silent craft, inglorious life would wear.

  Æneas, fretting bitterly, stood leaning on his spear

  Midst a great concourse of the lords, with sad Iulus by,

  Unmoved amid their many tears: the elder, girded high 400

  In folded gown, in e’en such wise as Pæon erst was dight,

  With hurrying hand speeds many a salve of Phoebus’ herbs of might;

  But all in vain: his right hand woos the arrow-head in vain;

  For nought the teeth of pincers grip the iron of the bane;

  No happy road will Fortune show, no help Apollo yields:

  And grimly terror more and more prevaileth o’er the fields,

  And nigher draws the evil hour: they see the dusty pall

  Spread o’er the heaven; draw horsemen nigh, and shafts begin to fall

  Thick in the midmost of the camp: grim clamour smites the stars,

  The shouts of men, the cries of men that fall in game of Mars. 410

  Now Mother Venus, sore at heart for her sore-wounded son,

 

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