The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Aeneid of Virgil,

LXXXVIII .		Proud stalks the phantom, gladdening in the van, With darts provokes him, and with words defies. Forth rushed fierce Turnus, hurling as he ran His whistling spear. The shadow turns and flies. Then Turnus, glorying in his fancied prize, "Where now, Æneas, from thy plighted bride? The land thou soughtest o'er the deep, it lies Here, and this hand shall give it thee." He cried,	784
	And waved his glittering sword, and chased him, nor espied

LXXXIX .		The winds bear off his triumph.—Hard at hand, With steps let down and gangway ready laid, Moored by the rocks, a vessel chanced to stand, Which brave Osinius, Clusium's king, conveyed. Here, as in haste, for shelter plunged the shade. On Turnus pressed, and with a bound ascends The lofty gangways, dauntless nor delayed. The bows scarce reached, the rope Saturnia rends,	793
	And down the refluent tide the loosened ship descends.

XC .		Loud calls Æneas for his absent foe, And many a hero-body—all who dare To meet him—hurries to the shades below. No more the phantom lingers in his lair, But, soaring, melts into the misty air. Turnus a storm-wind o'er the deep sea blows. Backward he looks, and of events unware, And all unthankful to escape his foes.	802
	Up to the stars of heaven his hand and voice he throws.

XCI .		"Great Sire, was I so guilty in thy sight, To make thee deem such punishment my due? Whence came I? Whither am I borne? What flight Is this? and how do I return, and who? Again Laurentum's city shall I view? What of that band, who followed me, whom I— Shame on me—left a shameful death to rue? E'en now I see them scattered,—see them fly,—	811
	And see them fall; and hear the groans of those that die.

XCII .		"What am I doing? Where can Earth for me Gape deep enough? Ye winds that round me roar, Pity I crave, on rocks amid the sea— 'Tis Turnus, I, a willing prayer who pour— Dash me this ship, or drive it on the shore, 'Mid ruthless shoals, where no Rutulian eyes May see my shame, nor prying Fame explore." Thus he, and, tost in spirit, as he cries,	820
	This plan and that in turn his wavering thoughts devise:

XCIII .		Madly to grasp the dagger in his hand, And through his ribs drive home the naked blade, Or plunge into the deep, and swim to land, And, armed, once more the Teucrian foes invade. Thrice, but in vain, each venture he essayed. Thrice Heaven's high queen, in pity fain to save, Held back the youth, and from his purpose stayed. And borne along by favouring tide and wave,	829
	On to his father's town the level deep he clave.

XCIV .		Jove prompting, fierce Mezentius now the fight Takes up, and charges at the Teucrian foes. And, hurrying up, the Tuscan troops unite. All against one—one only—these and those Their gathered hate and crowding darts oppose. Unmoved he stands, as when a rocky steep In ocean, bare to every blast that blows, Around whose base the savage waves upleap,	838
	Braves all the threats of heaven, and buffets of the deep.

XCV .		Hebrus he slew, from Dolichaon sprung, Then Latagus, then Palmus, as he fled. Full in the face of Latagus he flung A monstrous stone, that stretched him with the dead. Palmus, with severed hamstring, next he sped, And rolled him helpless. Lausus takes his gear; The shining crest he fits upon his head, And dons the breastplate. 'Neath the conqueror's spear	847
	Phrygian Evanthes falls, and Paris' friend and peer,

XCVI .		Young Mimas, whom to Amycus that night Theano bore, when, big with Ilion's bane, Queen Hecuba brought Paris forth to light. Now Paris sleeps upon his native plain, But Mimas on a foreign shore is slain. As when a wild-boar, hounded from the hill, Who long on pine-clad Venulus hath lain, Or in Laurentum's marish fed his fill,	856
	Now in the toils caught fast, before his foes stands still,

XCVII .		And snorts with rage, and rears his bristling back; None dares approach him, but aloof they wait, Safe-shouting, and with distant darts attack; E'en so, of those who burn with righteous hate, None dares against Mezentius try his fate. But cries are hurled, and distant missiles plied, While he, undaunted, but in desperate strait, Gnashes his teeth, and from his shield's tough hide	865
	Shakes off the darts in showers, and shifts from side to side.

XCVIII .		From ancient Corythus came Acron there, A Greek, in exile from his half-won bride. Him, dealing havoc in the ranks, elsewhere Mezentius marked; the purple plumes he eyed, The robe his loved one for her lord had dyed. As when a lion, prowling to and fro, Sore pinched with hunger, round the fold, hath spied A stag tall-antlered, or a timorous roe,	874
	Ghastly he grins, erect his horrid mane doth show;

XCIX .		Prone o'er his victim, to the flesh he clings, And laps the gore; so, burning in his zeal, The fierce Mezentius at his foemen springs. Poor Acron falls, and earth with dying heel Spurns, and the red blood stains the splintered steel. Orodes fled; Mezentius marks his flight, And scorns with lance a covert wound to deal, But face to face confronts him in the fight,	883
	Courage, not craft, prevails, and might o'ermatches might.

C .		With foot and spear upon him, "See," he cries, "Their champion; see the great Orodes slain!" All shout applause, but, dying, he replies, "Strange foe, not long thy triumph shall remain; Like fate awaits thee, on the self-same plain." "Die!" said Mezentius, with a smile of spite, "Jove cares for me," and plucked the shaft again. Grim rest and iron slumber seal his sight;	892
	The drooping eyelids close on everlasting night.

CI .		Now Cædicus made great Alcathous fall, Sacrator killed Hydaspes; Rapo too Parthenius and Orses, strong and tall; Messapus Clonius, whom his steed o'erthrew, And, foot to foot, Lycaon's son he slew, Brave Ericetes. Valerus with a blow Felled Agis, Lycia' s warrior. Salius flew At Thronius, but Nealces lays him low,	901
	Skilled with the flying dart and far-deceiving bow.

CII .		Stern Mars, impartial, weighs in equal scale The mutual slaughter, and the ghastly fight Raves, as in turn they perish or prevail, Vanquished or victor, for none dreams of flight. From Heaven the gods look pitying on the sight, Such fruitless hate, such scenes of mortal woe. Here Venus, there great Juno, filled with spite, Sits watching. Pale Tisiphone below	910
	Fierce amid thousands raves, and bids the discord grow.

CIII .		His massive spear Mezentius, flown with pride, Shakes in his fury, as he towers amain, Like huge Orion, when with ample stride He cleaves the deep-sea, where the Nereids reign, And lifts his lofty shoulders o'er the main, Or when, uprooting from the mountain head An aged ash, he stalks along the plain, And hides his forehead in the clouds; so dread	919
	Mezentius clangs his arms, so terrible his tread.

CIV .		Æneas marks him in the files of fight Far off, and hastes to meet him in advance. Dauntless he waits, collected in his might, The noble foe, then, measuring at a glance The space his arm can cover with the lance; "May this right hand, my deity," cried he, "And this poised javelin aid the doubtful chance. The spoils, from this false pirate stript, to thee	928
	My Lausus, I devote; his trophy shalt thou be."

CV .		So saying, from far his whistling shaft he threw. Wide glanced the missile, by the tough shield bent, And finding famed Antores, as it flew, 'Twixt flank and bowels pierced a deadly rent. He, friend of Hercules, from Argos sent, With king Evander, 'neath Italian skies, Had fixed his home. Alas! a wound unmeant Hath laid him low. To heaven he lifts his eyes,	937
	And of sweet Argos dreams, his native land, and dies.

CVI .		His javelin then the good Æneas cast; Flying it pierced the hollow disk, and through The plates of brass, thrice welded firm and fast, And linen folds, and triple bull-hides flew, And in the groin, with failing force but true, Lodged deep. At once Æneas, for his eye Glistens with joy, the Tuscan's blood to view, His trusty sword unfastening from his thigh,	946
	Springs at the faltering foe, and bids Mezentius die.

CVII .		Love for his sire stirred Lausus, and the tears Rolled down, and heavily he groaned. Thy fate, Brave youth! thy prowess, if the far-off years Shall give due credence to a deed so great, My verse at least shall spare not to relate. While backward limped Mezentius, spent and slow, His shield still cumbered with the javelin's weight, Forth sprang the youth, and grappled with the foe,	955
	And 'neath Æneas' sword, uplifted for the blow,

CVIII .		Slipped in, and checked him. Onward press the train With shouts, to shelter the retreating sire, And distant arrows on the foeman rain. Safe-covered stands Æneas, thrilled with ire. As when the storm-clouds in a deluge dire Pour down the hail, and all the ploughmen fly, And scattered hinds from off the fields retire, And rock or stream-side shields the passer-by,	964
	Till sunshine calls to toil, and reawakes the sky;

CIX .		So, whelmed with darts, the Trojan chief defies The cloud of war, till all its storms abate, And chides and threatens Lausus. "Fool," he cries, "Why rush to death, and dare a deed too great? Rash youth! thy love betrays thee." 'Twas too late; Rage blinds poor Lausus, and he scorns to stay. Then fiercer waxed the Dardan's wrath, and Fate The threads had gathered, for their forceful sway	973
	Hilt-deep within his breast the falchion urged its way.

CX .		It pierced the shield, light armour and the vest, Wrought by his mother with fine golden thread, And drenched with gore the tunic and the breast. Sweet life, departing, left the limbs outspread, And the sad spirit to the ghost-world fled. But when the son of great Anchises scanned The face, the pallid features of the dead, Deeply he groaned, and stretched a pitying hand.	982
	Grief for his own dear sire his noble soul unmanned.

CXI .		"Alas! what meed, to match such worth divine, Can good Æneas give thee? Take to-day The arms wherein thou joyed'st; they are thine. Thy corpse—if aught can please the senseless clay— Back to thy parents' ashes I repay. Poor youth! thy solace be it to be slain By great Æneas." Then his friends' delay He chides, and lifts young Lausus from the plain,	991
	Dead, and with dainty locks fouled by the crimson stain.

CXII .		Meanwhile the sire Mezentius, faint with pain, In Tiber's waters bathes the bleeding wound. Against a trunk he leans; the boughs sustain His brazen helm; his arms upon the ground Rest idly, and his comrades stand around. Sick, gasping, spent, his weary neck he tends; Loose o'er his bosom floats the beard unbound. Oft of his son he questions, oft he sends	1000
	To bid him quit the field, and seek his sire and friends.

CXIII .		But, sad and sorrowful, the Tuscan train Bear back the lifeless Lausus from the field, Weeping—the mighty by a mightier slain, And laid in death upon the warrior's shield. Far off, their wailing to the sire revealed The grief, that made his boding heart mistrust. In agony of vanquish, down he kneeled, His hoary hairs disfiguring with the dust,	1009
	And, grovelling, clasped the corpse, and both his hands outthrust.

CXIV .		"Dear son, was life so tempting to the sire, To let thee face the foemen in my room, Whom I begot? Shalt thou, my son, expire, And I live on, my darling in the tomb, Saved by thy wounds, and living by thy doom? Ah! woe is me; too well at length I own The pangs of exile, and the wound strikes home. 'Twas I, thy name who tarnished, I alone,	1018
	Whom just resentment thrust from sceptre and from throne.

CXV .		"Due to my country was the forfeit; yea, All deaths Mezentius had deserved to die. Yet still I leave, and leave not man and day, But leave I will,—the fatal hour is nigh." Then, slowly leaning on his crippled thigh (Deep was the wound, but dauntless was his breast), He rose, and calling for his steed hard by, The steed, that oft in victory's hour he pressed,	1027
	His solace and his pride, the sorrowing beast addressed:

CXVI .		"Rhæbus, full long, if aught of earth be long, We two have lived. Æneas' head to-day, And spoils, blood-crimsoned to avenge this wrong, Back shalt thou bring, or, failing in the fray, Bite earth with me, and be the Dardan's prey. Not thou would'st brook a foreign lord, I weet, Brave heart, or deign a Teucrian to obey." He spoke, and, mounting to his well-known seat,	1036
	Swift at the ranks spurred forth, his dreaded foe to meet.

CXVII .		Each hand a keen dart brandished; o'er his head Gleamed the brass helmet with its horse-hair crest. Shame for himself, and sorrow for the dead, The parent's anguish, and the warrior's zest, Thrilled through his veins, and kindled in his breast, And thrice he called Æneas. With delight Æneas heard him, and his vows addressed: "So help me Jove, so Phoebus lend his might,	1045
	Come on," and couched his spear, advancing to the fight.

CXVIII .		"Wretch," cries Mezentius, "having robbed my son, Why scare me now? Thy terrors I defy. Only through Lausus were his sire undone. I heed not death nor deities, not I; Forbear thy taunting; I am here to die, But send this gift to greet thee, ere I go." He spake, and quickly let a javelin fly, Another—and another, as round the foe	1054
	In widening orbs he wheels; the good shield bides the blow.

CXIX .		Thrice round Æneas leftward he careers, Raining his darts. Thrice, shifting round, each way The Trojan bears the forest of his spears. At length, impatient of the long delay, And tired with plucking all the shafts away, Pondering awhile, and by the ceaseless blows Hard pressed, and chafing at the unequal fray, Forth springs Æneas, and betwixt the brows	1063
	Full at the warrior-steed a fatal javelin throws.

CXX .		Up rears the steed, and paws the air in pain, Then, following on his falling rider, lies And pins him with his shoulder to the plain. Shouts from each host run kindling through the skies. Forth springs Æneas, glorying in his prize, And plucks the glittering falchion from his thigh, "Where now is fierce Mezentius? where," he cries, "That fiery spirit?" Then, with upturned eye,	1072
	Gasping, with gathered sense, the Tuscan made reply:

CXXI .		"Stern foe! why taunt and threaten? 'twere no shame To slay me. No such covenant to save His sire made Lausus; nor for this I came. One boon I ask—if vanquished men may crave The victor's grace—a burial for the brave. My people hate me; I have lived abhorred; Shield me from them with Lausus in the grave." This said, his throat he offered to the sword,	1081
	And o'er his shining arms life's purple stream was poured.

BOOK ELEVEN

ARGUMENT

Æneas erects a trophy of Mezentius' arms, and sends the body of Pallas with tears and lamentations to Evander (1-108). A truce for the burial of the dead is asked by the Latins, and sympathy with the Trojan cause finds a spokesman in Drances (109-144). The sorrow of Evander and the funeral rites of Trojans and Latins (145-262). The ambassadors return from the city of Diomedes and report that he praises Æneas and counsels submission (263-336). An anxious debate follows: Latinus suggests terms of peace: Drances inveighs against Turnus, who replies, protesting his readiness to meet Æneas in single combat, and presently seizes the opportunity afforded by a false alarm of impending attack to break up the council. The Latin mothers and maidens offer gifts and litanies to Pallas. Turnus arms for battle (337-576). Camilla and Messapus command the Latin horse; Turnus prepares an ambuscade (577-612). Diana tells the story of Camilla and charges Opis, one of her nymphs, to avenge her should she fall (613-684). Opis watches the battle before the city of Latinus (685-738). The deeds and death of Camilla are recounted: Aruns, her slayer, is slain by Opis (739-972). The Latins are routed, and Turnus, learning the news, abandons the ambush and hurries to the city, closely followed by Æneas (973-1026).

I .		Meanwhile from Ocean peeps the dawning day. The Dardan chief, though fain his friends to mourn, And pressed with thoughts of burial, hastes to pay His vows, as victor, with the rising morn. A towering oak-tree, of its branches shorn, He plants upon a mound. Aloft, in sight, The glittering armour from Mezentius torn, His spoils, he hangs,—a trophy to thy might,	1
	Great Mars, the Lord of war, the Ruler of the fight.

II .		Thereon he sets the helmet and the crest, Bedewed with gore, the javelins snapt in twain, And fits the corslet on the warrior's breast, Pierced in twelve places through the twisted chain. The left arm, as for battle, bears again The brazen shield, and from the neck depends The ivory-hilted falchion of the slain. Around, with shouts of triumph, crowd his friends,	10
	Whom thus the Dardan chief with gladdening words commends:

III .		"Comrades, great deeds have been achieved to-day; Let not the morrow trouble you. See there The tyrant's spoils, the first-fruits of the fray. And this my work, Mezentius. Now prepare To king Latinus and his walls to fare. Let hope forestall, and courage hail the fray, So, when the gods shall summon us to bear The standards forth, and muster our array,	19
	No fears shall breed dull sloth, nor ignorance delay.

IV .		"Our co-mates now commit we to the ground, Sole honour that in Acheron below Awaits them. Go ye, on these souls renowned, Who poured their blood, to purchase from the foe This country for our fatherland, bestow The last, sad gift, the tribute of a tomb. First to Evander's city, whelmed in woe, Send Pallas back, whom Death's relentless doom	28
	Hath reft ere manhood's prime, and plunged in early gloom."

V .		He spake, and sought the threshold, weeping sore, Where by dead Pallas watched with pious care Acoetes; once Evander's arms he bore, His squire; since then, with auspices less fair, The trusted guardian of his dear-loved heir. A crowd of sorrowing menials stand around, And Troy's sad matrons, with their streaming hair. These, when Æneas at the door is found,	37
	Shriek out, and beat their breasts, and bitter wails resound.

VI .		He marked the pillowed head, the snow-white face, The smooth breast, gaping with the wound, and cried In anguish, while the tears burst forth apace, "Poor boy; hath Fortune, in her hour of pride, To me thy triumph and return denied? Not such my promise to thy sire; not so My pledge to him, who, ere I left his side In quest of empire, clasped me, boding woe,	46
	And warned the race was fierce, and terrible the foe.

VII .		"He haply now, by empty hope betrayed, With prayer and presents doth the gods constrain. We to the dead, whose debt to Heaven is paid, The rites of mourners render, but in vain. Unhappy! doomed to see thy darling slain. Is this the triumph? this the promise sworn? This the return? Yet never thine the pain A coward's flight, a coward's scars to mourn;	55
	Not thine to long for death, thy loved one saved with scorn.

VIII .		"Ah, weep, Ausonia! thou hast lost to-day Thy champion. Weep, Iulus; he is ta'en, Thy heart's delight, the bulwark of the fray!" Thus he with tears, and bids them lift the slain. A thousand men, the choicest of his train, He sends as mourners, with the corpse to go, And stand between the parent and his pain, A scanty solace for so huge a woe,	64
	But such as pity claims, and piety doth owe.

IX .		Of oaken twigs and arbutus they wove A wattled bier. Soft leaves beneath him made His pillow, and with leafy boughs above They twined a verdurous canopy of shade. There, on his rustic couch the youth is laid, Fair as the hyacinth, with drooping head, Cropped by the careless fingers of a maid, Or tender violet, when life has fled,	73
	That, torn from earth, still blooms, unfaded but unfed.

X .		Two purple mantles, stiff with golden braid, Æneas brings, which erst, in loving care, Sidonian Dido with her hands had made, And pranked with golden tissue, for his wear. One, wound in sorrow round the corpse so fair, The last, sad honour, shrouds the senseless clay; One, ere the burning, veils the warrior's hair. Rich spoils, the trophies of Laurentum's fray,	82
	Stript arms and steeds he brings, and bids them pile the prey.

XI .		Here march the captives, doomed to feed the flames; There, staff in hand, each Dardan chief uprears The spoil-decked ensigns, marked with foemen's names. There, too, they lead Acoetes, bowed with years, He smites his breast, his haggard cheeks he tears, Then flings his full length prostrate. There, again, The blood-stained chariot, and with big, round tears, Stript of his trappings, in the mournful train,	91
	Æthon, the warrior's steed, comes sorrowing for the slain.

XII .		These bear the dead man's helmet and his spear; All else the victor for his spoils hath ta'en. A melancholy phalanx close the rear, Teucrians, and Tuscans, and Arcadia's train, With arms reversed, and mourning for the slain. So passed the pomp, and, while the tear-drops fell, Æneas stopped, and, groaning, cried again, "Hail, mighty Pallas! us the fates compel	100
	Yet other tears to shed. Farewell! a long farewell!"

XIII .		He spake, then, turning, to the camp doth fare. Thither Laurentum's envoys found their way. Branches of olive in their hands they bear, And beg a truce,—a respite from the fray, Their slaughtered comrades in the ground to lay, And glean the war's sad harvest. Brave men ne'er Warred with the dead and vanquished. Once were they His hosts and kinsmen; he would surely spare.	109
	Their plea Æneas owns, and thus accosts them fair:

XIV .		"What mischief, Latins, hath your minds misled, To shun our friendship in the hour of need, And rush to arms? Peace ask ye for the dead, The War-God's prey, whom folly doomed to bleed? Peace to the living would I fain concede. I came not hither, but with Heaven to guide. Fate chose this country, and this home decreed; Nor war I with the race. Your king denied	118
	Our proffered league; 'twas he on Turnus' arms relied.

XV .		"'Twere juster then that Turnus hand to hand His life had ventured. Dreams he in his pride To end the war, and drive us from the land? He should have met me; he or I had died, As Fate or prowess might the day decide. Go, take your dead, and let the bale-fires blaze: Ye have your answer." Thus the prince replied, And each on each the wondering heralds gaze,	127
	Mute with admiring awe, and wildered with amaze.

XVI .		Then Drances, ever fain with gibes and hate To vex young Turnus, takes the word and cries, "O Trojan, great in fame, in arms more great, What praise of mine shall match thee with the skies? What most—thy deeds or justice—shall I prize? Grateful, this answer to our friends we bear, And thee (let Turnus seek his own allies), Thee King Latinus shall his friend declare,	136
	And Latium's sons with joy Troy's destined walls prepare."

XVII .		He spake; as one, all murmur their assent. For twice six days a solemn truce they plight, And Teucrians, now, with Latins, freely blent In peaceful fellowship, as friends unite, And roam the wooded hills. Sharp axes smite The sounding ash; these with keen wedges cleave Tall oak and scented cedar; those with might The pine-tree, soaring to the stars, upheave,	145
	And wains, with groaning wheels, the giant elms receive.

XVIII .		Now Rumour, harbinger of woe so great, That told of Pallas victor, fills again Evander's town. All hurry to the gate, With torches snatched, as ancient rites ordain. A line of fire, that parts the dusky plain, The long road gleams before them, as they go To meet the mourners. Soon the wailing train The Phrygians join. With shrieks the matrons know	154
	Far off the funeral throng, and fill the town with woe.

XIX .		Naught stays Evander; through the midst he springs, And falling on the bier, as down they lay Dead Pallas, groaning to his child he clings, And hangs with tears upon the senseless clay, Till speech, half-choked with sorrow, finds a way. "Pallas, not such thy promise to thy sire, Warely to trust the War-God in the fray. I knew what ardour would thy soul inspire,	163
	The charms of new-won fame, and battle's fierce desire.

XX .		"O bitter first-fruits of a youth so fair! O war's stern prelude! promise dashed to scorn! Unheeded vows, and unavailing prayer! O happy spouse! not left, like me, to mourn A son thus slaughtered, and a life outworn. I have o'erlived my destiny; life fled When Pallas left me childless and forlorn. O, had I fall'n with Trojans in his stead,	172
	And me this pomp brought home, and not my Pallas, dead!

XXI .		"Yet, Trojans, you I blame not, nor the hands We joined in friendship, nor the league we swore. Old age—too old—this cruel lot demands. Ah, sweet to think, though falling in his flower, He fell, where thousand Volscians fell before, Leading Troy's sons to Latium. Thou shalt have A Trojan's funeral—can I wish thee more?— What rites Æneas offers to the brave,	181
	And all Etruria's hosts shall bear thee to the grave.

XXII .		"Proud trophies those who perish by thy hand Bear thee, and slaughtered foemen speak thy fame. Thou, Turnus, too, an effigy should'st stand, Hung round with arms, and Pallas' praise proclaim, Had but thine age and Pallas' been the same, 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 siege, 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.