Virgil’s Æneid | Project Gutenberg

Meanwhile, the Goddess of Dawn has risen and left the

ocean. Æneas, though duty presses to find leisure for

interring his friends, and his mind is still wildered by the

scene of blood, was paying his vows to heaven as conqueror

should at the day-star’s rise. A giant oak, lopped all 5

round of its branches, he sets up on a mound, and arrays

it in gleaming arms, the royal spoils of Mezentius, a trophy

to thee, great Lord of War: thereto he attaches the crest

yet raining blood, the warrior’s weapons notched and

broken, and the hauberk stricken and pierced by twelve 10

several wounds: to the left hand he binds the brazen shield,

and hangs to the neck the ivory-hilted sword. Then he

begins thus to give charge to his triumphant friends, for

the whole company of chiefs had gathered to his side:

“A mighty deed, gallants, is achieved already: dismiss 15

all fear for the future: see here the spoils, the tyrant’s

first-fruits: see here Mezentius as my hands have made

him. Now our march is to the king and the walls of Latium.

Set the battle in array in your hearts and let hope

forestall the fray, that no delay may check your ignorance 20

at the moment when heaven gives leave to pluck up the

standards and lead forth our chivalry from the camp, no

coward resolve palsy your steps with fear. Meanwhile,

consign we to earth the unburied carcases of our friends,

that solitary honour which is held in account in the pit 25

of Acheron. Go,” he says, “grace with the last tribute

those glorious souls, who have bought for us this our fatherland

with the price of their blood: and first to Evander’s

sorrowing town send we Pallas, who, lacking nought of

manly worth, has been reft by the evil day, and whelmed 30

in darkness before his time.”

So he says weeping, and returns to his tent-door, where

the body of breathless Pallas, duly laid out, was being

watched by Acœtes the aged, who had in old days been

armour-bearer to Evander his Arcadian lord, but then in

an hour less happy was serving as the appointed guardian 5

of the pupil he loved. Around the corpse were thronging

the retinue of menials and the Trojan train, and dames

of Ilion with their hair unbound in mourning fashion.

But soon as Æneas entered the lofty portal, a mighty

wail they raise to the stars, smiting on their breasts, and 10

the royal dwelling groans to its centre with their agony

of woe. He, when he saw the pillowed head and countenance

of Pallas in his beauty, and the deep cleft of the

Ausonian spear in his marble bosom, thus speaks, breaking

into tears: “Can it be, unhappy boy, that Fortune at the 15

moment of her triumphant flood-tide has grudged you to

me, forbidding you to look on my kingdom, and ride back

victorious to your father’s home? Not such was the parting

pledge I gave on your behalf to your sire Evander, when,

clasping me to his heart, he sent me on my way to mighty 20

empire, and anxiously warned me that the foe was fierce

and the race we should war with stubborn. And now he

belike at this very moment in the deep delusion of empty

hope is making vows to Heaven and piling the altars with

gifts, while we are following his darling, void of life, and 25

owing no dues henceforward to any power on high, with

the vain service of our sorrow. Ill-starred father! your

eyes shall see what cruel death has made of your son.

And is this the proud return, the triumph we looked for?

has my solemn pledge shrunk to this? Yet no beaten 30

coward shall you see, Evander, chastised with unseemly

wounds, nor shall the father pray for death to come in its

terror while the son survives. Ay me! how strong a defender

is lost to our Ausonian realm, and lost to you, my

own Iulus!” 35

So having wailed his fill, he gives order to lift and bear

the poor corpse, and sends a thousand men chosen from

his whole array to attend the last service of woe, and lend

their countenance to the father’s tears, a scant solace for

that mighty sorrow, yet not the less the wretched parent’s

due. Others, nothing slack, plait the framework of a

pliant bier with shoots of arbute and oaken twigs, and

shroud the heaped-up bed with a covering of leaves. 5

Here place they the youth raised high on his rustic litter,

even as a flower cropped by maiden’s finger, be it of delicate

violet or drooping hyacinth, unforsaken as yet of its

sparkling hue and its graceful outline, though its parent

earth no longer feeds it or supplies it with strength. Then 10

brought forth Æneas two garments stiff with gold and purple,

which Dido had wrought for him in other days with

her own hands, delighting in the toil, and had streaked

their webs with threads of gold. Of these the mourner

spreads one over his youthful friend as a last honour, 15

and muffles the locks on which the flame must feed: moreover

he piles in a heap many a spoil from Laurentum’s

fray, and bids the plunder be carried in long procession.

The steeds too and weapons he adds of which he had

stripped the foe. Already had he bound the victims’ 20

hands behind their backs, doomed as a sacrifice to the

dead man’s spirit, soon to spill their blood over the fire:

and now he bids the leaders in person carry tree-trunks

clad with hostile arms, and has the name of an enemy

attached to each. There is Acœtes led along, a lorn old 25

man, marring now his breast with blows, now his face with

laceration, and anon he throws himself at his full length

on the ground. They lead too the car, all spattered

with Rutulian blood. After it the warrior steed, Æthon,

his trappings laid aside, moves weeping, and bathes his 30

visage with big round drops. Others carry the spear and

the helm: for the rest of the harness is Turnus’ prize.

Then follows a mourning army, the Teucrians, and all the

Tuscans, and the sons of Arcady with weapons turned

downward. And now after all the retinue had passed on 35

in long array, Æneas stayed, and groaning deeply uttered

one word more: “We are summoned hence by the same

fearful destiny of war to shed other tears: I bid you hail

forever, mightiest Pallas, and forever farewell.” Saying

this and this only, he turned to the lofty walls again, and

bent his footsteps campward.

And now appeared the ambassadors from the town of

Latium, with the coverings of their olive boughs, entreating 5

an act of grace: the bodies which were lying over the

plains as the steel had mowed them down they pray him

to restore, and suffer them to pass under the mounded

earth: no man wars with the vanquished and with those

who have left the sun: let him show mercy to men once 10

known as his hosts and the fathers of his bride. The good

Æneas hearkens to a prayer that merits no rebuke, grants

them the boon, and withal bespeaks them thus: “What

undeserved ill chance, men of Latium, has entangled you

in a war so terrible and made you fly from us your friends? 15

Ask you peace for the dead, for those on whom the War-god’s

die has fallen? Nay, I would fain grant it to the

living too. I were not here had not fate assigned me a

portion and a home: nor wage I war against your nation:

it was the king that abandoned our alliance, and sought 20

shelter rather under Turnus’ banner. Fairer it had been

that Turnus should have met the death-stroke ye mourn.

If he seeks to end the war by strength of arm and expel the

Trojan enemy, duty bade him confront me with weapons

like mine, and that one should have lived who had earned 25

life from heaven or his own right hand. Now go and

kindle the flame beneath your ill-starred townsmen.”

Æneas’ speech was over: they stood in silent wonder, their

eyes and countenances steadfastly fixed on each other.

Then Drances, elder in birth, ever embroiled with the 30

youthful Turnus by hatred and taunting word, thus speaks

in reply: “O mighty in fame’s voice, mightier in your own

brave deeds, hero of Troy, what praise shall I utter to

match you with the stars? Shall I first admire your sacred

love of right, or the toils of your hand in war? Ours it 35

shall be gratefully to report your answer to our native

town, and should any favouring chance allow, make you

the friend of king Latinus. Let Turnus look for alliance

where he may. Nay, it will be our pride to uprear those

massive walls of destiny, and heave on our shoulders the

stones of your new Troy.” He spoke, and the rest all

murmured assent. For twelve days they make truce, and

with amity to mediate, Trojans and Latians mingled roam 5

through the forest on the mountain slopes unharming and

unharmed. The lofty ash rings with the two-edged steel:

they bring low pines erst uplifted to the sky, nor is there

pause in cleaving with wedges the oak and fragrant cedar,

or in carrying ashen trunks in the groaning wains. 10

And now flying Fame, the harbinger of that cruel agony,

is filling with her tidings the ears of Evander, his palace and

his city—Fame that but few hours back was proclaiming

Pallas the conqueror of Latium. Forth stream the Arcadians

to the gates, with funeral torches in ancient fashion, 15

snatched up hurriedly; the road gleams with the long

line of fire, which parts the breath of fields on either hand.

To meet them comes the train of Phrygians, and joins the

wailing company. Soon as the matrons saw them pass

under the shadow of the houses, they set the mourning city 20

ablaze with their shrieks. But Evander—no force can

hold him back; he rushes into the midst: there as they

lay down the bier he has flung himself upon Pallas, and is

clinging to him with tears and groans, till choking grief

at last lets speech find her way: “No, my Pallas! this was 25

not your promise to your sire, to trust yourself with caution

in the War-god’s savage hands. I knew what a spell

there lay in the young dawn of a soldier’s glory, the enrapturing

pride of the first day of battle. Alas for the

ill-starred first-fruits of youth, the cruel foretaste of the 30

coming war! alas for those my vows and prayers, that

found no audience with any of the gods! alas too for thee,

my blessed spouse, happy as thou art in the death that

spared thee not for this heavy sorrow! while I, living on,

have triumphed over my destiny, that I might survive in 35

solitary fatherhood. Had I but followed the friendly

standards of Troy, and fallen whelmed by Rutulian javelins!

had I rendered my own life up, so that this funeral

train should have borne me home, and not my Pallas!

Nor yet would I blame you, men of Troy, nor the treaty

we made, nor the hands we plighted in friendship; it is

but the portion ordained long ago as fitting for my gray

hairs. If it was written that my son should die ere his 5

time, it shall be well that he fell after slaying his Volscian

thousands, while leading a Teucrian army to the gates of

Latium. Nay, my Pallas, I would wish for you no

worthier funeral than that accorded to you by Æneas

the good and his noble Phrygians, by the Tyrrhene leaders, 10

and the whole Tyrrhene host. Each bears you a mighty

trophy whom your right hand sends down to death. And

you, too, proud Turnus, would be standing at this moment,

a giant trunk hung round with armour, had your age been

but as his, the vigour of your years the same. But why 15

should misery like mine hold back the Teucrians from the

battle? Go, and remember to bear my message to your

king. If I still drag the wheels of my hated life now my

Pallas is slain, it is because of your right hand, which owes

the debt of Turnus’ life to son and sire, yourself being witness. 20

This is the one remaining niche for your valour and

your fortune to fill. I ask not for triumph to gild my life:

that thought were crime: I ask but for tidings that I

may bear to my son down in the spectral world.”

Meantime the Goddess of Dawn had lifted on high her 25

kindly light for suffering mortality, recalling them to task

and toil. Already father Æneas, already Tarchon, have

set up their funeral piles along the winding shore. Hither

each man brings the body of friend or kinsman as the rites

of his sires command; and as the murky flames are applied 30

below, darkness veils the heights of heaven in gloom.

Thrice they ran their courses round the lighted pyres,

sheathed in shining armour; thrice they circled on their

steeds the mournful funeral flame, and uttered the voice

of wailing. Sprinkled is the earth with their tears, 35

sprinkled is the harness. Upsoars to heaven at once the

shout of warriors and the blare of trumpets. Others

fling upon the fire plunder torn from the Latian slain,

helms and shapely swords and bridle-reins and glowing

wheels; some bring in offering the things the dead men

wore, their own shields and the weapons that sped so ill.

Many carcases of oxen are sacrificed round the piles:

bristly swine and cattle harried from the country round are 5

made to bleed into the flame. Then along the whole line

of coast they gaze on their burning friends, and keep

sentry over the half-quenched fire-bed, nor let themselves

be torn away till dewy night rolls round the sky with its

garniture of blazing stars. 10

With like zeal the ill-starred Latians in a different quarter

set up countless piles; of the multitude of corpses

some they bury in the earth, some they lift up and carry

off to neighbour districts, and send them home to the city;

the rest, a mighty mass of promiscuous carnage, they burn 15

uncounted and unhonoured; and thereon the plains

through their length and breadth gleam with the thickening

rivalry of funeral fires. The third morrow had withdrawn

the chill shadows from the sky: the mourners were

levelling the piles of ashes and sweeping the mingled bones 20

from the hearths, and heaping over them mounds of earth

where the heat yet lingers. But within the walls, in the

city of Latium’s wealthy king, the wailing is preëminent,

and largest the portion of that long agony. Here are

mothers and their sons’ wretched brides, here are sisters’ 25

bosoms racked with sorrow and love, and children orphaned

of their parents, calling down curses on the terrible

war and on Turnus’ bridal rites; he, he himself, they cry,

should try the issue with arms and the cold steel, who

claims for himself the Italian crown and the honours of 30

sovereignty. Fell Drances casts his weight into the scale,

and bears witness that Turnus alone is challenged by the

foe, Turnus alone defied to combat. Against them many

a judgment is ranged in various phrase on Turnus’ side,

and the queen’s august name lends him its shadow; many 35

an applauding voice upholds the warrior by help of the

trophies he has won.

Amid all this ferment, when the blaze of popular turmoil

is at its height, see, as a crowning blow, comes back the

sorrowing embassy with tidings from Diomede’s mighty

town: the cost of all their labours has gained them nought:

gifts and gold and earnest prayers are alike in vain: the

Latians must look for arms elsewhere, or sue for peace 5

from the Trojan chief. King Latinus himself is crushed

to earth by the weight of agony. The wrath of the gods,

the fresh-made graves before his eyes, tell him plainly that

Æneas is the man of destiny, borne on by heaven’s manifest

will. So he summons by royal mandate a mighty 10

council, the chiefs of his nation, and gathers them within

his lofty doors. They have mustered from all sides, and

are streaming to the palace through the crowded streets.

In the midst Latinus takes his seat, at once eldest in years

and first in kingly state, with a brow that knows not joy. 15

Hereupon he bids the envoys returned from the Ætolian

town to report the answers they bear, and bids them repeat

each point in order. Silence is proclaimed, and Venulus,

obeying the mandate, begins to speak:

“Townsmen, we have looked on Diomede and his Argive 20

encampment: the journey is overpast, and every chance

surmounted, and we have touched the hand by which the

realm of Ilion fell. We found him raising his city of Argyripa,

the namesake of his ancestral people, in the land of

Iapygian Garganus which his sword had won. Soon as 25

the presence was gained and liberty of speech accorded, we

proffer our gifts, inform him of our name and country,

who is our invader, and what cause has led us to Arpi.[275]

He listened, and returned as follows with untroubled mien:

‘O children of fortune, subjects of Saturn’s reign, men of 30

old Ausonia, what caprice of chance disturbs you in your

repose, and bids you provoke a war ye know not? Know

that all of us, whose steel profaned the sanctity of Ilion’s

soil—I pass the hardships of war, drained to the dregs

under those lofty ramparts, the brave hearts which that 35

fatal Simois covers—yea, all of us the wide world over

have paid the dues of our trespass in agonies unutterable,

a company that might have wrung pity even from Priam:

witness Minerva’s baleful star, and the crags of Eubœa,

and Caphereus the avenger. Discharged from that warfare,

wandering outcasts on diverse shores, Menelaus,

Atreus’ son, is journeying in banishment even to the pillars

of Proteus[276]; Ulysses has looked upon Ætna and her Cyclop 5

brood. Need I tell of Neoptolemus’ portioned realms,

of Idomeneus’ dismantled home, of Locrian settlers on

a Libyan coast? Even the monarch[277] of Mycenæ, the

leader of the great Grecian name, met death on his very

threshold at the hand of his atrocious spouse; Asia fell 10

before him, but the adulterer rose in her room. Cruel gods,

that would not have me restored to the hearth-fires of my

home, to see once more the wife of my longing and my own

fair Calydon! Nay, even my flight is dogged by portents

of dreadful view; my comrades torn from me are winging 15

the air and haunting the stream as birds—alas that the

followers of my fortunes should suffer so!—and making

the rocks ring with the shrieks of their sorrow. Such was

the fate I had to look for even from that day when with

my frantic steel I assailed the flesh of immortals, and impiously 20

wounded Venus’ sacred hand. Nay, nay, urge

me no longer to a war like this. Since Pergamus fell, my

fightings with Troy are ended; I have no thought, no joy,

for the evils of the past. As for the gifts which you bring

me from your home, carry them rather to Æneas. I tell 25

you, I have stood against the fury of his weapon, and joined

hand to hand with him in battle; trust one who knows

how strong is his onset as he rises on the shield, how

fierce the whirlwind of his hurtling lance. Had Ida’s

soil borne but two other so valiant, Dardanus would have 30

marched in his turn to the gates of Inachus, and the tears

of Greece would be flowing for a destiny reversed. All

those years of lingering at the walls of stubborn Troy, it

was Hector’s and Æneas’ hand that clogged the wheels of

Grecian victory, and delayed her coming till the tenth 35

campaign had begun. High in courage were both, high

in the glory of martial prowess; but piety gave him the

preëminence. Join hand to hand in treaty, if so you may;

but see that your arms bide not the shock of his.’ Thus,

gracious sire, have you heard at once the king’s reply,

and the judgment he passed on this our mighty war.”

The envoys had scarcely finished when a diverse murmur

runs along the quivering lips of the sons of Ausonia, as, 5

when rapid streams are checked by rocks in their course,

confused sounds rise from the imprisoned torrent, and

neighbouring banks reëcho with the babbling of the waves.

Soon as their passions were allayed, and their chafed countenances

settled in calm, the monarch, first invoking 10

heaven, begins from his lofty throne:

“To have taken your judgment, Latians, ere this on the

state of the common-weal, would have been my pleasure,

and our truer interest, rather than summon a council at a

crisis like this, when the foe has sat down before our walls. 15

A grievous war, my countrymen, we are waging with the

seed of heaven, a nation unsubdued, whom no battles

overtire, nor even in defeat can they be made to drop the

sword. For any hope ye have cherished in the alliance of

Ætolian arms, resign it forever. Each is his own hope; 20

and how slender is this ye may see for yourselves. As

to all beside, with what utter ruin it is stricken is palpable

to the sight of your eyes, to the touch of your hands. I

throw the blame on none: manly worth has done the utmost

it could: all the sinews of the realm have been strained 25

in the contest. Now then I will set forth what is the judgment

of my wavering mind, and show you it in few words,

if ye will lend me your attention. There is an ancient

territory of mine bordering on the Tuscan river, extending

lengthwise to the west, even beyond the Sicanian frontier; 30

Auruncans and Rutulians are its tillers, subduing with the

ploughshare its stubborn hills, and pasturing their flocks

on the rugged slopes. Let this whole district, with the

lofty mountain and its belt of pines, be our friendly gift

to the Teucrians; let us name equal terms of alliance, and 35

invite them to share our kingdom; let them settle here, if

their passion is so strong, and build them a city. But if

they have a mind to compass other lands and another

nation, and are free to quit our soil, let us build twenty ships

of Italian timber, or more if they have men to fill them:

there is the wood ready felled by the river side; let themselves

prescribe the size and the number; let us provide

brass, and hands, and naval trim. Moreover, to convey 5

our proffers and ratify the league, I would have an embassy

of a hundred Latians of the first rank sent with peaceful

branches in their hands, carrying also presents, gold and

ivory, each a talent’s weight, and the chair and striped

robe that are badges of our royalty. Give free counsel 10

and help to support a fainting commonwealth.”

Then Drances, hostile as ever, whom the martial fame

of Turnus was ever goading with the bitter stings of sidelong

envy, rich, and prodigal of his riches, a doughty

warrior with the tongue, but a feeble hand in the heat of 15

battle, esteemed no mean adviser in debate, and powerful

in the arts of faction: his mother’s noble blood made proud

a lineage which on his father’s side was counted obscure:—he

rises, and with words like these piles and heaps anger

high: 20

“A matter obscure to none, and needing no voice of ours

to make it plain is this that you propound, gracious king.

All own that they know what is the bearing of the state’s

fortune; but their tongues can only mutter. Let him

accord freedom of speech, and bate his angry blasts, to 25

whose ill-omened leadership and inauspicious temper—aye,

I will speak, let him threaten me with duel and death

as he may—we owe it that so many of our army’s stars

have set before our eyes, and the whole city is sunk in

mourning, while he is making his essay of the Trojan camp, 30

with flight always in reserve, and scaring heaven with the

din of his arms. One gift there is over and above that

long catalogue which you would have us send and promise

to the Dardans: add but this to them, most excellent

sovereign, nor let any man’s violence prevent you from 35

bestowing your daughter in the fulness of a father’s right

on a noble son-in-law and a worthy alliance, and basing

the peace we seek on a covenant which shall last forever.

Nay, if the reign of terror is so absolute over our minds

and hearts, let us go straight to him with our adjurations

and ask for grace at his own hands—ask him to yield, and

allow king and country to exercise their rights. Why

fling your wretched countrymen again and again into 5

danger’s throat, you, the head and wellspring of the ills

which Latium has to bear? There is no hope from war;

peace we ask of you, one and all—yes, Turnus, peace,

and the one surety that can make peace sacred. See,

first of all I, whom you give out to be your enemy—and 10

I care not though I be—come and throw myself at your

feet. Pity those of your own kin, bring down your

pride, and retire as beaten man should. Routed we are;

we have looked on corpses enough, and have left leagues

enough of land unpeopled. Or if glory stirs you, if you 15

can call up into your breast the courage needed, if the

dowry of a palace lies so near your heart, be bold for once,

and advance with bosom manned to meet the foe. What!

that Turnus may have the blessing of a queenly bride, are

we, poor paltry lives, a herd unburied and unwept, to lie 20

weltering on the plain? It is your turn: if you have any

strength, any touch of the War-god of your sires, look him

in the face who sends you his challenge.”

At these words Turnus’ violence blazed out: heaving a

groan, he vents from the bottom of his heart such utterance 25

as this: “Copious, Drances, ever is your stream of

speech in the hour when war is calling for hands; when the

senate is summoned, you are first in the field. Yet we

want not men to fill our court with talk, that big talk

which you hurl from a safe vantage-ground, while the rampart 30

keeps off the foe and the moat is not foaming with

carnage. Go on pealing your eloquence, as your wont is:

let Drances brand Turnus with cowardice, for it is Drances’

hand that has piled those very heaps of Teucrian slaughter,

and is planting the fields all over with its trophies. What 35

is the power of glowing valour, experience may show

you: enemies in sooth are not far to seek: they are standing

all about the walls. Well, are we marching to the

encounter? why so slow? will you never lodge the War-god

better than in that windy tongue, those flying feet?

What? beaten? I? who, foulest of slanderers, will justly

brand me as beaten, that shall look on Tiber still swelling

with Ilion’s best blood, on Evander’s whole house prostrate 5

root and branch, and his Arcadians stripped naked of their

armour? It was no beaten arm that Bitias and giant

Pandarus found in me, or the thousand that I sent to

death in a single day with my conquering hand, shut up

within their walls, pent in by the rampart of the foe. No 10

hope from war? Croak your bodings, madman, in the

ears of the Dardan and of your own fortunes. Ay, go

on without cease, throwing all into measureless panic,

heightening the prowess of a nation twice conquered already,

and dwarfing no less the arms of your king. See, 15

now the lords of the Myrmidons[278] are quaking at the martial

deeds of Phrygia, Tydeus’ son, Thessalian Achilles,

and the rest, and river Aufidus is in full retreat from the

Hadrian sea. Or listen when the trickster in his villany

feigns himself too weak to face a quarrel with me, and 20

points his charges with the sting of terror. Never, I

promise you, shall you lose such life as yours by hand of

mine—be troubled no longer—let it dwell with you and

retain its home in that congenial breast. Now, gracious

sire, I return to you and the august matter that asks our 25

counsel. If you have no hope beyond in aught our arms

can do, if we are so wholly forlorn, destroyed root and

branch by one reverse, and our star can never rise again,

then pray we for peace and stretch craven hands in suppliance.

Yet, oh, had we but one spark of the worth that 30

once was ours, that man I would esteem blest beyond

others in his service and princely of soul, who, sooner than

look on aught like this, has lain down in death and once

for all bitten the dust. But if we have still store of power,

and a harvest of youth yet unreaped, if there are cities 35

and nations of Italy yet to come to our aid, if the Trojans

as well as we have won their glory at much bloodshed’s

cost—for they too have their deaths—the hurricane has

swept over all alike—why do we merely falter on the

threshold? why are we seized with shivering ere the

trumpet blows? Many a man’s weal has been restored

by time and the changeful struggles of shifting days: many

a man has Fortune, fair and foul by turns, made her sport 5

and then once more placed on a rock. Grant that we shall

have no help from the Ætolian and his Arpi: but we shall

from Messapus, and the blest Tolumnius, and all the

leaders that those many nations have sent us; nor small

shall be the glory which will wait on the flower of Latium 10

and the Laurentine land. Ay, and we have Camilla,[279] of

the noble Volscian race, with a band of horsemen at her

back and troops gleaming with brass. If it is I alone that

the Teucrians challenge to the fight, and such is your will,

and my life is indeed the standing obstacle to the good of 15

all, Victory has not heretofore fled with such loathing from

my hands that I should refuse to make my venture for a

hope so glorious. No, I will confront him boldly, though he

should prove great as Achilles, and don harness like his, the

work of Vulcan’s art. To you and to my royal father-in-law 20

have I here devoted this my life, I, Turnus, second in

valour to none that went before me. ‘For me alone Æneas

calls.’ Vouchsafe that he may so call! nor let Drances

in my stead, if the issue be Heaven’s vengeance, forfeit

his life, or, if it be prowess and glory, bear that prize 25

away!”