Aeneid

Virgil

Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.

First in his path was Lagus, thither led
by evil stars; whom, as he tried to lift
a heavy stone, the shaft of Pallas pierced
where ribs and spine divide: backward he drew
the clinging spear; But Hisbo from above
surprised him not, though meaning it; for while
(In anger blind for friend unpitying slain)
at Pallas' face he flew:—he, standing firm,
plunged deep into that swelling breast the sword.
Then Sthenius he slew; and next Anchemolus
of Rhoetus' ancient line, who dared defile
his step-dame's bridal bed. And also ye,
fair Thymber and Larides, Daucus' twins,
fell on that Rutule field; so like were ye,
your own kin scarce discerned, and parents proud
smiled at the dear deceit; but now in death
cruel unlikeness Pallas wrought; thy head
fell, hapless Thymber, by Evander's sword;
and thy right hand, Larides, shorn away,
seemed feeling for its Iord; the fingers cold
clutched, trembling, at the sword. Now all the troop
of Arcady, their chief's great action seen,
and by his warning roused, made at their foes,
spurred on by grief and shame. Next Pallas pierced
the flying Rhoetus in his car; this gained
for Ilus respite and delay, for him
the stout spear aimed at; but its flight was stopped
by Rhoetus, as in swift retreat he rode,
by the two high-born brothers close pursued,
Teuthras and Tyres: from his car he rolled,
making deep furrows with his lifeless heels
along the Rutule plain. Oft when the winds
of summer, long awaited, rise and blow,
a shepherd fires the forest, and the blaze
devours the dense grove, while o'er the fields,
in that one moment, swift and sudden spread
grim Vulcan's serried flames; from some high seat
on distant hill, the shepherd peering down
sees, glad at heart, his own victorious fires:
so now fierce valor spreads, uniting all
in one confederate rage, 'neath Pallas' eyes.
But the fierce warrior Halaesus next
led on the charge, behind his skilful shield
close-crouching. Ladon and Demodocus
and Pheres he struck down; his glittering blade
cut Strymon's hand, which to his neck was raised,
sheer off; with one great stone he crushed the brows
of Thoas, scattering wide the broken skull,
bones, brains, and gore. Halaesus' prophet-sire,
foreseeing doom, had hid him in dark groves;
but when the old man's fading eyes declined
in death, the hand of Fate reached forth and doomed
the young life to Evander's sword; him now
Pallas assailed, first offering this prayer:
“O Father Tiber, give my poising shaft
through stout Halaesus' heart its lucky way!
The spoil and trophy of the hero slain
on thine own oak shall hang.” The god received
the vow, and while Halaesus held his shield
over Imaon, his ill-fated breast
lay naked to th' Arcadian's hungry spear.

But Lausus, seeing such a hero slain,
bade his troop have no fear, for he himself
was no small strength in war; and first he slew
Abas, who fought hard, and had ever seemed
himself the sticking-point and tug of war.
Down went Arcadia's warriors, and slain
etruscans fell, with many a Trojan brave
the Greek had spared. Troop charges upon troop
well-matched in might, with chiefs of like renown;
the last rank crowds the first;—so fierce the press
scarce hand or sword can stir. Here Pallas stands,
and pushes back the foe; before him looms
Lausus, his youthful peer, conspicuous both
in beauty; but no star will them restore
to home and native land. Yet would the King
of high Olympus suffer not the pair
to close in battle, but each hero found
a later doom at hands of mightier foes.

Now Turnus' goddess-sister bids him haste
to Lausus' help. So he, in wheeling car,
cut through the lines; and when his friends he saw,
“Let the fight stop! “ he cried, “for none but I
may strike at Pallas; unto me alone
the prize of Pallas falls. I would his sire
stood by to see.” He spake: his troop withdrew
a fitting space. But as they made him room,
the young prince, wondering at the scornful words,
looked upon Turnus, glancing up and down
that giant frame, and with fierce-frowning brows
scanned him from far, hurling defiant words
in answer to the King's. “My honor now
shall have the royal trophy of this war,
or glorious death. For either fortune fair
my sire is ready. Threaten me no more!”
So saying, to the midmost space he strode,
and in Arcadian hearts the blood stood still.
Swift from his chariot Turnus leaped, and ran
to closer fight. As when some lion sees
from his far mountain-lair a raging bull
that sniffs the battle from the grassy field,
and down the steep he flies—such picture showed
grim Turnus as he came. But when he seemed
within a spear's cast, Pallas opened fight,
expecting Fortune's favor to the brave
in such unequal match; and thus he prayed:
“O, by my hospitable father's roof,
where thou didst enter as a stranger-guest,
hear me, Alcides, and give aid divine
to this great deed. Let Turnus see these hands
strip from his half-dead breast the bloody spoil!
and let his eyes in death endure to see
his conqueror!” Alcides heard the youth:
but prisoned in his heart a deep-drawn sigh,
and shed vain tears; for Jove, the King and Sire, .
spoke with benignant accents to his son:
“To each his day is given. Beyond recall
man's little time runs by: but to prolong
life's glory by great deeds is virtue's power.
Beneath the lofty walls of fallen Troy
fell many a son of Heaven. Yea, there was slain
Sarpedon, my own offspring. Turnus too
is summoned to his doom, and nears the bounds
of his appointed span.” So speaking, Jove
turned from Rutulia's war his eyes away.
But Pallas hurled his lance with might and main,
and from its hollow scabbard flashed his sword.
The flying shaft touched where the plated steel
over the shoulders rose, and worked its way
through the shield's rim—then falling, glanced aside
from Turnus' giant body. Turnus then
poised, without haste, his iron-pointed spear,
and, launching it on Pallas, cried, “Look now
will not this shaft a good bit deeper drive?”
He said: and through the mid-boss of the shield,
steel scales and brass with bull's-hide folded round,
the quivering spear-point crashed resistlessly,
and through the corselet's broken barrier
pierced Pallas' heart. The youth plucked out in vain
the hot shaft from the wound; his life and blood
together ebbed away, as sinking prone
on his rent side he fell; above him rang
his armor; and from lips with blood defiled
he breathed his last upon his foeman's ground.
Over him Turnus stood: “Arcadians all,”
He cried, “take tidings of this feat of arms
to King Evander. With a warrior's wage
his Pallas I restore, and freely grant
what glory in a hero's tomb may lie,
or comfort in a grave. They dearly pay
who bid Aeneas welcome at their board.”
So saying, with his left foot he held down
the lifeless form, and raised the heavy weight
of graven belt, which pictured forth that crime
of youthful company by treason slain,
all on their wedding night, in bridal bowers
to horrid murder given,—which Clonus, son
of Eurytus, had wrought in lavish gold;
this Turnus in his triumph bore away,
exulting in the spoil. O heart of man,
not knowing doom, nor of events to be!
Nor, being lifted up, to keep thy bounds
in prosperous days! To Turnus comes the hour
when he would fain a prince's ransom give
had Pallas passed unscathed, and will bewail
cuch spoil of victory. With weeping now
and lamentations Ioud his comrades lay
young Pallas on his shield, and thronging close
carry him homeward with a mournful song:
alas! the sorrow and the glorious gain
thy sire shall have in thee. For one brief day
bore thee to battle and now bears away;
yet leavest thou full tale of foemen slain.

No doubtful rumor to Aeneas breaks
the direful news, but a sure messenger
tells him his followers' peril, and implores
prompt help for routed Troy. His ready sword
reaped down the nearest foes, and through their line
clove furious path and broad; the valiant blade
through oft-repeated bloodshed groped its way,
proud Turnus, unto thee! His heart beholds
Pallas and Sire Evander, their kind board
in welcome spread, their friendly league of peace
proffered and sealed with him, the stranger-guest.
So Sulmo's sons, four warriors, and four
of Ufens sprung, he took alive—to slay
as victims to the shades, and pour a stream
of captives' blood upon a flaming pyre.
Next from afar his hostile shaft he threw
at Mago, who with wary motion bowed
beneath the quivering weapon, as it sped
clean over him; then at Aeneas' knees
he crouched and clung with supplicating cry:
“O, by thy father's spirit, by thy hope
in young Iulus, I implore thee, spare
for son and father's sake this life of mine.
A lofty house have I, where safely hid
are stores of graven silver and good weight
of wrought and unwrought gold. The fate of war
hangs not on me; nor can one little life
thy victory decide.” In answer spoke
Aeneas: “Hoard the silver and the gold
for thy own sons. Such bartering in war
finished with Turnus, when fair Pallas fell.
Thus bids Anchises' shade, Iulus—thus!”
He spoke: and, grasping with his mighty left
the helmet of the vainly suppliant foe,
bent back the throat and drove hilt-deep his sword.
A little space removed, Haemonides,
priest of Phoebus and pale Trivia, stood,
whose ribboned brows a sacred fillet bound:
in shining vesture he, and glittering arms.
Him too the Trojan met, repelled, and towered
above the fallen form, o'ermantling it
in mortal shade; Serestus bore away
those famous arms a trophy vowed to thee,
Gradivus, Iord of war! Soon to fresh fight
came Caeculus, a child of Vulcan's line,
and Umbro on the Marsic mountains bred:
these met the Trojan's wrath. His sword shore off
Anxur's left hand, and the whole orbed shield
dropped earthward at the stroke: though Anxur's tongue
had boasted mighty things, as if great words
would make him strong, and lifting his proud heart
as high as heaven, had hoped perchance to see
gray hairs and length of days. Then Tarquitus
strode forth, exulting in his burnished arms
(Him Dryope, the nymph, to Faunus bore),
and dared oppose Aeneas' rage. But he
drew back his lance and, charging, crushed at once
corselet and ponderous shield; then off he struck
the supplicating head, which seemed in vain
preparing speech; while o'er the reeking corpse
the victor stood, and thrusting it away
spoke thus with wrathful soul: “Now lie thou there,
thou fearsome sight! No noble mother's hand
shall hide thee in the ground, or give those limbs
to their ancestral tomb. Thou shalt be left
to birds of ravin; or go drifting far
along yon river to engulfing seas,
where starving fishes on those wounds shall feed.”
Antceus next and Lucas he pursues,
though all in Turnus' van; and Numa bold
and Camers tawny-tressed, the son and heir
of Volscens the stout-hearted, whose domain
surpassed the richest of Ausonia's lords,
when over hushed Amyclae he was king.
Like old Aegaeon of the hundred arms,
the hundred-handed, from whose mouths and breasts
blazed fifty fiery blasts, as he made war
with fifty sounding shields and fifty swords
against Jove's thunder;—so Aeneas raged
victorious o'er the field, when once his steel
warmed to its work. But lo, he turns him now
where come Niphaeus' bold-advancing wheels
and coursers four, who, when at furious speed
they faced his giant stride and dreadful cry,
upreared in panic, and reversing spilled
their captain to the ground, and bore away
the chariot to the river's distant shore.

Meanwhile, with two white coursers to their car,
the brothers Lucagus and Liger drove
into the heart of battle: Liger kept
with skilful hand the manage of the steeds;
bold Lucagus swung wide his naked sword.
Aeneas, by their wrathful brows defied,
brooked not the sight, but to the onset flew,
huge-looming, with adverse and threatening spear.
Cried Liger, “Not Achilles' chariot, ours!
Nor team of Diomed on Phrygia's plain!
The last of life and strife shall be thy meed
upon this very ground.” Such raving word
flowed loud from Liger's lip: not with a word
the Trojan hero answered him, but flung
his whirling spear; and even as Lucagus
leaned o'er the horses, goading them with steel,
and, left foot forward, gathered all his strength
to strike—the spear crashed through the under rim
of his resplendent shield and entered deep
in the left groin; then from the chariot fallen,
the youth rolled dying on the field, while thus
pious Aeneas paid him taunting words:
“O Lucagus, thy chariot did not yield
because of horses slow to fly, or scared
by shadows of a foe. It was thyself
leaped o'er the wheel and fled.” So saying, he grasped
the horses by the rein. The brother then,
spilled also from the car, reached wildly forth
his helpless hands: “O, by thy sacred head,
and by the parents who such greatness gave,
good Trojan, let me live! Some pity show
to prostrate me!” But ere he longer sued,
Aeneas cried, “Not so thy language ran
a moment gone! Die thou! Nor let this day
brother from brother part!” Then where the life
hides in the bosom, he thrust deep his sword.
Thus o'er the field of war the Dardan King
moved on, death-dealing: like a breaking flood
or cloudy whirlwind seemed his wrath. Straightway
the boy Ascanius from the ramparts came,
his warriors with him; for the siege had failed.