Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Apollo heard and granted half the prayer,
- but half upon the passing breeze he threw:
- granting his votary he should confound
- Camilla by swift death; but 't was denied
- the mountain-fatherland once more to see,
- or safe return,—that prayer th' impetuous winds
- swept stormfully away. Soon as the spear
- whizzed from his hand, straight-speeding on the air,
- the Volscians all turned eager thought and eyes
- toward their Queen. She only did not heed
- that windy roar, nor weapon dropped from heaven,
- till in her bare, protruded breast the spear
- drank, deeply driven, of her virgin blood.
- Her terror-struck companians swiftly throng
- around her, and uplift their sinking Queen.
- But Arruns, panic-stricken more than all,
- makes off, half terror and half joy, nor dares
- hazard his lance again, nor dares oppose
- a virgin's arms. As creeps back to the hills
- in pathless covert ere his foes pursue,
- from shepherd slain or mighty bull laid low,
- some wolf, who, now of his bold trespass ware,
- curls close against his paunch a quivering tail
- and to the forest tries: so Arruns speeds
- from sight of men in terror, glad to fly,
- and hides him in the crowd. But his keen spear
- dying Camilla from her bosom drew,
- though the fixed barb of deeply-wounding steel
- clung to the rib. She sank to earth undone,
- her cold eyes closed in death, and from her cheeks
- the roses fled. With failing breath she called
- on Acca—who of all her maiden peers
- was chiefly dear and shared her heart's whole pain—
- and thus she spoke: “O Acca, sister mine,
- I have been strong till now. The cruel wound
- consumes me, and my world is growing dark.
- Haste thee to Turnus! Tell my dying words!
- 'T is he must bear the battle and hold back
- the Trojan from our city wall. Farewell!”
- So saying, her fingers from the bridle-rein
- unclasped, and helpless to the earth she fell;
- then, colder grown, she loosed her more and more
- out of the body's coil; she gave to death
- her neck, her drooping head, and ceased to heed
- her war-array. So fled her spirit forth
- with wrath and moaning to the world below.
- Then clamor infinite uprose and smote
- the golden stars, as round Camilla slain
- the battle newly raged. To swifter charge
- the gathered Trojans ran, with Tuscan lords
- and King Evander's troops of Arcady.