Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Fair Opis, keeping guard for Trivia
- in patient sentry on a lofty hill, beheld
- unterrified the conflict's rage. Yet when,
- amid the frenzied shouts of soldiery,
- she saw from far Camilla pay the doom
- of piteous death, with deep-drawn voice of sight
- she thus complained: “O virgin, woe is me!
- Too much, too much, this agony of thine,
- to expiate that thou didst lift thy spear
- for wounding Troy. It was no shield in war,
- nor any vantage to have kept thy vow
- to chaste Diana in the thorny wild.
- Our maiden arrows at thy shoulder slung
- availed thee not! Yet will our Queen divine
- not leave unhonored this thy dying day,
- nor shall thy people let thy death remain
- a thing forgot, nor thy bright name appear
- a glory unavenged. Whoe'er he be
- that marred thy body with the mortal wound
- shall die as he deserves.” Beneath that hill
- an earth-built mound uprose, the tomb
- of King Dercennus, a Laurentine old,
- by sombre ilex shaded: thither hied
- the fair nymph at full speed, and from the mound
- looked round for Arruns. When his shape she saw
- in glittering armor vainly insolent,
- “Whither so fast?” she cried. “This way, thy path!
- This fatal way approach, and here receive
- thy reward for Camilla! Thou shalt fall,
- vile though thou art, by Dian's shaft divine.”
- She said; and one swift-coursing arrow took
- from golden quiver, like a maid of Thrace,
- and stretched it on her bow with hostile aim,
- withdrawing far, till both the tips of horn
- together bent, and, both hands poising well,
- the left outreached to touch the barb of steel,
- the right to her soft breast the bowstring drew:
- the hissing of the shaft, the sounding air,
- Arruns one moment heard, as to his flesh
- the iron point clung fast. But his last groan
- his comrades heeded not, and let him lie,
- scorned and forgotten, on the dusty field,
- while Opis soared to bright Olympian air.