Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Scarce had he said, when through the foeman's line
- Saces dashed forth upon a foaming steed,
- his face gashed by an arrow. He cried loud
- on Turnus' name: “O Turnus, but in thee
- our last hope lies. Have pity on the woe
- of all thy friends and kin! Aeneas hurls
- his thunderbolt of war, and menaces
- to crush the strongholds of all Italy,
- and lay them low; already where we dwell
- his firebrands are raining. Unto thee
- the Latins Iook, and for thy valor call.
- The King sits dumb and helpless, even he,
- in doubt which son-in-law, which cause to choose.
- Yea, and the Queen, thy truest friend, is fallen
- by her own hand; gone mad with grief and fear,
- she fled the light of day. At yonder gates
- Messapus only and Atinas bear
- the brunt of battle; round us closely draw
- the serried ranks; their naked blades of steel
- are thick as ripening corn; wilt thou the while
- speed in thy chariot o'er this empty plain?”
- Dazed and bewildered by such host of ills,
- Turnus stood dumb; in his pent bosom stirred
- shame, frenzy, sorrow, a despairing love
- goaded to fury, and a warrior's pride
- of valor proven.