Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- But when first the light
- of reason to his blinded soul returned,
- he strained his flaming eyeballs to behold
- the distant wall, and from his chariot gazed
- in wonder at the lordly citadel.
- For, lo, a pointed peak of flame uprolled
- from tier to tier, and surging skyward seized
- a tower—the very tower his own proud hands
- had built of firm-set beams and wheeled in place,
- and slung its Iofty bridges high in air.
- “Fate is too strong, my sister! Seek no more
- to stay the stroke. But let me hence pursue
- that path where Heaven and cruel Fortune call.
- Aeneas I must meet; and I must bear
- the bitterness of death, whate'er it be.
- O sister, thou shalt look upon my shame
- no longer. But first grant a madman's will!”
- He spoke; and leaping from his chariot, sped
- through foes and foemen's spears, not seeing now
- his sister's sorrow, as in swift career
- he burst from line to line. Thus headlong falls
- a mountain-boulder by a whirlwind flung
- from lofty peak, or loosened by much rain,
- or by insidious lapse of seasons gone;
- the huge, resistless crag goes plunging down
- by leaps and bounds, o'erwhelming as it flies
- tall forests, Bocks and herds, and mortal men:
- so through the scattered legions Turnus ran
- straight to the city walls, where all the ground
- was drenched with blood, and every passing air
- shrieked with the noise of spears. His lifted hand
- made sign of silence as he loudly called:
- “Refrain, Rutulians! O ye Latins all,
- your spears withhold! The issue of the fray
- is all my own. I only can repair
- our broken truce by judgment of the sword.”
- Back fell the hostile lines, and cleared the field.
- But Sire Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name,
- down the steep rampart from the citadel
- unlingering tried, all lesser task laid by,
- with joy exultant and dread-thundering arms.
- Like Athos' crest he loomed, or soaring top
- of Eryx, when the nodding oaks resound,
- or sovereign Apennine that lifts in air
- his forehead of triumphant snow. All eyes
- of Troy, Rutulia, and Italy
- were fixed his way; and all who kept a guard
- on lofty rampart, or in siege below
- were battering the foundations, now laid by
- their implements and arms. Latinus too
- stood awestruck to behold such champions, born
- in lands far-sundered, met upon one field
- for one decisive stroke of sword with sword.
- Swift striding forth where spread the vacant plain,
- they hurled their spears from far; then in close fight
- the brazen shields rang. Beneath their tread
- Earth groaned aloud, as with redoubling blows
- their falchions fell; nor could a mortal eye
- 'twixt chance and courage the dread work divide.
- As o'er Taburnus' top, or spacious hills
- of Sila, in relentless shock of war,
- two bulls rush brow to brow, while terror-pale
- the herdsmen fly; the herd is hushed with fear;
- the heifers dumbly marvel which shall be
- true monarch of the grove, whom all the kine
- obedient follow; but the rival twain,
- commingling mightily wound after wound,
- thrust with opposing horns, and bathe their necks
- in streams of blood; the forest far and wide
- repeats their bellowing rage: not otherwise
- Trojan Aeneas and King Daunus' son
- clashed shield on shield, till all the vaulted sky
- felt the tremendous sound. The hand of Jove
- held scales in equipoise, and threw thereon
- th' unequal fortunes of the heroes twain:
- one to vast labors doomed and one to die.
- Soon Turnus, reckless of the risk, leaped forth,
- upreached his whole height to his lifted sword,
- and struck: the Trojans and the Latins pale
- cried mightily, and all eyes turned one way
- expectant. But the weak, perfidious sword
- broke off, and as the blow descended, failed
- its furious master, whose sole succor now
- was flight; and swifter than the wind he flew.
- But, lo! a hilt of form and fashion strange
- lay in his helpless hand. For in his haste,
- when to the battle-field his team he drove,
- his father's sword forgotten (such the tale),
- he snatched Metiscus' weapon. This endured
- to strike at Trojan backs, as he pursued,
- but when on Vulcan's armory divine
- its earthly metal smote, the brittle blade
- broke off like ice, and o'er the yellow sands
- in flashing fragments scattered. Turnus now
- takes mad flight o'er the distant plain, and winds
- in wavering gyration round and round;
- for Troy's close ring confines him, and one way
- a wide swamp lies, one way a frowning wall.