Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- But haply in that place a sacred tree,
- a bitter-leaved wild-olive, once had grown,
- to Faunus dear, and venerated oft
- by mariners safe-rescued from the waves,
- who nailed their gifts thereon, or hung in air
- their votive garments to Laurentum's god.
- But, heeding not, the Teucrians had shorn
- the stem away, to clear the field for war.
- 'T was here Aeneas' lance stuck fast; its speed
- had driven it firmly inward, and it clave
- to the hard, clinging root. Anchises' son
- bent o'er it, and would wrench his weapon free,
- and follow with a far-flung javelin
- the swift out-speeding foe. But Turnus then,
- bewildered and in terror, cried aloud:
- “O Faunus, pity me and heed my prayer!
- Hold fast his weapon, O benignant Earth!
- If ere these hands have rendered offering due,
- where yon polluting Teucrians fight and slay.”
- He spoke; invoking succor of the god,
- with no Iost prayer. For tugging valiantly
- and laboring long against the stubborn stem,
- Aeneas with his whole strength could but fail
- to Ioose the clasping tree. While fiercely thus
- he strove and strained, Juturna once again,
- wearing the charioteer Metiscus' shape,
- ran to her brother's aid, restoring him
- his own true sword. But Venus, wroth to see
- what license to the dauntless nymph was given,
- herself came near, and plucked from that deep root
- the javelin forth. So both with lofty mien
- strode forth new-armed, new-hearted: one made bold
- by his good sword, the other, spear in hand,
- uptowered in wrath, and with confronting brows
- they set them to the war-god's breathless game.