Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Aeneas now is near; and waving wide
- a spear like some tall tree, he called aloud
- with unrelenting heart: “What stays thee now?
- Or wherefore, Turnus, backward fly? Our work
- is not a foot-race, but the wrathful strife
- of man with man. Aye, hasten to put on
- tricks and disguises; gather all thou hast
- of skill or courage; wish thou wert a bird
- to fly to starry heaven, or hide thy head
- safe in the hollow ground!” The other then
- shook his head, saying: “It is not thy words,
- not thy hot words, affright me, savage man!
- Only the gods I fear, and hostile Jove.”
- Silent he stood, and glancing round him saw
- a huge rock Iying by, huge rock and old,
- a landmark justly sundering field from field,
- which scarce six strong men's shoulders might upraise,
- such men as mother-Earth brings forth to-day:
- this grasped he with impetuous hand and hurled,
- stretched at full height and roused to all his speed,
- against his foe. Yet scarcely could he feel
- it was himself that ran, himself that moved
- with lifted hand to fling the monster stone;
- for his knees trembled, and his languid blood
- ran shuddering cold; nor could the stone he threw,
- tumbling in empty air, attain its goal
- nor strike the destined blow. But as in dreams,
- when helpless slumber binds the darkened eyes,
- we seem with fond desire to tread in vain
- along a lengthening road, yet faint and fall
- when straining to the utmost, and the tongue
- is palsied, and the body's wonted power
- obeys not, and we have no speech or cry:
- so unto Turnus, whatsoever way
- his valiant spirit moved, the direful Fiend
- stopped in the act his will. Swift-changing thoughts
- rush o'er his soul; on the Rutulian host,
- then at the town he glares, shrinks back in fear,
- and trembles at th' impending lance; nor sees
- what path to fly, what way confront the foe:—
- no chariot now, nor sister-charioteer!