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!

Above his faltering terror gleams in air
Aeneas' fatal spear; whose eye perceived
the moment of success, and all whose strength
struck forth: the vast and ponderous rock outflung
from engines which make breach in sieged walls
not louder roars nor breaks in thunder-sound
more terrible; like some black whirlwind flew
the death-delivering spear, and, rending wide
the corselet's edges and the heavy rim
of the last circles of the seven-fold shield,
pierced, hissing, through the thigh. Huge Turnus sinks
o'erwhelmed upon the ground with doubling knee.
Up spring the Rutules, groaning; the whole hill
roars answering round them, and from far and wide
the lofty groves give back an echoing cry.
Lowly, with suppliant eyes, and holding forth
his hand in prayer: “I have my meed,” he cried,
“Nor ask for mercy. Use what Fate has given!
But if a father's grief upon thy heart
have power at all,—for Sire Anchises once
to thee was dear,—I pray thee to show grace
to Daunus in his desolate old age;
and me, or, if thou wilt, my lifeless clay,
to him and his restore. For, lo, thou art
my conqueror! Ausonia's eyes have seen
me suppliant, me fallen. Thou hast made
Lavinia thy bride. Why further urge
our enmity?”With swift and dreadful arms
Aeneas o'er him stood, with rolling eyes,
but his bare sword restraining; for such words
moved on him more and more: when suddenly,
over the mighty shoulder slung, he saw
that fatal baldric studded with bright gold
which youthful Pallas wore, what time he fell
vanquished by Turnus' stroke, whose shoulders now
carried such trophy of a foeman slain.
Aeneas' eyes took sure and slow survey
of spoils that were the proof and memory
of cruel sorrow; then with kindling rage
and terrifying look, he cried, “Wouldst thou,
clad in a prize stripped off my chosen friend,
escape this hand? In this thy mortal wound
't is Pallas has a victim; Pallas takes
the lawful forfeit of thy guilty blood!”
He said, and buried deep his furious blade
in the opposer's heart. The failing limbs
sank cold and helpless; and the vital breath
with moan of wrath to darkness fled away.