Aeneid

Virgil

Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.

'T was then Ascanius first shot forth in war
the arrow swift from which all creatures wild
were wont to fly in fear: and he struck down
with artful aim Numanus, sturdy foe,
called Remulus, who lately was espoused
to Turnus' younger sister. He had stalked
before the van, and made vociferous noise
of truths and falsehoods foul and base, his heart
puffed up with new-found greatness. Up and down
he strode, and swelled his folly with loud words:
“No shame have ye this second time to stay
cooped close within a rampart's craven siege,
O Phrygians twice-vanquished? Is a wall
your sole defence from death? Are such the men
who ask our maids in marriage? Say what god,
what doting madness, rather, drove ye here
to Italy? This way ye will not find
the sons of Atreus nor the trickster tongue
of voluble Ulysses. Sturdy stock
are we; our softest new-born babes we dip
in chilling rivers, till they bear right well
the current's bitter cold. Our slender lads
hunt night and day and rove the woods at large,
or for their merriment break stubborn steeds,
or bend the horn-tipped bow. Our manly prime
in willing labor lives, and is inured
to poverty and scantness; we subdue
our lands with rake and mattock, or in war
bid strong-walled cities tremble. Our whole life
is spent in use of iron; and we goad
the flanks of bullocks with a javelin's end.
Nor doth old age, arriving late, impair
our brawny vigor, nor corrupt the soul
to frail decay. But over silvered brows
we bind the helmet. Our unfailing joy
is rapine, and to pile the plunder high.
But ye! your gowns-are saffron needlework
or Tyrian purple; ye love shameful ease,
or dancing revelry. Your tunics fiow
long-sleeved, and ye have soft caps ribbon-bound.
Aye, Phrygian girls are ye, not Phrygian men!
Hence to your hill of Dindymus! Go hear
the twy-mouthed piping ye have loved so long.
The timbrel, hark! the Berecynthian flute
calls you away, and Ida's goddess calls.
Leave arms to men, true men! and quit the sword!”

Of such loud insolence and words of shame
Ascanius brooked no more, but laid a shaft
athwart his bowstring, and with arms stretched wide
took aim, first offering suppliant vow to Jove:
“Almighty Jupiter, thy favor show
to my bold deed! So to thy shrine I bear
gifts year by year, and to thine altars lead
a bull with gilded brows, snow-white, and tall
as his own dam, what time his youth begins
to lower his horns and fling the sand in air.”
The Father heard, and from a cloudless sky
thundered to leftward, while the deadly bow
resounded and the arrow's fearful song
hissed from the string; it struck unswervingly
the head of Remulus and clove its way
deep in the hollows of his brow. “Begone!
Proud mocker at the brave! Lo, this reply
twice-vanquished Phrygians to Rutulia send.”
Ascanius said no more. The Teucrians
with deep-voiced shout of joy applaud, and lift
their exultation starward. Then from heaven
the flowing-haired Apollo bent his gaze
upon Ausonia's host, and cloud-enthroned
looked downward o'er the city, speaking thus
to fair Iulus in his victory:
“Hail to thy maiden prowess, boy! This way
the starward path to dwelling-place divine.
O sired of gods and sire of gods to come,
all future storms of war by Fate ordained
shall into peace and lawful calm subside
beneath the offspring of Assaracus.
No Trojan destinies thy glory bound.”
So saying, from his far, ethereal seat
he hied him down, and, cleaving the quick winds
drew near Ascanius. He wore the guise
of aged Butes, who erewhile had borne
Anchises, armor and kept trusty guard
before his threshold, but attended now
Ascanius, by commandment of his sire.
Clad in this graybeard's every aspect, moved
apollo forth,—his very voice and hue,
his hoary locks and grimly sounding shield, —
and to the flushed Iulus spoke this word:
“Child of Aeneas, be content that now
Numanus unavenged thine arrows feels.
Such dawn of glory great Apollo's will
concedes, nor envies thee the fatal shaft
so like his own. But, tender youth, refrain
hereafter from this war!” So said divine
Apollo, who, while yet he spoke, put by
his mortal aspect, and before their eyes
melted to viewless air. The Teucrians knew
the vocal god with armament divine
of arrows; for his rattling quiver smote
their senses as he fled. Obedient
to Phoebus' voice they held back from the fray
Iulus' fury, and their eager souls
faced the fresh fight and danger's darkest frown.
From tower to tower along the bastioned wall
their war-cry flew: they bend with busy hand
the cruel bow, or swing the whirling thong
of javelins. The earth on every side
is strewn with spent shafts, the reverberant shield
and hollow helmet ring with blows; the fight
more fiercely swells; not less the bursting storm
from watery Kid-stars in the western sky
lashes the plain, or multitudinous hail
beats upon shallow seas, when angry Jove
flings forth tempestuous and-boundless rain,
and splits the bellied clouds in darkened air.