Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- At last the Teucrian chiefs had heard the tale
- of so much slaughter; and in council met
- are Mnestheus and Serestus bold, who see
- their comrades routed and the conquering foe
- within the gates. Cries Mnestheus, “Whither fly?
- What open way is yonder or what wall?
- Beyond these ramparts lost what stronger lie?
- Shall one lone man here in your walls confined,
- make havoc unavenged and feed the grave
- with your best warriors? 0 cowards vile!
- For your sad country and her ancient gods
- and for renowned Aeneas, can ye feel
- no pity and no shame?” Enflamed to fight
- by words like these, they close the line, and stand
- in strong array. So Turnus for a space
- out of the battle step by step withdrew
- to make the river-bank his rearguard strong;
- whereat the Teucrians, shouting loud, swept on
- the fiercer, and in solid mass pressed round.
- as when a troop of hunters with keen spears
- encircle a wild lion, who in fear,
- but glaring grim and furious, backward falls,
- valor and rage constrain him ne'er to cease
- fronting the foe; yet not for all his ire
- can he against such serried steel make way:
- so Turnus backward with a lingering step
- unwilling drew, and wrath his heart oterflowed.
- for twice already had he cloven a path
- into the foe's mid-press, and twice had driven
- their flying lines in panic through the town.
- But now the whole throng from the camp he sees
- massed to the onset. Nor will Juno now
- dare give him vigor to withstand, for Jove
- had sent aerial Iris out of heaven
- with stern commandment to his sister-queen
- that Turnus from the Teucrian walls retire.
- Therefore the warrior's shield avails no more,
- nor his strong arm; but he is overthrown
- by general assault. Around his brows
- his smitten helmet rings; the ponderous mail
- cracks under falling stones; the haughty plumes
- are scattered from his head, nor can the boss
- of his stout shield endure; the Trojans hurl
- redoubled rain of spears; and with them speeds
- Mnestheus like thunderbolt. The hero's flesh
- dissolves in sweat; no room to breathe has he;
- his limbs are spent and weary; his whole frame
- shakes with his gasping breath: then bounding fort
- with all his harness on, headlong he plunged
- into the flowing stream; its yellow tide
- embraced him as he fell, and gentle waves
- restored him smiling to his friends in arms,
- with all the gore and carnage washed away.