The Æneid of Virgil translated into English prose

by Virgil

BOOK IX

While these things are in progress far away, Juno,

Saturn’s daughter, has sent down Iris from above on an

errand to Turnus the bold. It chanced that then Turnus

was sitting in the grove of his sire Pilumnus, deep in the

hallowed dell. Him then the child[264] of Thaumas bespoke 5

thus from her rosy lips: “Turnus, what no god would have

dared to promise to your prayers, lo! the mere lapse of

time has brought to you unasked. Æneas, leaving behind

town, comrades, and fleet, is gone to seek the realm of the

Palatine, the settlement of Evander. Nor is that all: 10

he has won his way to Corythus’ farthest towns, and is

arming the Lydian bands, the crowds of country folk. Why

hesitate? now, now is the moment to call for horse and

car; fling delay to the winds, and come down on the bewildered

camp.” So saying, she raised herself aloft on the 15

poise of her wings, and drew as she fled along the clouds her

mighty bow. The warrior knew his visitant, lifted his

two hands to heaven, and pursued her flight with words

like these: “Iris, fair glory of the sky, who has sent thee

down from heaven to earth on an errand to me? I see 20

the firmament parting asunder, and the stars reeling about

the poles. Yes! I follow thy mighty presage, whoe’er

thou art thus calling me to arms.” With these words he

went to the river-side, and took up water from the brimming

flood, calling oft on the gods and burdening heaven 25

with a multitude of vows.

And now his whole army was in motion along the open

plain, richly dowered with horses, richly dowered with

gold and broidered raiment. Messapus[265] marshals the van,

Tyrrheus’ warrior-sons the rear: Turnus himself, the 30

general, is in the centre—like Ganges with his seven calm

streams proudly rising through the silence, or Nile when

he withdraws from the plain his fertilizing waters and has

at last subsided into his bed. Suddenly the Teucrians

look forth on a cloud massed with murky dust, and see

darkness gathering over the plain. First cries Caicus from 5

the rampart’s front: “What mass have we here, my

countrymen, rolling towards us, black as night? Quick

with the steel, bring weapons, man the walls, the enemy

is upon us, ho!” With loud shouts the Teucrians pour

themselves through all the gates and through the bulwarks. 10

For such had been the charge of Æneas, that best of soldiers,

when going on his way; should aught fall out meantime,

let them not venture to draw out their lines or try

the fortune of the field: enough for them to guard camp

and wall safe behind their earthworks. So now, though 15

shame and anger prompt to an engagement, they shield

themselves nevertheless with closed gates in pursuance of

his bidding, and armed, within the covert of their towers,

await the foe. Turnus, just as he had galloped on in advance

of his tardy column, appears unforeseen before the 20

gate with a chosen following of twenty horse: with a

Thracian steed to carry him, spotted with white, and a

golden helm with scarlet crest to guard his head. “Now,

gallants, which of you will venture with me first against

the foe? Look there!” he cries, and with a whirl sends 25

his javelin into the air, the overture of battle, and proudly

prances over the plain. His friends second him with a

shout and follow with dreadful cries; they wonder at the

Teucrians’ sluggish hearts—men-at-arms, not to trust

themselves to a fair field or fight face to face, but keep 30

nursing their camp. Enraged, he rides round and round

the walls, and looks out for an opening where way is none.

Even as a wolf, lying in wait to surprise a crowded fold,

whines about the enclosure, exposed to wind and rain, at

mid of night; the lambs, nestling safe under their mothers, 35

keep bleating loudly; he, maddened and reckless, gnashes

his teeth at the prey beyond his reach, tormented by the

long-gathered rage of hunger and his dry bloodless jaws:

just so the Rutulian scans wall and camp with kindling

wrath; grief fires the marrow of his iron bones—how to

essay an entrance? what way to dash the prisoned Trojans

from the rampart and fling them forth on level

ground? Close to the camp’s side was lying the fleet, 5

shored round by earthworks and by the river; this he

assails, calling for fire to his exulting mates, and filling his

hand with a blazing pine, himself all aglow. Driven on

by Turnus’ presence, they double their efforts: each soldier

of the band equips himself with his murky torch. See, 10

they have stripped the hearths: the smoking brand sends

up a pitchy glare, and the Fire-god wafts clouds of soot

and flame heaven-high.

What god, ye Muses, shielded the Teucrians from a fire

so terrible? who warded off from the ships so vast a conflagration? 15

Tell me; the faith in the tale is old, but its

fame is evergreen.

In early days, when Æneas in Phrygian Ida was first

fashioning his fleet and making ready for the high seas,

the great mother of the gods, they say, the Berecyntian 20

queen, thus addressed almighty Jove: “Grant, my son,

to thy mother’s prayer the boon she asks thee on thy conquest

of Olympus. A pine-forest is mine, endeared by the

love of many years, a sacred grove on the mountain’s

height, whither worshippers brought their offerings, bedarkened 25

with black pitch-trees and trunks of maple:

these I was fain to give to the youth of Dardany when he

needed a fleet; now my anxious heart is wrung by disturbing

fears. Release me from my dread, and let a

mother’s prayer avail thus much: let them be overcome 30

by no strain of voyage, no violence of wind; give them

good of their birth on my sacred hill.” To her replied her

son, who wields the starry sphere: “O mother, whither

wouldst thou wrest the course of fate? what askest thou

for these thy favourites? should vessels framed by mortal 35

hand have charter of immortality? should Æneas, himself

assured, meet perils all unsure? What god had ever

privilege so great? Nay, rather, when their service is

over and they gain one day the haven of Ausonia, from

all such as escape the waves and convoy the Dardan chief

safe to Laurentian soil, I will take away their perishable

shape, and summon them to the state of goddesses of the

mighty ocean, in form like Nereus’ children, Doto and 5

Galatea, when they breast the foaming deep.” He said;

and by the river of his Stygian brother, by the banks that

seethe with pitch and are washed by the murky torrent, he

nodded confirmation, and with his nod made all Olympus

tremble. 10

So now the promised day was come, and the Destinies

had fulfilled the time appointed, when Turnus’ lawless

violence gave warning to the mighty mother to ward off

the firebrand from her consecrated ships. Now in a moment

a strange light flashed on the eyes of all, and a great 15

cloud was seen from the quarter of the dawn-goddess

running athwart the sky, with the choirs of Ida in its

train; then came darting through the air a voice of terror,

thrilling the ranks of Trojan and Rutulian from end to

end: “Busy not yourselves, ye Teucrians, to defend my 20

ships, nor take weapons into your hands: Turnus shall

have leave to burn up the ocean sooner than to consume

my sacred pines. Go free, my favourites: go and be

goddesses of the sea: it is the mother’s voice that bids

you.” And at once each ship snaps her cable from the 25

bank, and like a dolphin dips her beak and makes for the

bottom. Then all emerge in maiden forms, a marvel to

behold, and breast the main, as many as stood a moment

ago with their brazen prows to the shore.

Amazement seized the Rutulians; terror came on Messapus 30

himself, confusion on his steeds; even Tiber, the

river, pauses, murmuring hoarsely, and retraces his seaward

course. But bold Turnus’ confidence felt no check;

no, his words are ready to encourage and upbraid: “It

is at the Trojans that these portents point: Jove himself 35

has robbed them of their wonted resource; they wait not

for Rutulian fire and sword to do the work. Yes, the sea

is impassable to the Teucrians; hope of flight have they

none; one half of nature is taken from them; as for earth,

it is in our hands, thanks to the thousands here standing in

arms, the tribes of Italy. I care not for the fateful utterances

of heaven that these Phrygians vaunt, be they

what they may: fate and Venus have had license enough, 5

in that the Trojans have set foot on the soil of our rich

Ausonia. I, too, have a fate of my own, to mow down

with the sword the guilty nation that has stolen my bride;

that wrong of theirs comes not home to the Atridæ alone,

nor has Mycenæ alone the privilege of going to war. But 10

one destruction is enough for them—aye, had one transgression

been enough, so that they had henceforth loathed

the sex well-nigh to a woman. Men who trust in their intervening

rampart, whom the pause at the trench, those few

feet of distance from death, inspires with courage. Why, 15

did they not see their city of Troy sink into the fire, though

built by the hand of Neptune? But you, my chosen

mates, who is there ready to hew down the rampart and

rush with me on their bewildered camp? I need not the

arms of Vulcan nor a thousand sail for my Trojan war. 20

Let all Etruria join them in a body. Night alarms, cowardly

thefts of their guardian image, slaughterings of the

sentry on the height, they need fear none of these; we will

not skulk in a horse’s murky womb: in broad day, in the

sight of all, I stand pledged to put a ring of fire round their 25

walls. I will not let them fancy they are dealing with

the Danaans and the Pelasgian chivalry, whom Hector

kept ten years waiting for their due. Now, since the better

part of the day is spent, for what remains, gallants, refresh

yourselves after your good service, and be assured that 30

battle is getting ready.”

Meantime the charge is given to Messapus to leaguer the

gates with relays of watchmen, and throw a girdle of fire

round the ramparts. Twice seven Rutulian chiefs are

chosen to keep armed observation of the walls: a hundred 35

warriors attend on each, red with scarlet crests and gleaming

with gold. They move from place to place and relieve

one another, and stretched on the grass give wine its fling

and tilt the brazen bowl. Bright shine the fires: the

warders speed the wakeful night with sport and game.

The Trojans look forth on the scene from their earthworks,

as in arms they man the summit; with anxious

fear they test the gates, and link bridge and bulwark, 5

their weapons in their hands. First in the work are Mnestheus

and keen Serestus, whom father Æneas, should

adverse crisis call for action, left to command the warriors

and govern affairs at home. The whole army along the

wall, dividing the danger, keeps guard, each relieving 10

each at the post assigned.

The warder of the gate was Nisus, a soldier of keenest

mettle, Hyrtacus’ son, whom Ida the huntress sent to

attend Æneas, quick with the dart and the flying arrow:

and at his side Euryalus, than who was none fairer among 15

Æneas’ children, none that ever donned the arms of Troy,

a stripling whose unrazored cheeks just showed the first

bloom of youth. Theirs was a common love: side by side

they wont[266] to rush into the battle: and even then they were

keeping watch at the gate in joint duty. Nisus exclaims: 20

“Is it the gods, Euryalus, that make men’s hearts glow

thus? or does each one’s ungoverned yearning become his

god? My heart has long been astir to rush on war or

other mighty deed, nor will peaceful quiet content it.

You see the Rutulians there, delivered up to confidence 25

in the future: their line of lights gleams brokenly: unnerved

with sleep and wine, yonder they lie: all around is

still. Listen on, and learn on what I am brooding, and

what thought is this moment uppermost. ‘Æneas should

be recalled’—so cry people and leaders as one man; 30

‘messengers should be sent to tell him the truth.’ If they

pledge themselves to what I ask for you—for me the fame

of the deed is sufficient—methinks under the mound

yonder I could find a way to the city walls of Pallanteum.”

A thrill of generous ambition struck wonder into Euryalus, 35

as thus he addressed his glowing friend: “And would you

shrink from taking me with you, Nisus, on this high occasion?

Am I to send you out alone on such perilous

errand? It was not thus that my father, the veteran

Opheltes, reared and bred me among Argive terrors and

Trojan agonies, nor have such been my doings at your side,

since I followed our hero Æneas and his desperate fate.

Here, here, within me is a soul that thinks scorn of happy 5

sunshine, and deems that the glory at which you aim were

cheaply bought with life.” “Nay,” returns Nisus, “trust

me, I had no such fear of you—none such had been just:

so may I return to you in triumph, by grace of mighty Jove,

or whosoever now looks down on us with righteous eyes. 10

But should aught—and a venture like this, you see, has

a thousand such—should aught sway things amiss, be it

chance or heaven’s will, I would fain have you spared:

yours is the meeter age for life. Let me have one to rescue

me in fight, or redeem me by ransom paid, and so consign 15

me to the burial all receive: or should Fortune grudge

even that, to pay me the rites of the absent, and give

me the adornment of a tomb. Nor let me be the cause of

grief so terrible to that unhappy parent, who alone of

many matrons has had a heart to follow you, dear boy, 20

nor cares for the city of great Acestes.” He replied:

“Spinning empty pretexts is idle work: there is no change

or faltering in my resolve. Up and despatch!” At once

he rouses the guard, who take his place and fulfil their

time, while he, departing from the post, walks side by side 25

with Nisus, and they seek the prince together.

All else that breathed on earth were asleep, their load of

care unbound, their hearts oblivious of toil; the chief

leaders of the Teucrians, the flower of the host, were holding

council on the crisis in their realm’s fortune, what they 30

should do, or who should at length be sent with the news

to Æneas. There they stand propped on their long spears,

their shields still in their hands, in the midst of camp and

plain. At this moment Nisus and Euryalus eagerly crave

instant admission—the affair is great, say they, and well 35

worth the pause it claims. Iulus was the first to welcome

and reassure them, and bid Nisus speak. Then began the

son of Hyrtacus: “Listen, ye sons of Troy, with kindly

heed, nor let these our proffers be judged by our years.

The Rutulians, unnerved by sleep and wine, are hushed

in silence: we have ourselves observed a place for a

stealthy move, open through the passage of the gate which

abuts on the sea. The line of fires is broken, and only 5

dusky smoke rises to the sky: give us but leave to make

use of fortune, and go in quest of Æneas and the walls of

Pallanteum, soon shall you see us here again after a mighty

carnage, laden with spoils. Nor can the way mislead us

as we go: we have seen in the dimness of the vale the outskirts 10

of the city while persevering in our hunting, and

have made acquaintance with the whole river’s course.”

Then spoke Aletes, weighty with years and ripe of understanding:

“Gods of our fathers, whose constant presence

watches over Troy, not yet in spite of all do ye purpose to 15

make an utter end of us Teucrians, when such are the

spirits and so steadfast the hearts ye breed in our youth.”

As he said this, he kept embracing the necks and hands of

both, and bathing his cheeks in floods of tears. “What

guerdons, gallant men, what can I fancy of worth enough 20

to pay you for glories like these? First and richest of all

will be the praise of heaven and your own hearts: next

to these you will receive the rest without fail from good

Æneas and young Ascanius, who will never forget a service

so great.” “Nay,” cries Ascanius, “let me speak, me, 25

whose safety is bound up with my sire’s return: by our

great household gods I adjure you, Nisus, by the deity of

Assaracus’ house and the shrine of reverend Vesta—all

my fortune, all my trust, I place in your hands: bring

back my father, let me see him again; he once restored, 30

all grief is over. I will give you a pair of goblets wrought

with silver and rough from the chasing-tool, which my

father took when he conquered Arisba, a couple of tripods,

two great talents of gold, and an ancient bowl, Sidonian

Dido its donor. But if it be our victorious fortune to 35

conquer Italy and attain the crown, and appoint the lot

for the booty—you saw the horse which Turnus rode, the

arms in which he moved all golden—that horse, that

shield, and the scarlet crest I will set apart from the lot,

and count it, Nisus, yours already. Moreover, my sire

shall give you twelve matron captives of choicest beauty,

male prisoners too, each with his armour, and, to

crown all, the portion of domain held by king Latinus 5

himself. But you, whose years are followed at nearer

distance by my own, revered youth, I take at once to my

heart, and fold you there, my comrade for whatever betides.

Never will I seek glory for my own estate apart

from you: whether I have peace or war on hand, yours 10

shall be my utmost confidence in deed and in word.”

To him spoke Euryalus in reply: “No length of time shall

find me false to the promise of my bold essay: let but

fortune speed and not thwart us. But one boon I would

ask of you beyond all others: I have a mother of Priam’s 15

ancient house, whom not the land of Ilium, not the city

of king Acestes, could keep, poor soul, from going with me.

Her I am now leaving, ignorant of this peril, be it what it

may, with no word of greeting—Night and your right

hand are my witnesses—because I could not bear a parent’s 20

tears. But you, I pray, comfort her need and support

her lonely age. With this trust in you to bear along

with me, I shall meet all that happens with a bolder

spirit.” Touched to the heart, the children of Dardanus

broke into tears—chief of all the fair Iulus, as the picture 25

of his own filial love flashed upon his soul. Thus he

speaks: “Assure yourself that all shall be done that your

mighty deeds deserve. Yes, she shall be my own mother,

nought wanting but the name to make her Creusa’s self;

to have borne you lays up no mean store of gratitude. 30

Whatever the fortune that attends your endeavour, I

swear by this my head, by which my father has been wont

to swear, all that I promise to you in the event of your

prosperous return, shall remain in its fulness assured to

your mother and your house.” This he says weeping, and 35

unbelts from his shoulder a gilded sword wrought with

rare art by Lycaon of Crete, and fitted for use with a scabbard

of ivory. To Nisus Mnestheus gives a skin, a lion’s

shaggy spoils: Aletes, true of heart, makes an exchange

of helmets. Their arming done they march along; and

as they go, the whole band of nobles, young and old, escorts

them to the gate with prayers for their safety. There too

was fair Iulus, in heart and forethought manlier than his 5

years, giving them many a charge to carry to his father.

But the winds scatter all alike, and deliver them cancelled

to the clouds.

Passing through the gate, they cross the trenches, and

through the midnight shade make for the hostile camp—destined, 10

though, first to be the death of many. All about

the grass they see bodies stretched at length by sleep and

wine, cars tilted up on the shore, men lying among wheels

and harness, with armour and pools of wine about them.

First spoke the son of Hyrtacus: “Euryalus, daring hands 15

are wanted; the occasion now calls for action; here lies

our way. Do you keep watch and wide look-out, lest any

hand be lifted against us from behind; I will lay these

ranks waste, and give you a broad path to walk in.” So

saying, he checks his voice, and at once with his tyrannous 20

sword assails Rhamnes, who, pillowed on a vast pile of

rugs, was breathing from all his breast the breath of sleep—a

king himself, and king Turnus’ favourite augur;

but his augury availed him not to ward off death. Close

by he surprises three attendants, stretched carelessly 25

among their weapons, and Remus’ armour-bearer and

charioteer, catching him as he lay at the horses’ side:

the steel shears through their drooping necks; then he

lops the head of their lord, and leaves the trunk gurgling

and spouting blood, while ground and couch are reeking 30

with black streams of gore. Lamyrus too, and Lamus,

and young Serranus, who had played long that night in the

pride of his beauty, and was lying with the dream-god’s

hand heavy upon him; happy, had he made his play as

long as the night, and pushed it into morning. Like a 35

hungry lion making havoc through a teeming fold—for

the madness of famine constrains him—he goes mangling

and dragging along the feeble cattle, dumb with terror,

and gnashing his bloody teeth. Nor less the carnage

of Euryalus: he, too, all on fire, storms along, and slays

on his road a vast and nameless crowd, Fadus and Herbesus,

and Rhœtus and Abaris—unconscious these:

Rhœtus was awake and saw it all, but in his fear he 5

crouched behind a massive bowl; whence, as he rose, the

conqueror plunged into his fronting breast the length of

his sword, and drew it back with a torrent of death. The

dying man vomits forth his crimson life, and disgorges

mingled wine and blood: the foe pursues his stealthy work. 10

And now he was making for Messapus’ followers, for there

he saw the flicker of dying fires, and horses tied and browsing

at their ease; when thus spoke Nisus in brief, seeing

him hurried on by passion and excess of slaughter: “Forbear

we now; the daylight, our enemy, is at hand; we 15

have supped on vengeance to the full; a highway is open

through the foe.” Many warriors’ arms they leave,

wrought of solid silver, many bowls and gorgeous coverlets.

Euryalus lays hand on Rhamnes’ trappings and his belt

with golden studs, sent by wealthy Cædicus of old as a 20

present to Remulus of Tiber, when he fain would make

him his friend from a distance; he, dying, leaves them to

his grandson, after whose death the Rutulians won them

in battle; these he strips off, and fits them to his valiant

breast, all for nought. Then he puts on Messapus’ shapely 25

helm, with its graceful crest. They leave the camp, and

pass into safety.

Meanwhile a troop of horse, sent on from the town of

Latium, while the rest of the force abides drawn up on the

field, was on its way with a message to king Turnus, three 30

hundred, shield-bearers all, with Volscens, their chief.

They were just nearing the camp, and passing under the

wall, when at distance they spy the two bending to the

left, and the helmet, seen in the glimmering twilight,

betrayed the heedless Euryalus, as the moonbeam flashed 35

full upon it. The sight fell not on idle eyes. Volscens

shouts from his band: “Halt, gallants; tell your errand,

who you are thus armed, and whither you are going.”

They venture no reply, but hasten the faster to the woods,

and make the night their friend. The horsemen bar each

well-known passage right and left and set a guard on every

outlet. The wood was shagged with thickets and dark

ilex boughs; impenetrable briars filled it on every side; 5

through the concealed tracks just gleamed a narrow path.

Euryalus is hampered by the darkness of the branches,

and the encumbrance of his booty, and fear makes him miss

the right line of road. Nisus shoots away: and now in

his forgetfulness he had escaped the foe, and gained the 10

region afterwards called Alban from Alba’s name; in

that day king Latinus had there his stately stalls; when he

halted, and looked back in vain for the friend he could not

see. “My poor Euryalus! where have I left you? what

way shall I trace you, unthreading all the tangled path of 15

that treacherous wood?” As he speaks, he scans and

retraces each step, and wanders through the stillness of

the brakes. He hears the horses, hears the noise and the

tokens of pursuit. Pass a few moments, and a shout

strikes on his ear, and he sees Euryalus, who is in the hands 20

of the whole crew, the victim of the ground and the night,

bewildered by the sudden onslaught, hurried along, and

making a thousand fruitless efforts. What should he do?

with what force, what arms, can he attempt a rescue?

should he dash through the thick of their swords with 25

death before his eyes, and hurry to a glorious end in a shower

of wounds? Soon, with his arm drawn back, he poises his

spear-shaft, looking up to the moon in the sky, and thus

prays aloud: “Thou, goddess, be thou present, and befriend

my endeavour, Latona’s daughter, glory of the 30

heavens and guardian of the woods: if ever my father

Hyrtacus brought gift for me to thine altar, if ever my own

hunting swelled the tribute, if ever I hung an offering from

thy dome or fastened it on thy hallowed summit, suffer

me to confound this mass, and guide my weapons through 35

the air.” This said, with an effort of his whole frame he

hurled the steel. The flying spear strikes through the

shades of night, reaches the turned back of Sulmo, there

snaps short, and pierces the midriff with the broken

wood. Down he tumbles, disgorging from his breast the

warm life-torrent that leaves him cold, and long choking

gasps smite on his sides. They look round this way and

that: while the same fell arm, nerved by success, is levelling, 5

see! another weapon from the ear-tip. While all

is confusion, the spear has passed through Tagus’ two

temples with whizzing sound, and lies warmly lodged in his

cloven brain. Volscens storms with fury, yet sees nowhere

the author of the wound, nor on whom to vent his 10

rage; “You, however, shall pay both debts meanwhile

with your heart’s blood,” cries he; and speaking, rushes

with drawn sword on Euryalus. Then, indeed, in frantic

agony, Nisus shouts aloud; no more care had he to hide

himself in darkness, no more strength to bear grief so 15

terrible: “Me, me! behold the doer! make me your mark,

O Rutulians! mine is all the blame; he had no heart, no

hand for such deeds; this heaven, these stars know that

it is true; it was but that he loved his unhappy friend too

well.” Thus he was pleading; but the sword, driven with 20

the arm’s full force, has pierced the ribs and is rending the

snowy breast. Down falls Euryalus in death; over his

beauteous limbs gushes the blood, and his powerless neck

sinks on his shoulders; as when a purple flower, severed by

the plough, pines in death, or poppies with faint necks 25

droop the head, when rain has chanced to weigh them

down. But Nisus rushes full on the foe, Volscens his one

object among them all; he cares for none but Volscens:

the enemy cluster round, and assail him on all sides; none

the less he holds on his way, whirling his lightning blade, 30

till at last he lodges it full in the Rutulian’s face, as he

shrieks for aid, and dying robs his foe of life. Then he

flung himself on his breathless friend, pierced through

and through, and there at length slept away in peaceful

death. 35

Happy pair! if this my song has aught of potency, no

lapse of days shall efface your names from the memory of

time, so long as the house of Æneas shall dwell on the

Capitol’s moveless rock, and a Roman father shall be the

world’s lord.

The Rutulian conquerors, enriched with spoil and booty,

were bearing Volscens’ body to the camp with tears in their

eyes. Nor less loud is the wailing in the camp, when they 5

find Rhamnes drained of life, and those many chiefs slain

by a single carnage—Serranus, Numa, and the rest.

They flock in crowds to the bodies, the warriors yet breathing,

the place fresh and reeking with slaughter, and the

streams of gore full and foaming. They pass the spoils 10

from hand to hand, and recognize Messapus’ gleaming

helm, and the trappings which it cost such sweat to recover.

Now at last the goddess of the dawn was sprinkling the

world with new-born light, as she rose from Tithonus’ 15

saffron couch: the sun had streamed in and all was revealed

by daybreak, when Turnus summons his men to

arms, himself sheathed in armour; each general musters

in battle array his brass-mailed bands, and, scattering

divers speeches, stings them to fury. Nay, more, on 20

uplifted spears, most piteous sight, they set up the heads,

and follow them with deafening shouts—the heads of

Euryalus and Nisus. Æneas’ sturdy family, on the rampart’s

left side, set the fight in array—for the right is

flanked by the river—guard the broad trenches and stand 25

on the lofty towers, deep in sorrow—touched to see those

lifted human countenances, which to their grief they knew

so well, dripping with black corrupted gore.

Meantime, Fame spreads her wings and flies with the

news through the wildered settlement, and reaches the 30

ears of Euryalus’ mother. At once the vital heat left her

wretched frame: the shuttle was dashed from her hands,

and the thread ran back. Forth flies the unhappy dame,

and with a woman’s piercing shriek, her tresses rent, makes

madly for the walls and the van of battle, heeding not the 35

eyes of men, heeding not the peril and the shower of javelins,

while she fills the heaven with her plaints: “Is it thus,

Euryalus, that I see you again? have you, the late solace

of my waning years, had the heart to leave me alone, unpitying?

nor, when you ventured on such dangerous errand,

might your wretched mother speak her farewell?

Alas! on an unknown land you are lying, exposed to the

ravin[267] of Latium’s dogs and birds; nor have I, your 5

mother, followed your corpse to the tomb, or closed your

eyes, or bathed your wounds, shrouding you with the

robe which I worked so hard to finish day and night, and

made the loom the medicine of an old wife’s sorrow!

Where shall I seek you? what land now contains those 10

severed limbs, that mutilated corpse? is this the sole relic

of yourself that you bring back to me, my son? is this

what I followed over land and sea? Pierce me, if you have

aught of human feeling—shower on me all your darts, ye

Rutulians, let the sword make me its first meal; or do 15

thou, great sire of the gods, have mercy, and with thy

lightning-bolt strike down to Tartarus this hated life,

since I cannot otherwise end the cruel pain of being.”

Her wail shook every heart to its centre; a groan of sorrow

passed through the ranks; their martial prowess flags 20

and faints. At last, as her agony flames higher, Idæus

and Actor, bidden by Ilioneus and the tearful Iulus, lay

hold of her, and carry in their arms within.

But the trumpet from its brazen throat uttered afar a

tremendous blare; a shout ensues, and heaven returns the 25

roar. Quick speed the Volscians, carrying in level line

their penthouse of shields, and strive to fill the moat and

pluck down the palisade. Some look about for an access,

and fain would scale the walls with ladders, where the line

of defence is thin, and the ring of men, not too closely set, 30

shows a gleaming interval. The Teucrians, on their part,

shower missiles of every sort, and repulse the assailants

with strong poles, taught by a long war’s experience how

to guard their walls. Stones, too, they kept rolling of fatal

bulk, in hope to break through the foe’s sheltered ranks, 35

though beneath so firm a penthouse a soldier may well

smile at all that can betide. Ay, and it ceases to avail

them: for where a mighty mass threatens the rampart, the

Teucrians push forward and roll down an enormous

weight, which made wide havoc among the Rutulians, and

burst the joints of their harness. And now the bold

Rutulians care no longer to wage war in the dark, but aim

at driving them from the ramparts with a storm of missiles. 5

In another quarter, terrible to look upon, Mezentius waves

an Etruscan pine and hurls fire and smoke, while Messapus,

tamer of the steed, of the race of Neptune, plucks

down the palisade, and calls for ladders to the

battlement. 10

Vouchsafe, Calliope and thy heavenly sisterhood, to aid

me while I sing, what slaughter, what deaths were dealt

that day in that place by Turnus’ sword, what foes each

warrior sent down to the grave, and help me to unfold the

length and breadth of the mighty war. 15

A tower there was, vast to look on from below, with

lofty bridges, placed on a vantage-ground, which all the

Italians, with utmost force and utmost strain of might,

were essaying to storm, while the Trojans, on their side,

were defending it with stones, and hurling showers of 20

darts through its narrow eyelets. Turnus the first flung

a blazing torch and fastened fire on its side; fanned by

the wind, the flame seized the planks and lodged in the

consuming doors. The inmates are all in confusion, and

in vain seek to escape the mischief. While they huddle 25

together and retire upon the part which the plague has

spared, in an instant the tower falls heavily down, and the

firmament thunders with the crash. Half dead they come

to the ground, the huge fabric following on their backs,

pierced by their own weapons, their breasts impaled by the 30

cruel wood. Barely two escaped, Helenor and Lycus—Helenor

in prime of youth, whom Licymnia the slave had

borne secretly to the Mæonian king, and had sent to Troy

in forbidden arms, with the light accoutrement of a

naked sword, and a shield uncharged by an escutcheon. 35

Soon as he saw himself with Turnus’ thousands round him,

the armies of Latium standing on this side and on that,

like a beast that, hemmed in by the hunters’ close-set ring,

vents her rage on the darts and flings herself deliberately

on death, and springs from high on the line of spears, even

thus the doomed youth rushes on the midst of the foe,

making for where he sees the darts are thickest. But

Lycus, far swifter of foot, winds among ranks of foes and 5

showers of steel and gains the wall, and strives to clutch

the fabric’s summit and reach the hands of his friends.

Whom Turnus, following him at once with foot and javelin,

taunts in victorious tone: “Dreamed you, poor fool, that

you could escape my hands?” and with that he seizes him 10

as he hangs in air, and pulls him down with a great fragment

of the wall; just as the bearer of Jove’s thunder

trusses in his hooked talons a hare or a snow-white swan

and soars into the sky, or one of Mars’ wolves snatches

from the fold a lamb which its mother’s bleatings reclaim 15

in vain. On all sides rises the war-shout. They rush on

the trenches and fill them with shattered earthworks,

while others fling brazen firebrands to the roofs. Ilioneus

with a rock, broken from a mighty mountain, brings

down Lucetius as he assails the gates and waves his torch. 20

Liger kills Emathion, Asilas Corynæus, one skilled with the

javelin, one with the arrow that surprises from a distance.

Cæneus slays Ortygius, Turnus the conqueror Cæneus,

Turnus Itys and Clonius, Dioxippus and Promolus, and

Sagaris, and Idas, who was standing on the turret’s top. 25

Capys kills Privernus: Themilla’s flying spear had grazed

him first; he, poor fool, dropped his buckler and clapped

his hand to the wound, so the arrow came on stealthy

wing, and the hand was pinned to the left side, and the

inmost seat of breath is rent asunder by the deadly wound. 30

There stood the son of Arcens in conspicuous armour,

his scarf embroidered with needlework, in the glory of

Hiberian purple, fair of form, sent to war by his father

Arcens, who had reared him in his mother’s grove by the

streams of Symæthus, where stands Palicus’ rich and 35

gracious altar: flinging his spears aside, Mezentius

whirled the strained thong of the whizzing sling thrice

round his head, and with the molten bullet burst in twain

the forehead of the fronting foe, and stretched him at

full length on the expanse of sand.

Then first, they say, Ascanius levelled in war his winged

arrow, used till then to terrify the beasts of chase, and

laid low by strength of hand the brave Numanus, Remulus 5

by surname, who had lately won and wedded Turnus’

younger sister. He was stalking in front of the host,

vaunting aloud things meet and unmeet to tell, in the

insolence of new-blown royalty, and venting his pride in

clamorous tones: “Are ye not ashamed to be imprisoned 10

yet again in leaguer and rampart, twice-captured Phrygians,

and to put your walls between you and death? Lo, these

are the men who demand our wives at the sword’s edge!

What god, what madness, has driven you to Italy? You

will not find the Atridæ here, nor Ulysses the forger of 15

speech. A hardy race even from the stock, we bring our

sons soon as born to the river’s side, and harden them with

the water’s cruel cold. Our boys spend long days in the

chase, and weary out the forest; their sport is to rein the

steed, and level shafts from the bow. Our youth, strong 20

to labour and schooled by want, subdues the earth with

the rake, or shakes the city’s walls with battle. All our

life we ply the steel; with the butt of our spears we belabour

our cattle; old age, which dulls all else, impairs

not the force of our hearts or changes our fresh vigour; 25

the hoary head is clasped by the helmet; our constant

joy is to bring home new booty and live by rapine. Yours

are embroidered garments of saffron and gleaming purple;

sauntering and sloth are your delight; your pleasure is to

indulge the dance; your tunics have sleeves and your turbans 30

strings. Phrygian dames in sooth—for Phrygian

men ye are not—get you to the heights of Dindymus,

where the pipe utters its two-doored note to your accustomed

ears. The Idæan mother’s cymbals, the Berecyntian

flute, are calling you to the revel; leave arms to 35

men, and meddle no more with steel.”

Such boasting and such ill-omened talk Ascanius could

bear no longer; setting his breast to the bow-string of

horsehair he levelled his dart, and drawing his arms wide

apart he stood, having first invoked Jove thus in suppliant

prayer: “Jove Almighty, smile on my bold essay; with

my own hand I will bring to thy temple yearly offerings,

and will set before thine altar a bullock with gilded brow, 5

snowy white, rearing his head to the height of his mother’s,

fit to butt with the horn and spurn up sand with the hoof.”

The father heard and from a cloudless quarter of the sky

thundered on the left; at the same instant twanged the

deadly bow. Forth flies the arrow from the string, whizzing 10

fearfully, passes through the head of Remulus, and cleaves

with its point his hollow temples. “Go, make valour the

sport of your boasting; the twice-captured Phrygians

answer the Rutulians thus.” So far Ascanius: the Teucrians

second him with a cry, shout for joy, and mount 15

heavenward in their exultation. It chanced that then

in the realm of sky long-haired Apollo was surveying the

armies of Ausonia and the city, seated on a cloud; and

thus addressed Iulus in the moment of triumph: “Rejoice,

brave youth, in your new-won laurels; ’tis thus 20

men climb the stars; son of gods that are, sire of gods that

shall be! Well has Fate ordered that beneath the house

of Assaracus the wars of the future shall find their end;

nor can Troy contain your prowess.” So saying he shoots

down from heaven, parts before him the breathing gales, 25

and makes for Ascanius. He changes his features to those

of ancient Butes, who had once been armour-bearer to

Dardanian Anchises and trusty watcher at the gate;

thence Ascanius’ sire made him his son’s guardian. Apollo

moved along, in all things like the aged veteran, the voice, 30

the colour, the white locks, the fiercely clanking armour;

and thus he spoke to Iulus’ glowing heart: “Suffice it,

child of Æneas, that Numanus has met from your darts an

unrequited death: this your maiden glory great Apollo

vouchsafes you freely, nor looks with jealousy on weapons 35

like his own; for the rest abstain from war, as stripling

should.” So Apollo began, and ere his speech was well

done parted from mortal eyes, and vanished from sight

into unsubstantial air. The Dardan chiefs knew the god

and his divine artillery, and heard his quiver hurtle as he

fled. So now at Phœbus’ present instance they check

Ascanius’ ardour for battle; themselves take their place

in the combat once more, and fling their lives into the 5

jaws of danger. All over the walls passes the shout from

rampart to rampart; they bend their sharp-springing

bows and hurl their lashed javelins—the ground is all

strewn with darts; shields and hollow helms ring with

blow on blow; a savage combat is aroused; fierce as the 10

rain coming from the west at the setting of the showery

kid-stars[268] scourges the earth, plenteous as the hail which

the stormclouds discharge into the sea, when Jove in the

sullenness of southern blasts whirls the watery tempest and

bursts the misty chambers of the sky. 15

Pandarus and Bitias, sons of Idæan Alcanor, brought up

by Iæra the wood-nymph in the grove of Jupiter, youths

tall as the pines and peaks of their birthplace, throw open

the gate, which the general’s order placed in their charge,

relying on their good steel, and invite the foe to enter the 20

town. Themselves within right and left stand before the

bulwarks, sheathed in iron, the crest waving on their lofty

heads: even as high in air beside the flowing streams,

on Padus’[269] banks it may be or by pleasant Athesis,[270] uptower

two oaks, raising to heaven their unshorn summits 25

and nodding their lofty crowns. In rush the Rutulians

when they see the entry clear. In a moment Quercens and

Aquicolus in his brilliant armour and headlong Tmarus

and Hæmon, scion of Mars, with all their followers, are

routed and turned to flight, or on the threshold of the gate 30

have resigned their lives. At this the wrath of the combatants

flames yet higher, and the Trojans rally and muster

in one spot and venture to engage hand to hand and to

advance farther into the plain.

Turnus, the chief, while venting his rage elsewhere and 35

scattering ranks of warriors, hears tidings that the foe,

fevered by the taste of blood, has thrown the gates open.

He leaves the work he had begun, and stirred with giant

fury hastens to the Dardan gate and the two haughty

brethren. Hurling his dart, he first slays Antiphates, who

happened first to meet him, bastard son of great Sarpedon

by a Theban mother; the shaft of Italian cornel flies

through the yielding air, and lodging in the throat goes 5

deep down into the chest; the wound’s dark pit spouts

forth a foaming torrent, and the cold steel grows warm

in the lungs it pierces. Then with strong hand he slays

Merops and Erymas and then Aphidnus, then Bitias

with his blazing eyes and his boiling valour—not with a 10

dart, for to a dart he would not have surrendered his life—no;

it was a whirled phalaric lance that came hurtling

fiercely, shot like a thunderbolt, which neither two bulls’

hides nor a trusty corselet with double golden plait could

withstand: the massive limbs sink and fall: earth groans, 15

and the vast buckler thunders on the body. Even thus

sometimes on Baiæ’s Eubœan coast falls a pile of stone,

which men compact with mighty blocks and then fling

into the sea; thus it comes down with protracted headlong

ruin, and dashing on the shallows settles into its 20

place; the sea is all disturbed, and the murky sand rises

to the surface; the crash shakes Prochyta[271] to her depths,

and Inarime’s[272] rugged bed, laid by Jove’s command upon

Typhœus.

Now Mars, the lord of arms, inspires the Latians with 25

strength and courage, and plants his stings deep in their

bosoms, while among the Teucrians, he sends Flight and

grisly Terror. They flock from this side and from that,

now that scope for battle is given, and the warrior-god

comes down on their souls. When Pandarus saw his 30

brother’s corpse laid low, and knew the posture of fortune

and the chance that was swaying the day, with a mighty

effort he turns the gate on its hinge, pushing with his broad

shoulders, and leaves outside many of his comrades shut out

from the camp all in the cruel battle, while others he shuts 35

in with himself, admitting them as they stream onward—madman,

to have failed to see the king of the Rutulians in

the middle of the company storming in, and to have shut

him wantonly within the walls, like monstrous tiger

among a herd of helpless cattle! On the instant a strange

light flashed from the eyes of the foe, and his arms gave a

fearful clang; on his helm quivers his crest, red as blood,

and from his shield he darts gleaming lightnings. With 5

sudden confusion the children of Æneas recognize that

hated form and those giant limbs. Then forth springs

mighty Pandarus, and with all the glow of wrath for his

brother’s death bespeaks him thus: “This is not the

bridal palace of Amata, nor is it Ardea that embraces 10

Turnus in the walls of his fathers; the enemy’s camp is

before you; all escape is barred.” To him Turnus, smiling

in quiet mood: “Begin, if you have courage, and engage in

combat. Priam shall learn from you that here too you

have found an Achilles.” Thus he: Pandarus, with the 15

full strain of his power, hurls his spear, rugged with knots

and unpeeled bark. It was launched on the air; but Saturnian

Juno turned aside the coming wound, and the

spear lodged in the gate. “But this my weapon you

shall not escape, swayed as it is by my hand’s full force; 20

he from whom wound and weapon come is too strong for

that.” So cries Turnus, and rises high upon his lifted

sword, and cleaves with the steel the forehead in twain full

between the temples, parting beardless cheek from cheek

with a ghastly wound. A crash is heard: earth is shaken 25

by the enormous weight: the unnerved limbs, the arms

splashed with gore and brain are stretched in death on the

ground; and the head, shared in equal parts, hangs right

and left from either shoulder. The routed Trojans fly

here and there in wildering terror; and had the thought at 30

once seized the conqueror, to burst the gates by main

force and give entrance to his friends, that day would have

ended a war and a nation both. But rage and mad thirst

for blood drove him in fury on the foe before him. First

he surprises Phalaris and hamstrings Gyges; plucks forth 35

spears and hurls them on the backs of the fliers; Juno

gives supplies of strength and courage. He sends Halys to

join them and Phegeus, pierced through the shield, and

cuts down others as they stand unconscious on the walls

and stir up the battle, Alcander and Halius, and Noëmon

and Prytanis. As Lynceus moved to meet him and calls

on his comrades, with a sweep of his arm from the rampart

on his right he catches him with his whirling sword; swept 5

off by a single blow hand to hand, the head with the helmet

on it lay yards away. Next falls Amycus, the ravager of

the forest brood, than who was never man more skilled

to anoint the dart and arm the steel with venom, and

Clytius, son of Æolus, and Cretheus, darling of the Muses, 10

Cretheus the Muses’ playmate, whose delight was ever in

minstrelsy and harp, and in stringing notes on the chord;

songs of chargers and warrior arms and battles were ever on

his lips.

At last the Teucrian leaders, hearing of the slaughter of 15

their men, come together to the spot, Mnestheus and keen

Serestus, when they see their comrades flying in confusion,

and the foe lodged in the camp. Out cries Mnestheus:

“Whither now, whither are ye making in flight? what

further city have ye, what walls beyond? Shall it be said 20

that a single man, and he too, my countrymen, hemmed in

on all hands by your ramparts, has spread unavenged

such havoc through your streets, has sent down to death so

many of your bravest? As ye think of your unhappy

country, your ancient gods, your great Æneas, is there no 25

pity, no shame in your sluggish hearts?” Roused by these

words they rally and halt in close array. Turnus step by

step withdraws from the fight, making for the river and

the part round which the water runs. All the more keenly

the Teucrians press on him with loud shouts and close their 30

ranks: as when a company of hunters bears down on a

savage lion javelin in hand: he, struck with fear, yet fierce

and glaring angrily, gives ground; wrath and courage

suffer him not to turn his back, nor yet may he charge,

though he fain would do so, through the huntsmen and the 35

spears. Not unlike to him Turnus in doubt retraces his

lingering footsteps, while his heart boils with rage. Even

then twice had he dashed on the thick of the foe, twice he

drives their ranks in huddled flight round the walls; but

the whole army musters in a body from the camp, nor dares

Saturnian Juno supply him with strength to oppose them;

for Jove sent down from the sky celestial Iris, with no

gentle message for his sister’s ear, if Turnus retire not from 5

the Teucrians’ lofty ramparts. So now the warrior cannot

hold his own with shield or sword; such a deluge of darts

overwhelms him. Round his hollow temples the helmet

echoes with ceaseless ringing; the solid plates of brass

give way beneath the stones; the horsehair crest is struck 10

from his head; his shield’s boss cannot stand the blows;

faster and faster they hail their spears, the Trojans and

fiery Mnestheus. Over all his frame flows the sweat and

trickles in a murky stream, while breathe he cannot; his

sinking limbs are shaken with feeble panting. At last 15

with headlong leap he plunged arms and all into the river.

Tiber with his yellow gulf received the guest, upbore him

on his buoyant waves, and washing off the stains of carnage,

restored him in joy to his friends.