XXXIV. "Two goblets will I give thee, richly wrought
Of sculptured silver, beauteous to behold,
The spoils my sire from sacked Arisbe brought,
With two great talents of the purest gold,
Two tripods, and a bowl of antique mould,
The gift at Carthage of the Tyrian queen.
Nay, more, if e'er Italia's realm I hold,
And share the spoils of conquest,—thou hast seen		298
The steed that Turnus rode, his arms of golden sheen,—
XXXV. "That steed, that shield, that crest of crimson hue,
I keep for thee,—thine, Nisus, from to-day.
Twelve lovely matrons and male captives too,
Each with his armour, shall my sire convey,
With all the lands that own Latinus' sway.
But thee, whose years the most with mine agree,
Brave youth! my heart doth welcome. Come what may,
In peace or war my comrade shalt thou be.		307
Thine are my thoughts, my deeds; fame tempts me but for thee."
XXXVI. "No time, I ween," Euryalus replies,
"Shall shame the promise of this bold design,
Come weal, come woe. One boon alone I prize
Beyond all gifts. A mother dear is mine,
A mother, sprung from Priam's ancient line.
Troy nor the walls of King Acestes e'er
Stayed her from following, when I crossed the brine.
Her of this risk—whate'er the risk I dare—		316
Weetless, I left behind, nor breathed a parting prayer.
XXXVII. "Night bear me witness; by thy hand I swear,
I cannot bear a parent's tears. But O!
Be thou her solace, comfort her despair;
This hope permit, and bolder will I go,
To face all hazards and confront the foe."
Grief smote the Dardans, and the tears ran down,
And young Iulus, pierced with kindred woe,
Outweeps them all; in filial love thus shown,		325
Touched to the heart, he traced the likeness of his own.
XXXVIII. "All, all," he cries, "that such a deed can claim,
I promise for thy guerdon. Mine shall be
Thy mother,—mine, Creusa save in name;
Nor small her praise to bear a son like thee.
Howe'er shall Fortune the event decree,
I swear—so swore my father—by my head,
What gifts I pledge, if thou return, to thee,
These, if thou fall, thy mother in thy stead,		334
These shall thy kinsmen keep, the heirlooms of the dead."
XXXIX. Weeping, the gilded falchion he untied,
Lycaon's work, with sheath of ivory fair.
To Nisus Mnestheus gave a lion's hide,
His helmet changed Aletes. Forth they fare,
And round them to the gates, with vows and prayer,
The band of chiefs their parting steps attend;
And, manlier than his years, Iulus fair
Full many a message to his sire would send.		343
Vain wish! his fruitless words the scattering breezes rend.
XL. So past the trench, upon the shadowy plain
Forth issuing, to the foemen's tents they creep,
Fatal to many, ere the camp they gain.
Warriors they see, who drank the wine-bowl deep,
Beside their tilted chariots stretched in sleep,
And reins, and wheels and wine-jars tost away,
And arms and men in many a mingled heap.
Then Nisus: "Up, Euryalus, and slay!		352
Haste, for the hour is ripe, and yonder lies the way.
XLI. "Watch thou, lest hand be lifted in the rear.
There, flanked with swaths of corpses, will I reap
Thy pathway; broad shall be the lane and clear."
So saying, he checks his voice, and, aiming steep,
Drives at proud Rhamnes. On a piled-up heap
Of carpets lay the warrior, and his breast
Heaved with hard breathing and the sounds of sleep:
Augur and king, whom Turnus loved the best.		361
Not all his augur's craft could now his doom arrest.
XLII. Three slaves beside him, lying heedless here
Amidst their arms, he numbers with the slain,
Then Remus' page, and Remus' charioteer,
Caught by their steeds. The weapon, urged amain,
Swoops down, and cleaves their drooping necks in twain.
Their master's head he severs with a blow,
And leaves the trunk, still heaving, on the plain,
And o'er the cushions and the ground below,		370
Wet with the warm, black gore, the spouting streams outflow.
XLIII. Lamus and Lamyras he slew outright,
And fair Serranus, as asleep he lay,
Tamed by the God; for long and late that night
The youth had gamed. Ah! happier, had his play
Outlived the night, and lasted till the day.
Like some starved lion, that on the teeming fold
Springs, mad with hunger, and the feeble prey,
All mute with terror, in his clutch doth hold,		379
And rends with bloody mouth, and riots uncontrolled,