LII. Dark-frowning stands, still propt upon his spear,
Æneas, heedless of his friends around
And young Iulus, weeping in his fear.
Tight-girt like [Pæon,] with the robes upbound,
Beside him kneels the aged leech renowned.
With busy haste Apollo's salves he tries,
In vain, in vain he coaxes in the wound
The stubborn steel, the pincer's teeth he plies:		460
Fate bides averse, his help the healing god denies;
LIII. And more and more, along the echoing wold,
The war's wild horror thickens on the ear,
And storm-like, in the darkened skies uprolled,
The driving dust-clouds show the danger near.
Now horsemen, galloping in haste, appear,
And darts and arrows, as the foe draw nigh,
Fall in the tents, and fill the camp with fear,
And a grim clamour mounts the vaulted sky,		469
The shouts of those that fight, the groans of those that die.
LIV. Then, Venus, for her darling filled with grief,
A stalk of dittany on Ida's crown
Seeks out, and gathers, for his wound's relief,
The flower of purple and the leaves of down.
(To wounded wild-goats 'twas a plant well-known)
This brings the Goddess, veiled in mist, and brews
In a bright bowl a mixture of her own,
And, steeped in water from the stream, she strews		478
Soft balm of fragrant scent, and sweet ambrosial dews.
LV. Therewith the leech, unwitting, rinsed the wound,
And the pain fled, and all the blood was stayed.
Out came the dart, and he again was sound.
"Arms! bring his arms! Why stand ye thus afraid?"
Iapis cries, and, foremost to upbraid,
Inflames them to the fight. "No hand of mine,
No power of leech-craft, nor a mortal's aid
This healing wrought; a greater power divine,		487
Æneas, sends thee back, by greater deeds to shine."
LVI. He, hot for fight, the golden cuishes bound,
And shook the spear, then put his corslet on,
And strung the shield, and in his arms enwound,
And gently through the helmet kissed his son.
"Learn, boy, of me, how gallant deeds are done,
Fortune of others. I will guard thee now,
And lead to fame. Let riper manhood con
Thy kinsmen's deeds. Remember, and be thou		496
What uncle Hector was, and what thy sire is now."
LVII. He spake, and swinging his tremendous spear,
Swept through the gate; then Antheus, with his train,
Rushed forth, and Mnestheus. With a general cheer
Forth pours the host; a dust-cloud hides the plain;
Earth, startled by their trampling, throbs in pain.
Pale Turnus saw them from a distant height,
The Ausonians saw, and terror chilled each vein.
Juturna heard, and knew the noise of fight,		505
And from the van drew back, and shuddered with affright.
LVIII. On swept he, and the blackening host behind.
As when from sea a storm-cloud sweeps to shore,
The weather breaking, and the trembling hind
Foresees afar the ruin and the roar,
The shattered orchards, and the crops no more,
While, landward borne, the muttering winds betray
The coming storm; so down the Trojan bore
Against the foemen, and in firm array		514
All knit their serried ranks, and gladden at the fray.
LIX. Thymbræus smites Osiris, Mnestheus fells
Archetius; by Achates smitten sheer,
Falls Epulo, and Gyas Ufens quells.
Falls, too, Tolumnius, the sacred seer,
Who first against the foemen hurled his spear.
Uprose a shout, and the Rutulians reeled
And fled. Æneas, on the dusty rear
Close-trampling, scorns to follow them afield,		523
Or fight with those that stand, or slaughter those that yield.
LX. Turnus alone, amid the blinding gloom,
He tracks and traces, searching far and near,
Turnus alone he summons to his doom.
Juturna sees, and smit with sudden fear,
Unseats Metiscus, Turnus' charioteer,
And flings him down, and leaves him on the plain,
Then takes his place, and, urging their career,
Loose o'er the coursers shakes the waving rein;		532
Metiscus' voice and form, Metiscus' arms remain.
LXI. Like a black swallow, as she flies among
A rich man's halls, or in the courts is found
In quest of dainties for her twittering young.
And now in empty cloisters, now around
The fishpools circles, while the shrill notes sound.
So now Juturna, through the midmost foes,
Whirled in the rapid chariot, scours the ground;
Now here, now there triumphant Turnus shows,		541
Now, flying, wheels aloof, nor suffers him to close.