The Aeneid of Virgil

by Virgil

Above them, from the wall, the Trojans, waiting,
Maintain the heights with arms, and, anxious, test
The strength of the gates, link bridge and battlement,
Warriors in harness. Mnestheus and Serestus
Urge on the work; they were to be the leaders,
Aeneas said, in the event of trouble.
Along the walls the host mounts guard; they share
Relief and danger in turn, each at his post.

Nisus, quick-handed with the javelin
And the light arrows, very keen in arms,
Stood guard beside the gate, Nisus, a son
Of Hyrtacus, sent by the huntress Ida
To join Aeneas; and near-by his friend
Euryalus; no Trojan was more handsome
Than he was, that first bloom of youth. They shared
Assignments always, side by side in the charge,
And side by side defenders. Here they were
Together on sentry-duty at the gate.
Nisus burst out:—“Euryalus, what is it?
Do the gods put this ardor in our hearts
Or does each man’s desire become his god?
I want much more than this, I am not contented
With all this peace and calm; my mind keeps calling
To battle, or something big. Look! The Rutulians
Are far too confident: their lights are scattered;
They lie asleep or drunk; and all is silent.
Listen! I have a plan. People and fathers
Demand Aeneas, ask that men be sent him
With information. If I can make them promise
To let you go—(the glory of the action
Is all I want myself)—I think that I
Can find the way around that hill, can manage
To reach the walls and fort of Pallanteum.”
This shook Euryalus: a great love of praise
Spoke in his answer to his eager comrade:—
“What, Nisus? Are you planning to leave me out
In this bold scheme, planning to go alone
Into such dangers? No; no, no. I am
Opheltes’ son, a warrior trained among
Greek terror and Trojan suffering; and I follow,
With you, great-souled Aeneas and his fortunes.
I have a spirit, not too fond of living,
Not too dissatisfied to buy with death
The honor that you strive for.” Nisus answered:—
“I had no fear on your account, be certain;
That would be shameless of me: so may Jove,
Or any god that looks on this with favor,
Bring me back home triumphant. But disaster,
As well you know, or god, or chance, might take me:
If so, your youth being worthier, I’d have you
Be my survivor, give to earth my body,
Rescued or ransomed, or pay the final honor
To, it might be, an empty tomb. I would not
Cause sorrow to the only woman of many
Who scorned Acestes’ city, and came on
With you, her only son.” But then the other
Replied:—“There is no use in all this talking.
My mind is fixed, and we had better hurry.”
He roused the guards; new men came on; together
Euryalus and Nisus seek their leader.

All other creatures over all the world
Were easing their troubles in slumber, and hearts forgot
Sorrow and pain; not so the Trojan leaders
Meeting in council. Here were things of moment;
What should they do? how would they reach Aeneas?
They stood there, leaning on long spears, most gravely,
Holding their shields. Euryalus and Nisus
Crave instant audience; the matter is urgent,
They say, and worth a little interruption.
Iulus takes the lead, meets their impatience,
Tells Nisus to speak out. “Give us a hearing,
O men of Troy,” says Nisus, “do not hold
Our years against us: we have something for you.
All the Rutulians are drunk or sleeping,
They are quiet now. There is a place, we know it,
We have seen it with our eyes, a place that cunning
Can take advantage of: you know the gate
Nearest the sea, and how the road splits off there.
The watchfires there die down, and the black smoke rises
Dark to the sky out there. Give us a chance!
Let us go to find Aeneas and Pallanteum.
You will see us here again; it will not be long
Till we come back, weighed down with spoil. We will kill them.
We will not miss the way; we have seen the city
Far in the distant valleys. We go hunting
Along here often; we know all the river.
We know it all by heart.” And old Aletes,
A wise man in a council, gave the answer:—
“Gods of our ancestors, under whose guidance
Troy is and has been, always, our destruction
Must be far off, seeing your care has brought us
Young men of such high heart and lofty spirit.”
In deep emotion, his hands reached out for theirs,
His arms went round their shoulders. “What can I give you,
Young men,” he cried, “worthy your praise and glory?
The best rewards come from the gods, the finest
From your own character, but good Aeneas
Will not forget your service, and your peer
In age, Ascanius, surely will remember.”
And that young man broke in, “Most truly, Nisus,
I trust my fortune to you. My only safety
Lies in my sire’s return. By all our gods,
I beg you both, I pray, bring back my father.
Our trouble goes when he is here. I promise
Two silver wine-cups, captured from Arisba,
A pair of tripods, two great talents of gold,
An ancient bowl, the present of queen Dido.
And if we capture Italy, if we live
To wield the sceptre and divide the spoil,
You know the horse that Turnus rides, the armor
He carries on his back, all gold—that armor,
The shield, the crimson plumes, and the war-horse, Nisus,
Are your reward; even now, I so declare them.
My father will give twelve women, beautiful captives,
And captive men, equipped with arms, and land
Now held by king Latinus; and I cherish
With all my heart, Euryalus, your courage.
Your years are near my own, and all my life
Your glory will be mine; in peace or war,
In word and deed, I trust in you, completely.”
Euryalus replied:—“No day will ever
Prove me unworthy of brave deeds, if fortune
Is kind, not cruel, to me. I ask one thing
Better than any gift: I have a mother
Of Priam’s ancient line, and she came with me,
Poor soul, from Troy, and king Acestes’ city
Was powerless to keep her. I leave her now
With never a word about what I am doing,
Whatever its danger is, with no farewell.
I cannot bear a mother’s tears. I beg you,
Comfort her helplessness, relieve her sorrow.
Let me take with me that much hope; it will help me
Face any risk more boldly.” They were weeping
At this, the Trojans, all of them, Iulus
More deeply touched than any. And he spoke:—
“Be reassured, Euryalus; all we do
Will prove as worthy as your glorious mission.
Your mother shall be mine, in all but name;
Great honor waits the mother of a son
So great in honor. Whatever fortune follows,
I vow and swear it, with an oath as solemn
As any my father ever took, I promise,
When you return to us, safe and successful,
Your triumph and your glory and your prizes
Shall be for her as well, for all your house.”
He spoke with tears, and from his sword-belt took
A present in farewell, the golden sword,
The ivory scabbard, wonderfully fashioned
By old Lycaon’s talent; Mnestheus gave
A lion-skin to Nisus, and Aletes
Exchanged his helmet with him. As they started,
All the great company, young men and old ones,
Went with them to the gate, and out beyond it
The hopeful prayers attended them. Iulus,
Mature beyond his years, gave many a message
To carry to Aeneas, but the winds
Bore these away and swept them off to cloudland.

And now they have crossed the trench, and through night’s shadow
Invade the hostile camp; they are bound to be
The doom of many. They see the bodies sprawling
In drunken sleep, the chariots half turned over,
Men lying under the wheels and among the reins,
And Nisus whispers:—“Euryalus, we must
Be bold; the chance is given; here lies our way.
Watch and keep back, lest some one steal upon us
Along the trail behind. I lead, you follow
Where I have cut the way; it will be a broad one.”
His voice was silent; and he drew the sword
At Rhamnes, cushioned on high covers, lying
In a deep slumber, breathing deep, a king
And Turnus’ favorite augur, but his doom
No augury prevented. Nisus struck
Three slaves, and then the armor-bearer of Remus,
And Remus’ charioteer—their necks were severed
With steel, and their lord Remus was beheaded.
The trunk spurts blood, the earth and couch are darkened
With blood, black-flowing. Lamyrus and Lamus
Are slain, and young Serranus, handsome gambler
Who had won high stakes that night, and slept contented
Smiling at the gods’ favor, luckier surely
If he had lost all night. A starving lion
Loose in a sheepfold with the crazy hunger
Urging him on, gnashing and dragging, raging
With bloody mouth against the fearful feeble,
So Nisus slaughters. And his savage comrade
Keeps pace with him: Fadus is slain, Herbesus,
Rhoetus, Abaris, all of them unconscious,
Murdered in sleep. One of them, Rhoetus, wakened
A little, saw, and tried to hide, and crouching
Behind a wine-bowl, took the sword, and rose,
Stumbled and sprawled and belched, the red life spurting
Out of the mouth, red wine, red blood. All hotly
Euryalus went on. Messapus’ quarters
Are next in line; the fires burn low, the horses,
Tether-contented, graze. Then, briefly, Nisus,
Sensing his comrade’s recklessness in slaughter,
Calls:—“Light is near, our enemy; give over,
We have killed enough, we have cut the path we needed.
No more of this!” They left behind them armor
Of solid silver, bowls, rich-woven carpets,
But must take something: Rhamnes’ golden sword-belt
Euryalus held on to, all that armor
That went with long tradition, from father to son,
From son to enemy, once more a trophy
For young Euryalus. He dons the armor,
Picks up, puts on, besides, a shapely helmet,
The spoil of Messapus, the long plume flowing.
They leave the camp, are on their way to safety.

Meanwhile, sent forward from the Latin city,
Horsemen were coming, while the legion rested
Behind them on the plain, three hundred horsemen
With word for Turnus, under their captain Volcens,
All armed with shields and riding at the ready.
They are near the camp, the wall, and in the distance
See two men turning left along a pathway,
And a helmet glittering among the shadows,
Euryalus’ prize and foolishness. They notice
At once, of course, and challenge. From the column
Volcens cried out:—“Halt! Who goes there? Who are you?
What are you doing in arms? Upon what mission?”
No answer: flight to wood and trust in darkness.
But the horsemen, fanning out, block every cross-road,
Circle and screen each outlet. Wide with brambles
And dark with holm-oak spreads the wood; the briars
Fill it on every side, but the path glimmers
In the rare intervals between the shadows.
Euryalus is hindered by the branches,
The darkness, and the spoil he carries; terror
Makes him mistake the path. Nisus is clear,
Reaching the site that later men called Alba,
Where king Latinus had his lofty stables.
He halts, looks back to find his friend: in vain.
“Euryalus, Euryalus, where are you?
Where have I lost you? How am I to follow
Back through the tangled wood, the treacherous thickets?
Euryalus, Euryalus!” He turns,
Tries to retrace his step, is lost in the woods,
And hears the horses, hears the shouts and signals
As the pursuit comes closer, and he hears
A cry, he sees Euryalus, dragged along
Out of the treason of the night and darkness,
Bewildered by the uproar, fighting vainly
In the hands of Volcens’ squadron. There is nothing
Nisus can do, or is there? With what arms,
What force, redeem his friend? Or is it better
To hurl himself to death, dash in, regardless,
To glorious wounds? His spear is poised, his arm
Drawn back; he looks to the moon on high, and prays:—
“Dear goddess, daughter of Latona, aid me,
Pride of the stars and glory of the groves,
If ever my father Hyrtacus brought honors
In my name to the altar, if ever I
Have brought gifts home from my own hunting, aid me!
Let me confound that troop, direct my weapon!”
The straining body flung the spear; it whistled
Across the shadow of night, and Sulmo took it
In his turned back; the point snaps off; it lodges
With part of the splintered wood deep in the lungs.
Sulmo goes down, his mouth spurts blood, his body
Sobs, straining, in the gasp and chill and shudder
Of a cold death. They look in all directions,
See nothing. And another spear is flying,
Fiercer this time. This pierces Tagus’ temples,
Clings, warm, in the split brain. And Volcens rages,
And cannot find the spearman, and his anger
Has no sure place to go, but for his vengeance
Turns on Euryalus, sword drawn, and rushing
He cries:—“You will pay for both of them, your blood
Be the atonement.” Nisus, from the darkness,
Shrieks in his terror:—“Here I am, I did it,
The guilt is mine, let him alone, come get me,
Rutulians! How could he have dared or done it?
God knows, the only thing he did was love
A luckless friend too well.” But the sword is driven
Deep in the breast. Euryalus rolls over,
Blood veins the handsome limbs, and on the shoulder
The neck droops over, as a bright-colored flower
Droops when the ploughshare bends it, or as poppies
Sink under the weight of heavy summer rainfall.
And Nisus rushes them; he is after Volcens,
Volcens alone. They mass around him, cluster,
Batter him back, but through them all he charges,
Whirling the blade like fire, until he drives it
Full in the face while the Rutulian, shrieking,
Goes down, and Nisus, dying, sees him die,
Falls over his lifeless friend, and there is quiet
In the utter peace of death.

Fortunate boys!
If there is any power in my verses,
You will not be forgotten in time and story
While rock stands firm beneath the Capitol,
While the imperial house maintains dominion.

With victory and tears, with spoil and plunder,
They brought Rutulian Volcens home to camp-ground,
And a great wail arose, for Rhamnes slaughtered,
For Numa, for Serranus, for so many
Slain in one fight. They rush to see the bodies,
To heroes dead or dying, to the ground
Reeking with carnage, the red foaming rivers.
They recognize the spoil, the shining helmet
Brought back for Messapus, and all the trappings
It cost them sweat to win.

And the Dawn-goddess
Came from her husband’s saffron couch, bestowing
Fresh light across the world. Turnus, in armor,
Summoned his men to arms, and every leader
Marshalled his ranks of bronze, and each man sharpens
His anger with one rumor or another.
And more than that, a pitiful sight, they fix
On spears upraised, and follow with loud shouting,
The heads of Nisus and Euryalus.
On the left of the wall the Trojans form their line
Whose right rests on the river. They hold the trenches,
Stand on the high towers, sorrowing; they know,
And all too well, those heads with spears for bodies,
And the black blood running down.

And meanwhile Rumor
Goes flying through the panic of the city,
Comes to Euryalus’ mother. That poor woman
Is cold as death; the shuttle falls from her hands,
The yarn is all unwound. She rushes, shrieking,
Tearing her hair, out to the walls, in frenzy,
Heedless of men, heedless of darts and danger
To fill the air with terrible lamentation:—
“Is this thing you I see, Euryalus?
Could you, a poor old woman’s only comfort,
Leave her to loneliness? O cruel, cruel!
To go to danger, and never a farewell word
Between the mother and son! And now you lie
On a strange land for dogs and birds to pick at,
No mother to bathe the wounds, or close the eyes,
To veil the body with the robe I worked on
For quite another purpose, night and day,
Comforting, so, the cares of age. Where can I
Go now, to find you? In what land are lying
The limbs, dismembered, and the mangled body?
Is this thing all you bring me from the wars,
Is this what I have followed on land and sea?
If you have anything of decent feeling,
Rutulians, kill me; hurl your weapons on me,
All of you, all of them: let steel destroy me.
Or, father of the gods, have pity on me
And strike with the bolt of lightning; hurl to Hell
The life I hate; no other way is left me
To break the cruel thread.” And at her wailing
The Trojan spirit sank, and a groan of sorrow
Passed through the ranks, their will to battle broken.
She kindles mourning; the leaders give an order,
Idaeus and Actor, taking her between them,
Lead her away.

And the loud terrible trumpet
Blared in bronze-throated challenge, and the shouting
Rose to the sky. And on they came, the Volscians
Under their tortoise-shield, in a wild hurry
To fill the moat, tear down the wall: some sought
A quick way in, or over, with scaling-ladders
Where the ring of men is thin, and light breaks in
Where no men stand. And in reply the Trojans
Rain every kind of weapon down—long war
Has taught them how the walls must be defended.
They use crude poles to push men off the ladders,
They roll tremendous boulders to crush the ranks
Covered by shields, and glad of that protection,
Too little now, too small for the great rock
The Trojans heave and pry and dump down on them
Where the clump of men is thickest. The back of the tortoise
Is broken, like the bodies of men beneath it.
No more blind war, like this, for the Rutulians!
They change their tactics, sweep the wall with arrows,
Mezentius, grim to look at, works with firebrands,
While Neptune’s son, Messapus, tamer of horses,
Keeps tearing at the walls, and screaming for ladders.