The Aeneid of Virgil

by Virgil

And Ocnus summons
Men from his native shores, Ocnus, the son
Of a Tuscan river and a woman, Manto,
Gifted in prophecy; her name was given
To Mantua, rich in ancestors, one city,
Three races, each one master of four peoples,
And Mantua the queen of all, her power
Secure in Tuscan strength. From here Mezentius
Rouses five hundred men in arms against him,
And Mincius, Benacus’ son, crowned with grey rushes
Brings them down to the sea. On comes Aulestes,
Whose Triton wallows heavily in the waters,
With a hundred oars lashing the waves to foam,
And the blue waters tremble at the sea-god
Riding the prow, conch at his lips, a figure
Shaped like a shaggy man, as far as the belly,
And then a fish or serpent, a great sea-monster,
Under whose weight the water sucks and gurgles.
So the bronze vessels come, thirty good ships
For the help of Troy, and men, and chosen leaders
Over the salt sea plains.

And day had gone,
And the dear moon in her night-wandering chariot
Was halfway up the sky; Aeneas, restless,
Tended the sails and rudder, holding the course,
And a band of his own company came to meet him,
Those goddesses, whom Cybele had ordered
To rule the seas that once they sailed. They knew him,
Their king, far off, circled his ships in greeting,
And Cymodocea, of them all most gifted
In ways of speech, clung to the stern; one hand
Lifted her out of the water, and the other
Kept plying under the waves. She hailed Aeneas:—
“Are you on watch, son of the gods? Be watchful,
Crowd on full sail! We are the pines of Ida,
Born from that sacred mountain. Nymphs of the sea,
We used to be your fleet. But treacherous Turnus
Drove us with fire and sword; against our will
We broke our bonds to you, and now we seek you
Over the deep. The mother of the gods
Took pity on us, and made us goddesses,
Immortal under the waters. We have bad news; your son
Is under siege; walls hold him in, and trenches,
And the air is filled with darts, and the wild Latins
Bristle in war. The cavalry of Pallas
And the brave Etruscan allies, minding orders,
Hold their appointed station. Turnus knows it,
Turnus is certain to send opposing squadrons
To keep them from the camp. Hurry, then, hurry,
Get the men armed by daylight; raise the shield
Given by Vulcan, the invincible armor,
Bright with its ring of gold. To-morrow morning
Shall see, unless I speak in foolish error,
Great heaps of slain Rutulians.” She finished speaking,
And as she left the ship, her right hand gave it
An expert shove, and it sped over the water
Swifter than javelin or flying arrow,
And the other vessels quickened pace. Aeneas
Marvelled, amazed, and the portent cheered his spirit,
And he looked up to the vault of heaven, praying:—
“Dear mother of the gods, Idean queen,
Lover of tower-crowned cities, and the lions
That draw the chariot, be my leader now
Before the fight begins, affirm the omen,
Favor the Trojans, goddess, with your blessing.”
And as he spoke, new day broke over the ocean
In a great blaze of light, and the darkness vanished.

It was time for the last warnings to his comrades:
Follow the signals, nerve the spirit for battle,
Make every preparation! And he stood there,
High on the stern, seeing, before his eyes,
The Trojans and his camp, and he lifted high
The blazing shield, and the Trojans raised a clamor
To the high stars; new hope inflamed their anger,
And the darts flew, as cranes come back to Strymon
Noisy before the southern gales. But Turnus
And the Rutulian leaders were dumbfounded,—
What miracle was this?—looked back and saw
The sterns lined up to the shore, the whole great ocean
One mass of moving ships. The helmet burned,
The crest streamed fire, the golden boss of the shield
Poured golden radiance: even so, at night-time
The comets burn blood-red, or Sirius’ fire,
Portent of drought and pestilence to mortals,
Saddens the sky with evil glare.

But Turnus
Never lost confidence or nerve; he would beat them
There at the shore, he knew, and stop the landing.
“Men, here is what you always prayed for; do it!
Break through with sword-arm! Mars is in your hands.
Remember, every man, his wife, his household,
His fathers’ noble glories. On to meet them
At the water’s edge: they tremble there, they stagger,
And luck helps men who dare.” He chose his captains,
Picked men for this attack, and left to others
The duty of the siege.

Meanwhile Aeneas
Landed his comrades, down from the tall ships,
Over the gangways. Many leapt boldly down
Catching the ebb of the sea, and others vaulted
Over the oar-blades. Tarchon, watching the shore-line,
Saw where the shallow water was hardly breathing,
Where never a breaker roared, where the smooth ocean
Came gliding slowly in, and he turned his prow,
Calling on comrades:—“Now is the time, bend to it,
Lean on the oars, pick up the ships and lift them!
Let the beaks split this hostile land, and keels
Plough a deep furrow: what does a shipwreck matter,
So we take hold of land?” And as he urged them
They rose to the oars, they drove the foaming ships
To the dry Latin fields, and every vessel
Came in, unhurt, except for one. For Tarchon
Ran up on a ledge of rock and hung there, doubtful,
Tilting now back, now forward, until he broke
Above the weary wave, and the timbers weakened,
Gave way, and the men were flung in the midst of ocean,
Among the broken oars and the floating cross-beams,
And the drag of the undertow.

No lazy dawdling
Held Turnus back; he hurled his lines against them,
He stopped them at the shore. Aeneas charged,
Aeneas was the first invader, Aeneas
Struck down the Latin countrymen, killed Theron,
The biggest of them all. That was an omen;
Theron had taken extra pains to meet him,
But the sword went through his mail and through his tunic
And pierced his side and drank his blood. Next, Lichas
Was slain, Apollo’s devotee, at birth
Cut from the womb of his dead mother: the child
Escaped the steel, but not the man. Two others,
One of them tough, one huge, Cisseus, Gyas,
Went down before Aeneas. They were fighting
With clubs, as Hercules used to, and much good
It did them, though their father was Melampus
Who had been with Hercules through many labors.
Then there was Pharus, who had his mouth wide open,
For boast or taunt, and got a javelin in it,
Flung by Aeneas’ hand. Cydon loved Clytius,
And followed him everywhere, his golden darling,
And would have had a lesson in forgetting
All his beloved young men, falling a victim
Under Aeneas’ hand, but his seven brothers,
The sons of Phorcus, hurried to his rescue.
Each one let fly a dart: helmet and shield
Turned them aside, or they only grazed the body
Through Venus’ help. “Achates,” cried Aeneas,
“Bring up more weapons! Any I ever landed
In bodies of the Greeks, on the plains of Ilium,
Will never miss Rutulians here.” He snatched
A great spear up, and flung it; it went flying
Through Maeon’s shield of bronze; it rent the breastplate,
It tore the breast, went through, and struck Alcanor
Through the right arm around his falling brother,
And pierced the arm, and kept its bloody journey
While the dead arm dangled from shoulder-sinew.
Numitor ripped the spear from his brother’s body,
Aimed at Aeneas, missed, but grazed Achates.

Clausus from Cures, proud of his young body,
Let fly, far off, a javelin, which caught Dryops
Under the chin and pierced the throat and robbed him
Of voice—he tried to speak—and life together,
And Dryops’ forehead hit the ground, and blood
Poured thick from mouth and wound. Three Thracians fell,
Sons of the race of Boreas, and three others,
Ismarians, sons of Idas, killed by Clausus.
Halaesus came to his side, and Neptune’s son,
Messapus, joined them, that famous tamer of horses.
Here, there, on every side, the struggle rages:
The cry is Drive them back! Here is the beach-head
For gain or loss. As warring winds in heaven,
Rage at each other through that wide dominion,
Equal in will and violence, the battle
Doubtful and long, and nothing yields, not wind,
Not cloud, not sea, in that eternal deadlock,
So Troy meets Latium in the shock of fighting,
Foot tramples foot, man grapples man.

And inland,
On ground where a raging stream had sent stones rolling,
And torn the bushes from the banks, the horsemen
Had to be infantry, for the rough ground
Forbade the use of chariots. Their nerve
Was at low ebb; they fled. And Pallas saw them,
And being their one hope, with scorn and prayer
Rallied their courage:—“Where do you flee, Arcadians?
By your own brave deeds I beg you, by your king,
By the old wars won in Evander’s name,
By my own hopes to match my father’s praise,
Trust not to flight. The sword must cut the way,
And where that mass of men comes thickest toward us,
That way we go, with Pallas as your leader
Our country calls; no gods pursue us: men,
We are being chased by men, with no more hands,
With no more lives than we have. Ocean blocks us
With his great dam; earth offers us no haven:
Are we bound for Troy or the sea?” And he dashed in
Where the enemy was thickest. Lagus came
To meet him; fate was far from kind to Lagus.
He was trying to lift a stone when Pallas hit him
And the javelin stuck in the spine between the ribs
Till Pallas pulled it loose again. Then Hisbo
Hoped to surprise him and failed; he came in rushing,
Reckless and angry over the death of Lagus,
And Pallas was ready for him, and drove the sword
Deep in the swollen lung. He went for Sthenius,
Then Anchemolus, of Rhoetus’ ancient line,
The consort of his stepmother in incest,
And then he saw twin brothers, sons of Daucus,
Named Thymber and Larides, whom their kinsmen
Could never tell apart, and their own parents
Made fond mistakes about them. But Pallas made
Them different, once for all; Evander’s sword
Cut off the head of Thymber; Larides’ hand,
Severed, looked blindly for its arm, the fingers
Closed, quivering and dying, on the sword.

So the Arcadians rallied; his example
Armed them with shame and rage. Tyres and Teuthras,
Arcadian brothers, started after Rhoeteus,
Who fled, and that saved Ilus’ life, for Pallas
Had flung a spear at Ilus, but Rhoeteus, driving
Into its path, received it, rolled from the chariot,
And his heels kicked the ground in death’s convulsion.
And as in summer, when a shepherd kindles
Fire here and there among the brush or forest,
And waits for wind, and hears it rise, and swiftly
The many fires are one great blaze, and Vulcan
Takes charge of all the field, above the battle
Watching victorious, so Pallas’ comrades
Swept in from all directions, bright and burning,
Toward him, their focus and centre. And Halaesus
Came on to meet them, pulling himself together,
Setting himself for battle. He killed Ladon,
Pheres, Demodocus: Strymonius threatened
His throat with the gleaming sword, and for his trouble
Got his right hand cut off, and then Halaesus
Bashed Thoas’ head in with a rock and scrambled
His skull-bones, blood and brains. Halaesus’ father
Knew his son’s destiny and tried to spare him,
Hiding him in the woodlands, but grew old
And could not watch forever, and when his eyes
Were blind in death, the fates reached out, Halaesus
Could not avoid his doom. Pallas attacked him,
Praying before he flung the spear:—“O Tiber,
Grant to the steel I poise and hurl good fortune,
A pathway through the breast of tough Halaesus:
Your oak will hold his arms and spoil as trophy.”
And Tiber heard the prayer; Halaesus’ luck
Ran out, he had left himself exposed, to cover
Imaon with his shield, and the bare breast
Took the Arcadian lance.

Lausus, unfrightened,
Himself no little portion of war, fought on,
Kept up the courage of his men, found Abas
And cut him down; when Abas fell, a cluster
Of stubborn fight was broken. The young men die,
Arcadians, Etruscans, Trojan fighters
Who had survived Greek wounds; they come to grips,
Both armies, equal in leadership and valor;
Lines become columns, columns lines: all thickens
Into confusion, a press too close for fighting.
On one side Pallas thrusts and strains, and Lausus
Struggles to meet him, two young heroes, equal,
Or nearly so, in years, in worth, in courage,
In handsome manliness; and both denied
Return to fatherland; and each forbidden
To meet the other; and both assured of finding
Their fate where a greater enemy is waiting.