He spake; but she, in bitter rage, and stung to her heart's root,
Unto her fellow gave her steed and faced him there afoot,710
Most unafeard, with naked glaive and target bare and white.
Thereat the youth deemed guile had won, and turned at once to flight;
Nought tarrying but to turn the reins, he fleeth on his road,
And ever with his iron heel the four-foot thing doth goad.
"Empty Ligurian, all in vain thine high heart dost thou raise,
And all in vain thou triest today thy father's crafty ways.
Nor shall thy lying bring thee safe to lying Aunus' head."
So spake the maid, and all afire on flying feet she sped,
Outwent the horse and crossed his road, and catching at the rein,
There made her foeman pay for all with bloody steel-wrought bane,720
As easily the holy hawk from craggy place on high
In winged chase follows on the dove aloft along the sky,
And taketh her in hookèd hold with bitter feet to tear,
While blood and riven feathers fall from out the upper air.
Nathless the Sower of manfolk and all the Godly Kind,
Upon Olympus set aloft, to this was nothing blind,
And Tarchon of the Tyrrhene folk he stirreth up to war,
And stingeth all the heart of him with anger bitter-sore;
Who, borne on horse 'twixt death of men and faltering war-array,
Goads on his bands unto the fight, and many a word doth say,730
And calleth each man by his name, and bids the beaten stand:
"What fear, O hearts that nought may shame, O folk of deedless hand,
What dastardy, O Tyrrhene folk, hath now so caught your souls?
A woman drives us scattering wide, and back our war-wall rolls.
Why bear our hands these useless spears, this steel not made for fight?
Ye are not slack in Venus' play or battle of the night,
Or when the crookèd fife gives sign that Bacchus' dance is toward
Well wait ye onset of the feast and cups of plenteous board:
Your love, your hearts, are there, whereas the lucky priest doth bid
The holy words, and victims fat call to the thickets hid."740
He spake, and, fain of death himself, against the foemen spurs,
And full in face of Venulus his eager body bears,
And catcheth him by arm about, and tears him from his horse,
And bears him off on saddle-bow in grip of mighty force:
Then goes the clamour up to heaven, and all the Latin eyes
Turn thitherward: but fiery-swift across the field he flies,
Bearing the weapons and the man; then from his foeman's spear
Breaks off the head, and searches close for opening here and there
Whereby to give the deadly wound: the foe doth ever fight,749
Thrusting the hand from threatened throat, and puts back might with might.
As when a yellow erne aloft skyward a dragon draws,
And knits him up within her feet and gripping of her claws:
But still the wounded serpent turns in many a winding fold,
And bristles all his spiky scales, and hissing mouth doth hold
Aloft against her; she no less through all his struggles vain
Drives hookèd beak, and still with wings beats through the airy plain;
E'en so from those Tiburtine ranks glad Tarchon bears the prey:
And, following on their captain's deed, fall on amid the fray
Mæonia's sons.
But Arruns now, the foredoomed man of fate,
Encompassing Camilla's ways with spear and guile, doth wait760
On all her goings; spying out what hap is easiest.
Now, wheresoe'er the hot-heart maid amid the battle pressed,
There Arruns winds, and silently holds watch on all her ways:
And when from forth the foe she comes, bearing the victory's praise,
Still speedily in privy wise the rein he turns about:
This way he tries, that way he tries, still wandering in and out
On all sides; shaking spear of doom with evil heart of guile.
Now Chloreus, bond of Cybele and priest upon a while,
Afar as happed in Phrygian gear gleamed out upon his steed,
Foaming and goodly: clad was he in skin-wrought battle-weed,770
With brazen scales done feather-wise, and riveted with gold,
And grand was he in outland red and many a purple fold;
Gortynian arrows from afar with Lycian horn he sped;
Gold rang the bow upon his back; gold-mitred was his head
In priestly wise; his saffron scarf, the crackling folds of it
Of linen fine, in knot about a red-gold buckle knit;
His kirtle was embroidered fair, his hosen outland-wrought.
The maiden, whether Trojan gear for temple-gate she sought,
Or whether she herself would wend, glorious in war-got gold,
Amidst of all the press of arms this man in chase must hold780
Blind as a hunter; all unware amidst the war-array
She burned with all a woman's lust for spoil of men and prey:
When now, the time at last being seized, from out its lurking-place
Arruns drew forth his spear, and prayed the Gods above for grace:
"Highest of Gods, Apollo, ward of dear Soracte's stead,
Whom we first honour, unto whom the piny blaze is fed;
Whom worshipping, we, waxen strong in might of godliness,
The very midmost of the fire with eager foot-soles press—
Almighty Father, give me grace to do away our shame!
No battle-gear, no trophies won from vanquished maid I claim,790
No spoils I seek; my other deeds shall bring me praise of folk;
Let but this dreadful pest of men but fall beneath my stroke,
And me wend back without renown unto my father's place!"
Apollo heard, and half the prayer he turned his heart to grace,
The other half he flung away adown the wind to go.
That he by sudden stroke of death should lay Camilla low,—
He granted this: that his high house should see his safe return,
He granted not: the hurrying gusts that word to breezes turn.
So when the shaft hurled from his hand gave sound upon the air,
All Volscians turn their hardy hearts, and all men's eyen bear800
Upon the Queen: but she no whit had any breeze in mind,
Or whistle of the spear that sped from out the house of wind,
Until the hurrying shaft beneath her naked bosom stood,
And clung there, deeply driven home, drinking her virgin blood.
Her frighted damsels run to her and catch the falling maid,
But Arruns fleeth fast, forsooth more than all they afraid—
Afraid and glad—nor durst he more to trust him to the spear,
Or 'neath the hail of maiden darts his body forth to bear.
And as the murder-wolf, ere yet the avenging spear-points bite,
Straight hideth him in pathless place amid the mountain-height,810
When he hath slain some shepherd-lad or bullock of the fold;
Down goes his tail, when once he knows his deed so overbold,
Along his belly close it clings as he the woodland seeks.
Not otherwise from sight of men the wildered Arruns sneaks,
And mingles in the middle fight, glad to be clear away.