But otherwhere amidst the fight Eumedes fareth on,
The son of Dolon of old time, most well-renowned in fight,
And bringing back his father's name in courage and in might:
For that was he who while agone the Danaan camp espied,
And chose Achilles' car for spoil in his abundant pride:350
But otherwise Tydides paid for such a deed o'erbold,
And no more had he any hope Achilles' steeds to hold.
So Turnus, when adown the lea this warrior he had seen,
First a light spear he sent in chase across the void between,
Then stayed his steeds, and leaping down unto the fallen ran,
And set his foot upon the neck of that scarce-breathing man,
And from his right hand wrenched the sword and bathed its glittering blade
Deep in his throat, and therewithal such spoken chiding said:
"Down, Trojan! measure out the mead, and that Hesperean land
Thou sought'st in war: such are the gifts that fall unto the hand360
Of those that dare the sword with me; such city-walls they raise!"
Asbutes wends 'neath spear-cast then, a fellow of his ways;
Chloreus, Dares, Thersilochus, and Sybaris, withal;
Thymœtes, who from rearing horse had hap to catch a fall;
And e'en as when the breathing forth of Thracian Boreas roars
O'er deep Ægean, driving on the wave-press to the shores,
Then wheresoe'er the wind stoops down the clouds flee heaven apace;
So wheresoe'er cleaves Turnus way all battle giveth place,
All war-array is turned to wrack: his onrush beareth him,
And in the breeze that meets his car his tossing crest doth swim.370
This onset of the maddened heart nought Phegeus might abide,
But cast himself before the steeds, and caught and wrenched aside
The bit-befoaming mouths of them, the heart-stung hurrying steeds.
But while he hangeth dragged along, the spear broad-headed speeds
Unto his shieldless side, and rends the twilinked coat of mail,
And for the razing of his flesh a little doth avail:
But he turned round about his shield and at the foemen made,
And from his naked sword drawn forth sought most well-needed aid;
When now the axle-tree and wheel, unto fresh speeding won,
Cast him down headlong unto earth, and Turnus following on,380
Betwixt the lowest of the helm and haubert's upper lip
Sheared off his head, and left the trunk upon the sand to slip.
But while victorious Turnus gives these deaths unto the plain,
Mnestheus and that Achates leal, Ascanius with the twain,
Bring great Æneas to the camp all covered with his blood;
There, propping up his halting steps with spear-shaft long, he stood:
Mad wroth he is, and strives to pluck the broken reed away,
And bids them help by any road, the swiftest that they may,
To cut away the wound with sword, cut to the hiding-place
Where lies the steel, and send him back to meet the battle's face.390
Iapis, son of Iasus, by Phœbus best beloved,
Draws nigh now: Phœbus on a time, by mighty longing moved,
Was fain to give him gifts of God, his very heavenly craft—
Foresight, or skill of harp-playing, or mastery of the shaft:
But he, that from his bed-rid sire the death he yet might stave,
Would liefer know the might of herbs, and how men heal and save,
And, speeding of a silent craft, inglorious life would wear.
Æneas, fretting bitterly, stood leaning on his spear
Midst a great concourse of the lords, with sad Iulus by,
Unmoved amid their many tears: the elder, girded high400
In folded gown, in e'en such wise as Pæon erst was dight,
With hurrying hand speeds many a salve of Phœbus' herbs of might;
But all in vain: his right hand woos the arrow-head in vain;
For nought the teeth of pincers grip the iron of the bane;
No happy road will Fortune show, no help Apollo yields:
And grimly terror more and more prevaileth o'er the fields,
And nigher draws the evil hour: they see the dusty pall
Spread o'er the heaven; draw horsemen nigh, and shafts begin to fall
Thick in the midmost of the camp: grim clamour smites the stars,
The shouts of men, the cries of men that fall in game of Mars.410
Now Mother Venus, sore at heart for her sore-wounded son,
Plucketh a stalk of dittany from Cretan Ida won,
That with a downy leaf of grey and purple head doth grow,
And well enough the mountain-goats the herbage of it know
What time the winged shaft of man within them clingeth sore.
This Venus brought, with cloudy cloak her body covered o'er,
This in the waves of glittering rims she steepeth privily,
Drugging the cup, and wholesome juice withal there blendeth she,
Wrought of ambrosia; heal-all too most sweet of heavenly smell.
So with that stream Iapis old the shaft-wound cherished well420
Unwitting: sudden from the flesh all grievance doth depart,
And all the blood is staunched at once up from the wound's deep heart,
And comes the shaft unto the hand with nought to force it forth,
And freshly to the king returns his ancient might and worth.
Then cries Iapis:
"Loiter ye? arms for the hero then!"
And he is first against the foe to whet the hearts of men.
"Lo, not from any help of man, nor from art's mastery
These things have happed, nor hath mine hand, Æneas, holpen thee.
A great God wrought to send thee back great deeds of fame to win."
Then, fain of fight, on either side the king his legs shuts in430
With ruddy gold: he loathes delay, and high his war-shaft shakes;
And then his left side meets the shield, his back the hauberk takes,
And round Iulus casteth he a steel-clad man's embrace,
And saith, but lightly kissing him from midst the helmet's space:
"Child, the bare valour learn of me and very earthly toil,
Good-hap of others; my right hand shall ward thee in the broil
These days that are, and gain for thee exceeding great rewards;
But thou, when ripe thine age shall grow, remember well the swords;
Then as thine heart seeks through the past for kin to show the road,
Well shall thy sire Æneas stir, thine uncle Hector goad."440
But when these words are cast abroad, huge through the gate he goes,
Shaking in hand a mighty spear; then in arrayment close
Antheus and Mnestheus rush to war: the camp is left behind,
And all the host flows forth; the fields are blent with dust-cloud blind,
And, stirred by trample of the feet, the earth's face trembleth sore.
But Turnus from a facing mound beheld that coming war.
The Ausonians looked, and through their hearts swift ran the chilly fear:
And now before all other men first doth Jaturna hear,
And know the sound, and, quaking sore, she fleeth back again.
On comes he, hurrying on the host black o'er the open plain:450
As when a storm cast on the world from heaven asunder rent,
Wendeth across the middle sea: out! how the dread is sent
Deep to the field-folks' boding hearts:—here comes the orchards' bane,
Here comes the acres' utter wrack, the ruin of all the plain!
The gale that goes before its face brings tidings to the shore:
So 'gainst the foe the Trojan Duke led on his hosts of war;
And gathering in the wedge-array all knit them close around.
Now hath Thymbræus' battle-blade the huge Osiris found,
And Mnestheus slays Archetius, Achates Epulo,
And Gyas Ufens: yea, the seer Tolumnius lieth low,460
He who was first against the foe to hurl the war-shaft out.
The cry goes up unto the heaven; the war-tide turns about,
Dust-cloud of flight the Rutuli raise up across the field:
But he, the King, thinks scorn of it to smite the backs that yield;
Nay, those that meet him foot to foot, the wielders of the spear,
He followeth not: Turnus alone his eyes track everywhere
Amid the dust-cloud, him alone he crieth unto fight.
Hereby Jaturna's manly mind is shaken with affright;
Metiscus, Turnus' charioteer, she plucketh from the rein,
And leaveth him fallen down afar from yoking pole and wain:470
But she mounts up, and with her hand the waving bridle guides,
The while Metiscus' voice, and limbs, and war-gear with her bides:
As when amid a lordling's house there flits a swallow black,
On skimming wings she seeks to still her noisy nestlings' lack,
And wandering through the lofty halls but little feast doth get,
Then soundeth through the empty porch, and round the fish-pools wet,
So is Jaturna borne on wheels amidmost of the foe,
And flying on in hurrying chase by everything doth go,
Now here, now there, her brother shows all flushed with victory,
But still refrains him from the press; far o'er the waste they fly.480