Book 9

While thus in distant region moves the war, down to bold Turnus Saturn's daughter sends celestial Iris. In a sacred vale, the seat of worship at his grandsire's tomb,

Pilumnus, Faunus' son, the hero mused.

And thus the wonder-child of Thaumas called with lips of rose: “O Turnus, what no god dared give for reward of thy fondest vow, has come unbidden on its destined day.

Behold, Aeneas, who has left behind the city with his fleet and followers, is gone to kingly Palatine, the home of good Evander. Yea, his march invades the far Etrurian towns, where now he arms the Lydian rustics. Wilt thou longer muse?

Call for thy chariot and steeds! Away!

Take yonder tents by terror and surprise!”

She spoke; and heavenward on poising wings soared, cleaving as she fled from cloud to cloud a vast, resplendent bow. The warrior saw, and, lifting both his hands, pursued with prayer the fading glory: “Beauteous Iris, hail!

Proud ornament of heaven! who sent thee here across yon cloud to earth, and unto me?

Whence may this sudden brightness fall? I see the middle welkin lift, and many a star, far-wandering in the sky. Such solemn sign

I shall obey, and thee, O god unknown!”

So saying, he turned him to a sacred stream, took water from its brim, and offered Heaven much prayer, with many an importuning vow.

Soon o'er the spreading fields in proud array the gathered legions poured; no lack was there of steeds all fire, and broidered pomp and gold.

Messapus led the van; in rearguard rode the sons of Tyrrheus; kingly Turnus towered from the mid-column eminent: the host moved as great Ganges lifting silently his seven peaceful streams, or when the flood of fructifying Nile from many a field back to his channel flows. A swift-blown cloud of black, uprolling dust the Teucrians see o'ershadowing the plain; Calcus calls from lofty outpost: “O my countrymen,

I see a huge, black ball of rolling smoke.

Your swords and lances! Man the walls! To arms!

The foe is here! What ho!” With clamors loud the Teucrians through the city-gates retire, and muster on the walls. For, wise in war,

Aeneas, ere he went, had left command they should not range in battle-line, nor dare, whate'er might hap, to risk in open plain the bold sortie, but keep them safe entrenched in mounded walls. So now, though rage and shame prick to a close fight, they defensive bar each portal strong, and, patient of control, from hollow towers expect th' encircling foe.

Turnus, at full speed, had outridden far his laggard host, and, leading in his train a score of chosen knights, dashed into view hard by the walls. A barb of Thracian breed dappled with white he rode; a crimson plume flamed over his golden helmet. “Who,” he cries,

“Is foremost at the foe? Who follows me?

Behold!” And, with the word, he hurled in air a javelin, provoking instant war:

and, towering from his horse, charged o'er the field.

With answering shout his men-at-arms pursue, and war-cries terrible. They laugh to scorn

“the craven hearts of Troy, that cannot give fair, equal vantage, matching man to man, but cuddle into camp.” This way and that

Turnus careers, and stormily surveys the frowning rampart, and where way is none some entering breach would find: so prowls a wolf nigh the full sheepfold, and through wind and rain stands howling at the postern all night long;

beneath the ewes their bleating lambs lie safe;

but he, with undesisting fury, more rages from far, made frantic for his prey by hunger of long hours, his foaming jaws athirst for blood: not less the envy burned of the Rutulian, as he scanned in vain the stronghold of his foe. Indignant scorn thrilled all his iron frame. But how contrive to storm the fortress or by force expel the Trojans from the rampart, and disperse along the plain? Straightway he spied the ships, in hiding near the camp, defended well by mounded river-bank and fleeting wave.

On these he fell; while his exultant crew brought firebrands, and he with heart aflame grasped with a vengeful hand the blazing pine.

To the wild work his followers sped; for who could prove him craven under Turnus' eye?

The whole troop for the weapon of their rage seized smoking coals, of many a hearth the spoil;

red glare of fuming torches burned abroad, and Vulcan starward flung a sparkling cloud.

What god, O Muses, saved the Trojans then from wrathful flame? Who shielded then the fleet,

I pray you tell, from bursting storm of fire?

From hoary eld the tale, but its renown sings on forever. When Aeneas first on Phrygian Ida hewed the sacred wood for rib and spar, and soon would put to sea, that mighty mother of the gods, they say, the Berecynthian goddess, thus to Jove addressed her plea: “Grant, O my son, a boon, which thy dear mother asks, who aided thee to quell Olympian war. A grove I have of sacred pine, long-loved from year to year.

On lofty hill it grew, and thither came my worshippers with gifts, in secret gloom of pine-trees dark and shadowing maple-boughs.;

these on the Dardan warrior at his need

I, not unwilling, for his fleet bestowed.

But I have fears. O, Iet a parent's prayer in this prevail, and bid my care begone!

Let not rude voyages nor the shock of storm my ships subdue, but let their sacred birth on my charmed hills their strength and safety be!”

Then spake her son, who guides the wheeling spheres:

“Wouldst thou, my mother, strive to oversway the course of Fate? What means this prayer of thine?

Can it be granted ships of mortal mould to wear immortal being? Wouldst thou see

Aeneas pass undoubting and secure through doubtful strait and peril? On what god was e'er such power bestowed? Yet will I grant a different boon. Whatever ships shall find a safe Ausonian haven, and convey safe through the seas to yon Laurentian plain the Dardan King, from such I will remove their perishable shapes, and bid them be sea-nymphs divine, like Nereus' daughters fair,

Doto and Galatea, whose white breasts divide the foaming wave.” He said, and swore by his Tartarean brother's mournful stream, the pitch-black floods and dark engulfing shore of Styx; then great Jove bowed his head, and all

Olympus quaked at his consenting brow.

Now was the promised day at hand (for Fate had woven the web so far) when Turnus' rage stirred the divine progenitress to save her sacred ships from fire. Then sudden shone a strange effulgence in the eastern air;

and in a storm-cloud wafted o'er the sky were Corybantic choirs, whose dreadful song smote both on Teucrian and Rutulian ear:

“O Teucrians, fear not for the sure defence of all the ships, nor arm your mortal hands.

Yon impious Turnus shall burn up the seas before my pine-trees blest. Arise! Be free, ye goddesses of ocean, and obey your mother's mighty word.” Then instant broke the hawsers of the sterns; the beaked prows went plunging like great dolphins from the shore down to the deeps, and, wonderful to tell, the forms of virgin goddesses uprose, one for each ship, and seaward sped away.

The hearts of the Rutulian host stood still in panic, and Messapus terrified his trembling horses reined; the sacred stream of Father Tiber, harshly murmuring, held back his flood and checked his seaward way.

But Turnus' courage failed not; he alone his followers roused, and with reproachful words alone spoke forth: “These signs and prodigies threaten the Trojan only. Jove himself has stripped them of their wonted strength: no more can they abide our deadly sword and fire.

The Trojan path to sea is shut. What hope of flight is left them now? The half their cause is fallen. The possession of this land is ours already; thousands of sharp swords

Italia 's nations bring. Small fear have I of Phrygia 's boasted omens. What to me their oracles from heaven? The will of Fate and Venus have achieved their uttermost in casting on Ausonia's fruitful shore yon sons of Troy. I too have destinies:

and mine, good match for theirs, with this true blade will spill the blood of all the baneful brood, in vengeance for my stolen wife. Such wrongs move not on Atreus' sons alone, nor rouse only Mycenae to a righteous war.

Say you, ‘Troy falls but once?’ One crime, say I, should have contented them; and now their souls should little less than loathe all womankind.

These are the sort of soldiers that be brave behind entrenchment, where the moated walls may stem the foe and make a little room betwixt themselves and death. Did they not see how Troy 's vast bulwark built by Neptune's hand crumbled in flame? Forward, my chosen brave!

Who follows me to cleave his deadly way through yonder battlement, and leap like storm upon its craven guard? I have no need of arms from Vulcan's smithy; nor of ships a thousand strong against our Teucrian foes, though all Etruria's league enlarge their power.

Let them not fear dark nights, nor coward theft of Pallas' shrine, nor murdered sentinels on their acropolis. We shall not hide in blinding belly of a horse. But I in public eye and open day intend to compass their weak wall with siege and fire.

I'll prove them we be no Pelasgic band, no Danaan warriors, such as Hector's arm ten years withstood. But look! this day hath spent its better part. In what remains, rejoice in noble deeds well done; let weary flesh have rest and food. My warriors, husband well your strength against to-morrow's hopeful war.”

Meanwhile to block their gates with wakeful guard is made Messapus' work, and to gird round their camp with watchfires. Then a chosen band, twice seven Rutulian chieftains, man the walls with soldiery; each leads a hundred men crested with crimson, armed with glittering gold.

Some post to separate sentries, and prepare alternate vigil; others, couched on grass, laugh round the wine and lift the brazen bowls.

The camp-fires cheerly burn; the jovial guard spend the long, sleepless night in sport and game.

The Trojans peering from the lofty walls survey the foe, and arm for sure defence of every point exposed. They prove the gates with fearful care, bind bridge with tower, and bring good store of javelins. Serestus bold and Mnestheus to their labors promptly fly, whom Sire Aeneas bade in time of stress to have authority and free command over his warriars. Along the walls the legions, by the cast of lots, divide the pain and peril, giving each his due of alternating vigil and repose.

Nisus kept sentry at the gate: a youth of eager heart for noble deeds, the son of Hyrtacus, whom in Aeneas' train

Ida the huntress sent; swift could he speed the spear or light-winged arrow to its aim.

Beside him was Euryalus, his friend:

of all th' Aeneadae no youth more fair wore Trojan arms; upon his cheek unshorn the tender bloom of boyhood lingered still.

Their loving hearts were one, and oft in war they battled side by side, as in that hour a common sentry at the gate they shared.

Said Nisus: “Is it gods above that breathe this fever in my soul, Euryalus?

or is the tyrant passion of each breast the god it serves? Me now my urgent mind to battles or some mighty deed impels, and will not give me rest. Look yonder, where the Rutuli in dull security the siege maintain. Yet are their lights but few.

They are asleep or drunk, and in their line is many a silent space. O, hear my thought, and what my heart is pondering. To recall

Aeneas is the dearest wish to-night of all, both high and low. They need true men to find him and bring tidings. If our chiefs but grant me leave to do the thing I ask

(Claiming no reward save what honor gives), methinks I could search out by yonder hill a path to Pallanteum.” The amazed

Euryalus, flushed warm with eager love for deeds of glory, instantly replied to his high-hearted friend: “Dost thou refuse, my Nisus, to go with me hand in hand when mighty deeds are done? Could I behold thee venturing alone on danger? Nay!

Not thus my sire Opheltes, schooled in war, taught me his true child, 'mid the woes of Troy and Argive terrors reared; not thus with thee have I proved craven, since we twain were leal to great Aeneas, sharing all his doom.

In this breast also is a heart which knows contempt of life, and deems such deeds, such praise, well worth a glorious death.” Nisus to him:

“I have not doubted thee, nor e'er could have one thought disloyal. May almighty Jove, or whatsoe'er good power my purpose sees, bring me triumphant to thy arms once more!

But if, as oft in doubtful deeds befalls, some stroke of chance, or will divine, should turn to adverse, 't is my fondest prayer that thou shouldst live the longer of us twain. Thy years suit better with more life. Oh! let there be one mourner true to carry to its grave my corpse, recaptured in the desperate fray, or ransomed for a price. Or if this boon should be—'t is Fortune's common way—refused, then pay the debt of grief and loyal woe unto my far-off dust, and garlands leave upon an empty tomb. No grief I give to any sorrowing mother; one alone, of many Trojan mothers, had the heart to follow thee, her child, and would not stay in great Acestes' land.” His friend replied:

“Thou weavest but a web of empty words and reasons vain, nor dost thou shake at all my heart's resolve. Come, let us haste away!”

He answered so, and summoned to the gate a neighboring watch, who, bringing prompt relief, the sentry-station took; then quitted he his post assigned; at Nisus' side he strode, and both impatient sped them to the King.

Now in all lands all creatures that have breath lulled care in slumber, and each heart forgot its load of toil and pain. But they who led the Teucrian cause, with all their chosen brave, took counsel in the kingdom's hour of need what action to command or whom dispatch with tidings to Aeneas. In mid-camp on long spears leaning and with ready shield to leftward slung, th' assembled warriors stood.

Thither in haste arrived the noble pair, brave Nisus with Euryalus his friend, and craved a hearing, for their suit, they said, was urgent and well-worth a patient ear.

Iulus to the anxious striplings gave a friendly welcome, bidding Nisus speak.

The son of Hyrtacus obeyed: “O, hear,

Princes of Teucria, with impartial mind, nor judge by our unseasoned youth the worth of what we bring. Yon Rutule watch is now in drunken sleep, and all is silent there.

With our own eyes we picked out a good place to steal a march, that cross-road by the gate close-fronting on the bridge. Their lines of fire are broken, and a murky, rolling smoke fills all the region. If ye grant us leave by this good luck to profit, we will find

Aeneas and the walls of Palatine, and after mighty slaughter and huge spoil ye soon shall see us back. Nor need ye fear we wander from the way. Oft have we seen that city's crest loom o'er the shadowy vales, where we have hunted all day long and know each winding of yon river.” Then uprose aged Aletes, crowned with wisdom's years:

“Gods of our fathers, who forevermore watch over Troy, ye surely had no mind to blot out Teucria's name, when ye bestowed such courage on young hearts, and bade them be so steadfast and so leal.” Joyful he clasped their hands in his, and on their shoulders leaned, his aged cheek and visage wet with tears.

“What reward worthy of such actions fair, dear heroes, could be given? Your brightest prize will come from Heaven and your own hearts. The rest

Aeneas will right soon bestow; nor will

Ascanius, now in youth's unblemished prime, ever forget your praise.” Forthwith replied

Aeneas' son, “By all our household gods, by great Assaracus, and every shrine of venerable Vesta, I confide my hopes, my fortunes, and all future weal to your heroic hearts. O, bring me back my father! Set him in these eyes once more!

That day will tears be dry; and I will give two silver wine-cups graven and o'erlaid with clear-cut figures, which my father chose out of despoiled Arisbe; also two full talents of pure gold, and tripods twain, and ancient wine-bowl, Tyrian Dido's token.

But if indeed our destiny shall be to vanquish Italy in prosperous war, to seize the sceptre and divide the spoil, — saw you that steed of Turnus and the arms in which he rode, all golden? That same steed, that glittering shield and haughty crimson crest

I will reserve thee, e'er the lots are cast, and, Nisus, they are thine. Hereto my sire will add twelve captive maids of beauty rare, and slaves in armor; last, thou hast the fields which now Latinus holds. But as for thee, to whom my youth but binds me closer still, thee, kingly boy, my whole heart makes my own, and through all changeful fortune we shall be inseparable peers: nor will I seek renown and glory, or in peace or war, forgetting thee: but trust thee from this day in deed and word.” To him in answer spoke euryalus, “O, may no future show this heart unworthy thy heroic call!

And may our fortune ever prosperous prove, not adverse. But I now implore of thee a single boon worth all beside. I have a mother, from the venerated line of Priam sprung, whom not the Trojan shore nor King Acestes' city could detain, alas! from following me. I leave her now without farewell; nor is her love aware of my supposed peril. For I swear by darkness of this night and thy right hand, that all my courage fails me if I see a mother's tears. O, therefore, I implore, be thou her sorrow's comfort and sustain her solitary day. Such grace from thee equip me for my war, and I shall face with braver heart whatever fortune brings.”

With sudden sorrow thrilled, the veteran lords of Teucria showed their tears. But most of all such likeness of his own heart's filial love on fair Iulus moved, and thus he spoke:

“Promise thyself what fits thy generous deeds.

Thy mother shall be mine, Creusa's name alone not hers; nor is the womb unblest that bore a child like thee. Whate'er success may follow, I make oath immutable by my own head, on which my father swore, that all I promise thee of gift or praise if home thou comest triumphing, shall be the glory of thy mother and thy kin.”

Weeping he spoke, and from his shoulder drew the golden sword, well-wrought and wonderful, which once in Crete Lycaon's cunning made and sheathed in ivory. On Nisus then

Mnestheus bestowed a shaggy mantle torn from a slain lion; good Aletes gave exchange of crested helms. In such array they hastened forth; and all the princely throng, young men and old, ran with them to the gates, praying all gods to bless. Iulus then, a fair youth, but of grave, heroic soul beyond his years, gave them in solemn charge full many a message for his sire, but these the hazard of wild winds soon scattered far, and flung them fruitless on the darkening storm.

Forth through the moat they climb, and steal away through midnight shades, to where their foemen lie encamped in arms; of whom, before these fall, a host shall die. Along the turf were seen, laid low in heavy slumber and much wine, a prostrate troop; the horseless chariots stood tilted on the shore, 'twixt rein and wheel the drivers dozed, wine-cups and idle swords strewn round them without heed. The first to speak was Nisus. “Look, Euryalus,” he cried,

“Now boldly strike. The hour to do the deed is here, the path this way. Keep wide-eyed watch that no man smite behind us. I myself will mow the mighty fieid, and lead thee on in a wide swath of slaughter.” With this word he shut his lips; and hurled him with his sword on haughty Rhamnes, who lay propped at ease on pillows huge, and from his heaving breast poured slumber loud: of royal stem was he and honored of King Turnus for his skill in augury; yet could no augur's charm that bloody stroke forefend. And Nisus slew three slaves near by, that lay in reckless sleep upon their spears; then him that bore the shield of Remus, then the driver of his car close to the horses caught; his sword cut through their prostrate necks; then their great master's head he lifted high, and left decapitate the huge corpse spilling forth its crimson gore o'er couch and ground. Like stroke on Lamus fell and Lamyrus, with young Serranus, who had gamed the midnight through and sleeping lay, his fair young body to the wine-god given;

but happier now had that long-revelling night been merry till the dawn! Thus round full folds of sheep a famished lion fiercely prowls;

mad hunger moves him; he devours and rends with bloody, roaring mouth, the feeble flock that trembles and is dumb. Nor was the sword of fair Euryalus less fatal found;

but fiercely raging on his path of death, he pressed on through a base and nameless throng,

Rhoetus, Herbesus, Fadus, Abaris;

surprising all save Rhoetus, who awake saw every stroke, and crouched in craven fear behind a mighty wine-bowl; but not less clean through his bare breast as he started forth the youth thrust home his sword, then drew it back death-dripping, while the bursting purple stream of life outflowed, with mingling blood and wine.

Then, flushed with stealthy slaughter, he crept near the followers of Messapus, where he saw their camp-fire dying down, and tethered steeds upon the meadow feeding. Nisus then knew the hot lust of slaughter had swept on too far, and cried, “Hold off! For, lo, the monitory dawn is nigh. Revenge has fed us to the full. We have achieved clean passage through the foe.” Full many a prize was left untaken: princely suits of mail enwrought with silver pure, huge drinking-bowls, and broideries fair. Yet grasped Euryalus the blazonry at Rhamnes' corselet hung, and belt adorned with gold: which were a gift to Remulus of Tibur from the store of opulent Caedicus, who sued from far to be a friend; and these in death he gave to his son's son, who slain in battle fell, and proud Rutulians seized them with the spoil.

Euryalus about his shoulder strong this booty slung—unprofitable gain! — and fitted on a gorgeous, crested helm which once Messapus wore. So from the camp, escaping danger, the two champions ran.

But horsemen from the Latin city sent to join the serried legions of the plain had come at Turnus' call, three hundred strong all bearing shields, and under the command of Volscens. Nigh the camp and walls they drew;

and soon they spied upon the leftward path th' heroic pair, where in dim shades of night the helmet of Euryalus betrayed the heedless boy, and with a glancing beam flashed on the foe. Nor was it seen in vain.

Loud from the line the voice of Volscens called:

“Stand, gentlemen! What business brings you here?

Whose your allegiance? Whither speed so fast?”

No answer gave they save to fly in haste to cover of the forest and deep gloom of the defensive night. The horsemen then blocked every crossway known, and, scattering wide, kept sentry at the entrance. The great wood was all of tangled brush and blinding shade of flex-boughs. Impenetrable thorns had thickly overgrown, and seldom showed a pathway through the maze. Euryalus, by the black branches and his ponderous spoil impeded, groped along in fearful doubt, deceived and quite astray. Nisus his friend had quit him, and incautiously had forced a sally through the close-encircling foe, into that region which should after bear the name of Alba—a rude shelter then for King Latinus' herds. He stayed him there and looked, but vainly, for the comrade gone.

“Euryalus, ill-fated boy!” he cried,

“Where have I lost thee in the pathless wild?

How find thee? How retrace the blinding maze of yonder treacherous wood?” Yet ere he said, on his own path he turns him back, and scans his own light footprints through the tangled thorn, so dark and still. But suddenly he hears the tread of horses, with confusing din and tumult of pursuit. Nor was it long he tarried ere upon his anguished ear smote a great cry: and, lo! Euryalus, trapped by the dark night, the deceptive ground, faced the whole onset, and fell back o'erwhelmed by a loud mob of foes, while his sole sword tried many a thrust in vain. O, what defence may Nisus bring? With what audacious arms his chosen comrade save? Shall he make bare his dying breast to all their swords, and run to honorable death that bloody way?

he swung his spear with lifted arm, then looked to the still moon, in heaven, and thus implored:

“O goddess, aid me in my evil case.

O glory of the stars, Latona's child!

O guardian of groves, if in my name my father Hyrtacus made offerings on burning altars, if my own right hand, successful in the chase, ere hung its gift beneath thy dome or on thy sacred wall, grant me yon troop to scatter. Guide my spear along its path in air.” He spoke, and hurled with all his gathered strength the shaft of steel.

the swift spear clove the shades of night, and struck full in the back of Sulmo, where it split, but tore through to his very heart. The breast poured forth life's glowing stream, and he, o'erthrown lay cold in death, while his huge, heaving sides gave lingering throes. The men about him stared this way and that. But Nisus, fiercer still, poised level with his ear a second shaft, and, while the foeman paused, the whizzing spear straight through the brows of Tagus drove, and clung deep in the cloven brain. In frenzy rose

Volscens, but nowhere could espy what hand the shaft had hurled, nor whither his wild rage could make reply. “But thou,” he cried, “shalt feed with thy hot blood my honor and revenge for both the slain.” Then with a sword unsheathed upon Euryalus he fell. Loud shrieked

Nisus, of reason reft, who could not bear such horror, nor in sheltering gloom of night longer abide: “'T is I, 't is I!” he said.

look on the man who slew them! Draw on me your swords, Rutulians! The whole stratagem was mine, mine only, and the lad ye slay dared not, and could not. O, by Heaven above and by the all-beholding stars I swear, he did but love his hapless friend too well.”

But while he spoke, the furious-thrusting sword had pierced the tender body, and run through the bosom white as snow. Euryalus sank prone in death; upon his goodly limbs the life-blood ran unstopped, and low inclined the drooping head; as when some purpled flower, cut by the ploughshare, dies, or poppies proud with stem forlorn their ruined beauty bow before the pelting storm. Then Nisus flew straight at his foes; but in their throng would find

Volscens alone, for none but Volscens stayed:

they gathered thickly round and grappled him in shock of steel with steel. But on he plunged, swinging in ceaseless circles round his head his lightning-sword, and thrust it through the face of shrieking Volscens, with his own last breath striking his foeman down; then cast himself upon his fallen comrade's breast; and there, stabbed through, found tranquil death and sure repose.

Heroic pair and blest! If aught I sing have lasting music, no remotest age shall blot your names from honor's storied scroll:

not while the altars of Aeneas' line shall crown the Capitol's unshaken hill, nor while the Roman Father's hand sustains its empire o'er the world.

The Rutules seized the spoils of victory, and slowly to their camp, with wail and cry, bore Volscens' corse; and in the eamp they made like wailing over Rhamnes lifeless found, o'er Numa and Serranus, and a throng of princes dead. The gazing people pressed around the slain, the dying, where the earth ran red with slaughter and full many a stream of trickling gore; nor did they fail to know

Messapus' glittering helm, his baldric fair, recaptured now with lavish sweat and pain.

Now, from Tithonus' saffron couch set free,

Aurora over many a land outpoured the rising morn; the sun's advancing beam unveiled the world; and Turnus to his host gave signal to stand forth, while he arrayed himself in glorious arms. Then every chief awoke his mail-clad company, and stirred their slumbering wrath with tidings from the foe.

Tumultuously shouting, they impaled on lifted spears—O pitiable sight! — the heads of Nisus and Euryalus.

Th' undaunted Trojans stood in battle-line along the wall to leftward (for the right the river-front defended) keeping guard on the broad moat; upon the ramparts high sad-eyed they stood, and shuddered as they saw the hero-faces thrust aloft; too well their loyal grief the blood-stained features knew.

On restless pinions to the trembling town had voiceful Rumor hied, and to the ears of that lone mother of Euryalus relentless flown. Through all her feeble frame the chilling sorrow sped. From both her hands dropped web and shuttle; she flew shrieking forth, ill-fated mother! and with tresses torn, to the wide ramparts and the battle-line ran frantic, heeding naught of men-at-arms, nor peril nor the rain of falling spears;

and thus with loud and lamentable cry filled all the air: “Is it in yonder guise,

Euryalus, thou comest? Art thou he, last comfort of my life? O cruel one!

Couldst thou desert me? When they thrust thee forth to death and danger, did they dare refuse a wretched mother's last embrace? But now —

O woe is me!—upon this alien shore thou liest for a feast to Latin dogs and carrion birds. Nor did thy mother lead the mourners to thy grave, nor shut those eyes, nor wash the dreadful wounds, nor cover thee with the fair shroud, which many a night and day

I swiftly wove, and at my web and loom forgot my years and sorrows. Whither now to seek and follow thee? What spot of earth holds the torn body and the mangled limbs?

Is all the gift thou bringest home, dear child, this? O, was this the prize for which I came o'er land and sea? O, stab me very deep, if ye have any pity; hurl on me your every spear, Rutulians; make of me your swords' first work. Or, Father of the gods!

Show mercy, thou! and with thy lightning touch this head accurst, and let it fall by thee down to the dark. For else what power is mine my tortured life to end?” Her agony smote on their listening souls; a wail of woe along the concourse ran. Stern men-at-arms felt valor for a moment sleep, and all their rage of battle fail. But while she stirred the passion of her grief, Ilioneus and young Iulus, weeping filial tears, bade Actor and Idaeus, lifting her in both their reverent arms, to bear her home.

But now the brazen trumpet's fearsome song blares loud, and startled shouts of soldiery spread through the roaring sky. The Volscian band press to the siege, and, locking shield with shield, fill the great trenches, tear the palisades, or seek approach by ladders up the walls, where'er the line of the defenders thins, and light through their black circle shines. The Trojans pour promiscuous missiles down, and push out hard with heavy poles—so well have they been schooled to fight against long sieges. They fling down a crushing weight of rocks, in hope to break th' assailing line, where roofed in serried shields the foe each charge repels. But not for long the siegers stand; along their dense array the crafty Teucrians down the rampart roll a boulder like a hill-top, laying low the Rutule troop and crashing through their shields.

Nor may the bold Rutulian longer hope to keep in cover, but essays to storm only with far-flung shafts the bastion strong.

Here grim Mezentius, terrible to see, waved an Etrurian pine, and made his war with smoking firebrands; there, in equal rage,

Messapus, the steed-tamer, Neptune's son, ripped down the palisade, and at the breach strung a steep path of ladders up the wall.

Aid, O Calliope, the martial song!

Tell me what carnage and how many deaths the sword of Turnus wrought: what peer in arms each hero to the world of ghosts sent down.

Unroll the war's great book before these eyes.

A tower was there, well-placed and looming large, with many a lofty bridge, which desperately th' Italians strove to storm, and strangely plied besieging enginery to cast it down:

the Trojans hurled back stones, or, standing close, flung through the loopholes a swift shower of spears.

But Turnus launched a firebrand, and pierced the wooden wall with flame, which in the wind leaped larger, and devoured from floor to floor, burning each beam away. The trembling guards sought flight in vain; and while they crowded close into the side unkindled yet, the tower bowed its whole weight and fell, with sudden crash that thundered through the sky. Along the ground half dead the warriors fell (the crushing mass piled over them) by their own pointed spears pierced to the heart, or wounded mortally by cruel splinters of the wreck. Two men,

Helenor one, and Lyeus at his side, alone get free. Helenor of the twain was a mere youth; the slave Lycymnia bore him in secret to the Lydian King, and, arming him by stealth, had sent away to serve the Trojan cause. One naked sword for arms had he, and on his virgin shield no blazon of renown; but when he saw the hosts of Turnus front him, and the lines this way and that of Latins closing round, — as a fierce, forest-creature, brought to bay in circling pack of huntsmen, shows its teeth against the naked spears, and scorning death leaps upward on the javelins,—even so, not loth to die, the youthful soldier flew straight at the centre of his foes, and where the shining swords looked thickest, there he sprung.

But Lyeus, swifter-footed, forced his way past the opposing spears and made escape far as the ciity-wall, where he would fain clutch at the coping and climb up to clasp some friend above: but Turnus, spear in hand, had hotly followed, and exulting loud thus taunted him, “Hadst thou the hope, rash fool, beyond this grasp to fly?” So, as he clung, he tore him down; and with him broke and fell a huge piece of the wall: not otherwise a frail hare, or a swan of snow-white wing, is clutched in eagle-talons, when the bird of Jove soars skyward with his prey; or tender lamb from bleating mother and the broken fold is stolen by the wolf of Mars. Wild shouts on every side resound. In closer siege the foe press on, and heap the trenches full, or hurl hot-flaming torches at the towers.

Ilioneus with mountain-mass of stone struck down Lucetius, as he crept with fire too near the city-gate. Emathion fell by Liger's hand, and Corynteus' death

Asilas dealt: one threw the javelin well;

th' insidious arrow was Asilas' skill.

Ortygius was slain by Caeneus, then victorious Geneus fell by Turnus' ire.

Then smote he Dioxippus, and laid low

Itys and Promolus and Sagaris and Clonius, and from the lofty tower shot Idas down. The shaft of Capys pierced

Privernus, whom Themilla's javelin but now had lightly grazed, and he, too bold, casting his shield far from him, had outspread his left hand on the wound: then sudden flew the feathered arrow, and the hand lay pinned against his left side, while the fatal barb was buried in his breathing life. The son of Arcens now stood forth in glittering arms.

His broidered cloak was red Iberian stain, and beautiful was he. Arcens his sire had sent him to the war; but he was bred in a Sicilian forest by a stream to his nymph-mother dear, where rose the shrine of merciful Palicus, blest and fair.

But, lo! Mezentius his spear laid by, and whirled three times about his head the thong of his loud sling: the leaden bullet clove the youth's mid-forehead, and his towering form fell prostrate its full length along the ground.

'T was then Ascanius first shot forth in war the arrow swift from which all creatures wild were wont to fly in fear: and he struck down with artful aim Numanus, sturdy foe, called Remulus, who lately was espoused to Turnus' younger sister. He had stalked before the van, and made vociferous noise of truths and falsehoods foul and base, his heart puffed up with new-found greatness. Up and down he strode, and swelled his folly with loud words:

“No shame have ye this second time to stay cooped close within a rampart's craven siege,

O Phrygians twice-vanquished? Is a wall your sole defence from death? Are such the men who ask our maids in marriage? Say what god, what doting madness, rather, drove ye here to Italy? This way ye will not find the sons of Atreus nor the trickster tongue of voluble Ulysses. Sturdy stock are we; our softest new-born babes we dip in chilling rivers, till they bear right well the current's bitter cold. Our slender lads hunt night and day and rove the woods at large, or for their merriment break stubborn steeds, or bend the horn-tipped bow. Our manly prime in willing labor lives, and is inured to poverty and scantness; we subdue our lands with rake and mattock, or in war bid strong-walled cities tremble. Our whole life is spent in use of iron; and we goad the flanks of bullocks with a javelin's end.

Nor doth old age, arriving late, impair our brawny vigor, nor corrupt the soul to frail decay. But over silvered brows we bind the helmet. Our unfailing joy is rapine, and to pile the plunder high.

But ye! your gowns-are saffron needlework or Tyrian purple; ye love shameful ease, or dancing revelry. Your tunics fiow long-sleeved, and ye have soft caps ribbon-bound.

Aye, Phrygian girls are ye, not Phrygian men!

Hence to your hill of Dindymus! Go hear the twy-mouthed piping ye have loved so long.

The timbrel, hark! the Berecynthian flute calls you away, and Ida's goddess calls.

Leave arms to men, true men! and quit the sword!”

Of such loud insolence and words of shame

Ascanius brooked no more, but laid a shaft athwart his bowstring, and with arms stretched wide took aim, first offering suppliant vow to Jove:

“Almighty Jupiter, thy favor show to my bold deed! So to thy shrine I bear gifts year by year, and to thine altars lead a bull with gilded brows, snow-white, and tall as his own dam, what time his youth begins to lower his horns and fling the sand in air.”

The Father heard, and from a cloudless sky thundered to leftward, while the deadly bow resounded and the arrow's fearful song hissed from the string; it struck unswervingly the head of Remulus and clove its way deep in the hollows of his brow. “Begone!

Proud mocker at the brave! Lo, this reply twice-vanquished Phrygians to Rutulia send.”

Ascanius said no more. The Teucrians with deep-voiced shout of joy applaud, and lift their exultation starward. Then from heaven the flowing-haired Apollo bent his gaze upon Ausonia's host, and cloud-enthroned looked downward o'er the city, speaking thus to fair Iulus in his victory:

“Hail to thy maiden prowess, boy! This way the starward path to dwelling-place divine.

O sired of gods and sire of gods to come, all future storms of war by Fate ordained shall into peace and lawful calm subside beneath the offspring of Assaracus.

No Trojan destinies thy glory bound.”

So saying, from his far, ethereal seat he hied him down, and, cleaving the quick winds drew near Ascanius. He wore the guise of aged Butes, who erewhile had borne

Anchises, armor and kept trusty guard before his threshold, but attended now

Ascanius, by commandment of his sire.

Clad in this graybeard's every aspect, moved apollo forth,—his very voice and hue, his hoary locks and grimly sounding shield, — and to the flushed Iulus spoke this word:

“Child of Aeneas, be content that now

Numanus unavenged thine arrows feels.

Such dawn of glory great Apollo's will concedes, nor envies thee the fatal shaft so like his own. But, tender youth, refrain hereafter from this war!” So said divine

Apollo, who, while yet he spoke, put by his mortal aspect, and before their eyes melted to viewless air. The Teucrians knew the vocal god with armament divine of arrows; for his rattling quiver smote their senses as he fled. Obedient to Phoebus' voice they held back from the fray

Iulus' fury, and their eager souls faced the fresh fight and danger's darkest frown.

From tower to tower along the bastioned wall their war-cry flew: they bend with busy hand the cruel bow, or swing the whirling thong of javelins. The earth on every side is strewn with spent shafts, the reverberant shield and hollow helmet ring with blows; the fight more fiercely swells; not less the bursting storm from watery Kid-stars in the western sky lashes the plain, or multitudinous hail beats upon shallow seas, when angry Jove flings forth tempestuous and-boundless rain, and splits the bellied clouds in darkened air.

The brothers Pandarus and Bitias, of whom Alcanor was the famous sire, on Ida born, and whom Iaera bred in sacred wood of Jove, an oread she, twin warriors, like their native hills and trees of stature proud, now burst those portals wide to them in ward consigned, and sword in hand challenge the foe to enter. Side by side, steel-clad, their tall heads in bright crested helms, to left and right, like towers, the champions stand as when to skyward, by the gliding waves of gentle Athesis or Padus wide, a pair of oaks uprise, and lift in air their shaggy brows and nodding crests sublime.

In burst the Rutules where the onward way seemed open wide; Quercens no tarrying knows, nor proud Aquiculus in well-wrought arms;

Tmarus sweeps on impetuous, and the host of Haemon, child of Mars. Some routed fly;

some lay their lives-down at the gate. Wild rage o'erflows each martial breast, and gathered fast the Trojans rally to one point, and dare close conflict, or long sallies o'er the plain.

To Turnus, who upon a distant field was storming with huge havoc, came the news that now his foe, before a gate thrown wide, was red with slaughter. His own fight he stays, and speeds him, by enormous rage thrust on, to those proud brethren at the Dardan wall.

There first Antiphates, who made his war far in the van (a Theban captive's child to great Sarpedon out of wedlock born), he felled to earth with whirling javelin:

th' Italic shaft of cornel lightly flew along the yielding air, and through his throat pierced deep into the breast; a gaping wound gushed blood; the hot shaft to his bosom clung.

Then Erymas and Merops his strong hand laid low: Aphidnus next, then came the turn of Bitias, fiery-hearted, furious-eyed:

but not by javelin,—such cannot fall by flying javelin,—the ponderous beam of a phalaric spear, with mighty roar, like thunderbolt upon him fell; such shock neither the bull's-hides of his double shield nor twofold corselet's golden scales could stay but all his towering frame in ruin fell.

Earth groaned, and o'er him rang his ample shield.

so crashes down from Baiae 's storied shore a rock-built mole, whose mighty masonry, piled up with care, men cast into the sea;

it trails its wreckage far, and fathoms down lies broken in the shallows, while the waves whirl every way, and showers of black sand are scattered on the air: with thunder-sound steep Prochyta is shaken, and that bed of cruel stone, Inarime, which lies heaped o'er Typhoeus by revenge of Jove.

Now to the Latins Mars, the lord of war, gave might and valor, and to their wild hearts his spur applied, but on the Teucrians breathed dark fear and flight. From every quarter came auxiliar hosts, where'er the conflict called, and in each bosom pulsed the god of war.

When Pandarus now saw his brother's corse low Iying, and which way the chance and tide of battle ran, he violently moved the swinging hinges of the gate, and strained with both his shoulders broad. He shut outside not few of his own people, left exposed in fiercest fight but others with himself he barred inside and saved them as they fled;

nor noted, madman, how the Rutule King had burst in midmost of the line, and now stood prisoned in their wall, as if he were some monstrous tiger among helpless kine.

His eyeballs strangely glared; his armor rang terrific, his tall crest shook o'er his brows blood-red, and lightnings glittered from his shield familiar loomed that countenance abhorred and frame gigantic on the shrinking eyes of the Aeneadae. Then Pandarus sprang towering forth, all fever to revenge his brother's slaughter. “Not this way,” he cried

“Amata's marriage-gift! No Ardea here mews Turnus in his fathers' halls. Behold thy foeman's castle! Thou art not allowed to take thy leave.” But Turnus looked his way, and smiled with heart unmoved. “Begin! if thou hast manhood in thee, and meet steel with steel!

Go tell dead Priam thou discoverest here

Achilles!” For reply, the champion tall hurled with his might and main along the air his spear of knotted wood and bark untrimmed.

But all it wounded was the passing wind, for Saturn's daughter turned its course awry, and deep in the great gate the spear-point drove.

“Now from the stroke this right arm means for thee thou shalt not fly. Not such the sender of this weapon and this wound.” He said, and towered aloft to his full height; the lifted sword clove temples, brows, and beardless cheeks clean through with loudly ringing blow; the ground beneath shook with the giant's ponderous fall, and, lo, with nerveless limbs, and brains spilt o'er his shield, dead on the earth he lay! in equal halves the sundered head from either shoulder swung.

In horror and amaze the Trojans all dispersed and fled; had but the conqueror thought to break the barriers of the gates and call his followers through, that fatal day had seen an ending of the Teucrians and their war.

But frenzied joy of slaughter urged him on, infuriate, to smite the scattering foe.

First Phaleris he caught; then cut the knees of Gyges; both their spears he snatched away and hurled them at the rout; 't was Juno roused his utmost might of rage. Now Halys fell, and Phegeus, whom he pierced right through the shield:

next, at the walls and urging reckless war,

Alcander, Halius, and Noemon gave their lives, and Prytanis went down. In vain

Lynceus made stand and called his comrades brave:

for Turnus from the right with waving sword caught at him and lopped off with one swift blow the head, which with its helmet rolled away.

Next Amycus, destroyer of wild beasts, who knew full well to smear a crafty barb with venomed oil; young Clytius he slew, son of the wind-god; then on Cretheus fell, a follower of the muses and their friend:

Cretheus, whose every joy it was to sing, and fit his numbers to the chorded Iyre;

steeds, wars, armed men were his perpetual song.

At last the Teucrian chiefs had heard the tale of so much slaughter; and in council met are Mnestheus and Serestus bold, who see their comrades routed and the conquering foe within the gates. Cries Mnestheus, “Whither fly?

What open way is yonder or what wall?

Beyond these ramparts lost what stronger lie?

Shall one lone man here in your walls confined, make havoc unavenged and feed the grave with your best warriors? 0 cowards vile!

For your sad country and her ancient gods and for renowned Aeneas, can ye feel no pity and no shame?” Enflamed to fight by words like these, they close the line, and stand in strong array. So Turnus for a space out of the battle step by step withdrew to make the river-bank his rearguard strong;

whereat the Teucrians, shouting loud, swept on the fiercer, and in solid mass pressed round.

as when a troop of hunters with keen spears encircle a wild lion, who in fear, but glaring grim and furious, backward falls, valor and rage constrain him ne'er to cease fronting the foe; yet not for all his ire can he against such serried steel make way:

so Turnus backward with a lingering step unwilling drew, and wrath his heart oterflowed.

for twice already had he cloven a path into the foe's mid-press, and twice had driven their flying lines in panic through the town.

But now the whole throng from the camp he sees massed to the onset. Nor will Juno now dare give him vigor to withstand, for Jove had sent aerial Iris out of heaven with stern commandment to his sister-queen that Turnus from the Teucrian walls retire.

Therefore the warrior's shield avails no more, nor his strong arm; but he is overthrown by general assault. Around his brows his smitten helmet rings; the ponderous mail cracks under falling stones; the haughty plumes are scattered from his head, nor can the boss of his stout shield endure; the Trojans hurl redoubled rain of spears; and with them speeds

Mnestheus like thunderbolt. The hero's flesh dissolves in sweat; no room to breathe has he;

his limbs are spent and weary; his whole frame shakes with his gasping breath: then bounding fort with all his harness on, headlong he plunged into the flowing stream; its yellow tide embraced him as he fell, and gentle waves restored him smiling to his friends in arms, with all the gore and carnage washed away.