Book 10

Meanwhile Olympus, seat of sovereign sway, threw wide its portals, and in conclave fair the Sire of gods and King of all mankind summoned th' immortals to his starry court, whence, high-enthroned, the spreading earth he views— and Teucria's camp and Latium 's fierce array.

Beneath the double-gated dome the gods were sitting; Jove himself the silence broke:

“O people of Olympus, wherefore change your purpose and decree, with partial minds in mighty strife contending? I refused such clash of war 'twixt Italy and Troy.

Whence this forbidden feud? What fears seduced to battles and injurious arms either this folk or that? Th' appointed hour for war shall be hereafter—speed it not!—

When cruel Carthage to the towers of Rome shall bring vast ruin, streaming fiercely down the opened Alp. Then hate with hate shall vie, and havoc have no bound. Till then, give o'er, and smile upon the concord I decree!”

Thus briefly, Jove. But golden Venus made less brief reply. “O Father, who dost hold o'er Man and all things an immortal sway!

Of what high throne may gods the aid implore save thine? Behold of yonder Rutuli th' insulting scorn! Among them Turnus moves in chariot proud, and boasts triumphant war in mighty words. Nor do their walls defend my Teucrians now. But in their very gates, and on their mounded ramparts, in close fight they breast their foes and fill the moats with blood.

Aeneas knows not, and is far away.

Will ne'er the siege have done? A second time above Troy 's rising walls the foe impends;

another host is gathered, and once more from his Aetolian Arpi wrathful speeds a Diomed. I doubt not that for me wounds are preparing. Yea, thy daughter dear awaits a mortal sword! If by thy will unblest and unapproved the Trojans came to Italy, for such rebellious crime give them their due, nor lend them succor, thou, with thy strong hand! But if they have obeyed unnumbered oracles from gods above and sacred shades below, who now has power to thwart thy bidding, or to weave anew the web of Fate? Why speak of ships consumed along my hallowed Erycinian shore?

Or of the Lord of Storms, whose furious blasts were summoned from Aeolia? Why tell of Iris sped from heaven? Now she moves the region of the shades (one kingdom yet from her attempt secure) and thence lets loose

Alecto on the world above, who strides in frenzied wrath along th' Italian hills.

No more my heart now cherishes its hope of domination, though in happier days such was thy promise. Let the victory fall to victors of thy choice! If nowhere lies the land thy cruel Queen would deign accord unto the Teucrian people,—O my sire,

I pray thee by yon smouldering wreck of Troy to let Ascanius from the clash of arms escape unscathed. Let my own offspring live!

Yea, let Aeneas, tossed on seas unknown, find some chance way; let my right hand avail to shelter him and from this fatal war in safety bring. For Amathus is mine, mine are Cythera and the Paphian hills and temples in Idalium. Let him drop the sword, and there live out inglorious days.

By thy decree let Carthage overwhelm

Ausonia's power; nor let defence be found to stay the Tyrian arms! What profits it that he escaped the wasting plague of war and fled Argolic fires? or that he knew so many perils of wide wilderness and waters rude? The Teucrians seek in vain new-born Troy in Latium. Better far crouched on their country's ashes to abide, and keep that spot of earth where once was Troy!

Give back, O Father, I implore thee, give

Xanthus and Simois back! Let Teucer's sons unfold once more the tale of Ilium 's woe!”

Then sovereign Juno, flushed with solemn scorn, made answer. “Dost thou bid me here profane the silence of my heart, and gossip forth of secret griefs? What will of god or man impelled Aeneas on his path of war, or made him foeman of the Latin King?

Fate brought him to Italia? Be it so!

Cassandra's frenzy he obeyed. What voice — say, was it mine?—urged him to quit his camp, risk life in storms, or trust his war, his walls, to a boy-captain, or stir up to strife

Etruria's faithful, unoffending sons?

What god, what pitiless behest of mine, impelled him to such harm? Who traces here the hand of Juno, or of Iris sped from heaven? Is it an ignoble stroke that Italy around the new-born Troy makes circling fire, and Turnus plants his heel on his hereditary earth, the son of old Pilumnus and the nymph divine,

Venilia? For what offence would Troy bring sword and fire on Latium, or enslave lands of an alien name, and bear away plunder and spoil? Why seek they marriages, and snatch from arms of love the plighted maids?

An olive-branch is in their hands; their ships make menace of grim steel. Thy power one day ravished Aeneas from his Argive foes, and gave them shape of cloud and fleeting air to strike at for a man. Thou hast transformed his ships to daughters of the sea. What wrong if I, not less, have lent the Rutuli something of strength in war? Aeneas, then, is far away and knows not! Far away let him remain, not knowing! If thou sway'st

Cythera, Paphos, and Idalium, why rouse a city pregnant with loud wars, and fiery hearts provoke? That fading power of Phrygia, do I, forsooth, essay to ruin utterly? O, was it I exposed ill-fated Troy to Argive foe?

For what offence in vast array of arms did Europe rise and Asia, for a rape their peace dissolving? Was it at my word th' adulterous Dardan shepherd came to storm the Spartan city? Did my hand supply his armament, or instigate a war for Cupid's sake? Then was thy decent hour to tremble for thy children; now too late the folly of thy long lament to Heaven, and objurgation vain.” Such Juno's plea;

the throng of gods with voices loud or low gave various reply: as gathering winds sing through the tree-tops in dark syllables, and fling faint murmur on the far-off sea, to tell some pilot of to-morrow's storm.

Then Jupiter omnipotent, whose hands have governance supreme, began reply;

deep silence at his word Olympus knew,

Earth's utmost cavern shook; the realms of light were silent; the mild zephyrs breathed no more, and perfect calm o'erspread the levelled sea.

“Give ear, ye gods, and in your hearts record my mandate and decree. Fate yet allows no peace 'twixt Troy and Italy, nor bids your quarrel end. Therefore, what Chance this day to either foe shall bring, whatever hope either may cherish,—the Rutulian cause and Trojan have like favor in my eyes.

The destinies of Italy constrain the siege; which for the fault of Troy fulfills an oracle of woe. Yon Rutule host

I scatter not. But of his own attempt let each the triumph and the burden bear;

for Jove is over all an equal King.

The Fates will find the way.” The god confirmed his sentence by his Stygian brother's wave, the shadowy flood and black, abysmal shore.

He nodded; at the bending of his brow

Olympus shook. It is the council's end.

Now from the golden throne uprises Jove;

the train of gods attend him to the doors.

Meanwhile at every gate the Rutule foe urges the slaughter on, and closes round the battlements with ring of flame. The host of Trojans, prisoned in the palisades, lies in strict siege and has no hope to fly.

In wretched plight they man the turrets tall, to no avail, and with scant garrison the ramparts crown. In foremost line of guard are Asius Imbrasides, the twin

Assaraci, and Hicetaon's son

Thymoetes, and with Castor at his side the veteran Thymbris; then the brothers both of slain Sarpedon, and from Lycian steep

Clarus and Themon. With full-straining thews lifting a rock, which was of some huge hill no fragment small, Lyrnesian Acmon stood;

nor less than Clytius his sire he seemed, nor Mnestheus his great brother. Some defend the wall with javelins; some hurl down stones or firebrands, or to the sounding string fit arrows keen. But lo! amid the throng, well worth to Venus her protecting care, the Dardan boy, whose princely head shone forth without a helm, like radiant jewel set in burnished gold for necklace or for crown;

or like immaculate ivory inclosed in boxwood or Orician terebinth;

his tresses o'er his white neck rippled down, confined in circlet of soft twisted gold.

Thee, too, the warrior nations gaze upon, high-nurtured Ismarus, inflicting wounds with shafts of venomed reed: Maeonia 's vale thy cradle was, where o'er the fruitful fields well-tilled and rich, Pactolus pours his gold.

Mnestheus was there, who, for his late repulse of Turnus from the rampart, towered forth in glory eminent; there Capys stood, whose name the Capuan citadel shall bear.

While these in many a shock of grievous war hotly contend, Aeneas cleaves his way at midnight through the waters. He had fared from old Evander to th' Etruscan folk, addressed their King, and to him told the tale of his own race and name, his suit, his powers;

of what allies Mezentius had embraced, and Turnus' lawless rage. He bids him know how mutable is man, and warning gives, with supplication joined. Without delay

Tarchon made amity and sacred league, uniting with his cause. The Lydian tribe, now destined from its tyrant to be free, embarked, obedient to the gods, and gave allegiance to the foreign King. The ship

Aeneas rode moved foremost in the line:

its beak a pair of Phrygian lions bore;

above them Ida rose, an emblem dear to exiled Trojans. On his Iofty seat was great Aeneas, pondering the events of changeful war; and clinging to his side the youthful Pallas fain would learn the lore of stars, the highway of dark night, and asks the story of his toils on land and sea.

Now open Helicon and move my song, ye goddesses, to tell what host in arms followed Aeneas from the Tuscan shore, and manned his ships and traveiled o'er the sea!

First Massicus his brazen Tigress rode, cleaving the brine; a thousand warriors were with him out of Clusium 's walls, or from the citadel of Coste, who for arms had arrows, quivers from the shoulder slung, and deadly bows. Grim Abas near him sailed;

his whole band wore well-blazoned mail; his ship displayed the form of Phoebus, all of gold:

to him had Populonia consigned

(His mother-city, she) six hundred youth well-proven in war; three hundred Elba gave, an island rich in unexhausted ores of iron, like the Chalybes. Next came

Asilas, who betwixt the gods and men interprets messages and reads clear signs in victims' entrails, or the stars of heaven, or bird-talk, or the monitory flames of lightning: he commands a thousand men close lined, with bristling spears, of Pisa all, that Tuscan city of Alpheus sprung.

Then Astur followed, a bold horseman he,

Astur in gorgeous arms, himself most fair:

three hundred are his men, one martial mind uniting all: in Caere they were bred and Minio's plain, and by the ancient towers of Pyrgo or Gravisca 's storm-swept hill.

Nor thy renown may I forget, brave chief of the Ligurians, Cinyrus; nor thine,

Cupavo, with few followers, thy crest the tall swan-wings, of love unblest the sign and of a father fair: for legends tell that Cycnus, for his Phaethon so dear lamenting loud beneath the poplar shade of the changed sisters, made a mournful song to soothe his grief and passion: but erewhile, in his old age, there clothed him as he sang soft snow-white plumes, and spurning earth he soared on high, and sped in music through the stars.

His son with bands of youthful peers urged on a galley with a Centaur for its prow, which loomed high o'er the waves, and seemed to hurl a huge stone at the water, as the keel ploughed through the deep. Next Ocnus summoned forth a war-host from his native shores, the son of Tiber, Tuscan river, and the nymph

Manto, a prophetess: he gave good walls,

O Mantua, and his mother's name, to thee,— to Mantua so rich in noble sires, but of a blood diverse, a triple breed, four stems in each; and over all enthroned she rules her tribes: her strength is Tuscan born.

Hate of Mezentius armed against his name five hundred men: upon their hostile prow was Mincius in a cloak of silvery sedge,—

Lake Benacus the river's source and sire.

Last good Aulestes smites the depths below, with forest of a hundred oars: the flood like flowing marble foams; his Triton prow threatens the blue waves with a trumpet-shell;

far as the hairy flanks its form is man, but ends in fish below—the parting waves beneath the half-brute bosom break in foam.

Such chosen chiefs in thirty galleys ploughed the salt-wave, bringing help to Trojan arms.

Day now had left the sky. The moon benign had driven her night-wandering chariot to the mid-arch of heaven. Aeneas sate, for thought and care allowed him no repose, holding the helm and tending his own sails.

but, as he sped, behold, the beauteous train, lately his own, of nymphs, anon transformed by kind Cybebe to sea-ruling powers.

In even ranks they swam the cloven wave,— nymphs now, but once as brazen galleys moored along the sandy shore. With joy they knew their King from far, and with attending train around him drew. Cymodocea then, best skilled in mortal speech, sped close behind, with her right hand upon the stern, uprose breast-high, and with her left hand deeply plied the silent stream, as to the wondering King she called: “So late on watch, O son of Heaven,

Aeneas? Slack thy sail, but still watch on!

We were the pine-trees on the holy top of Ida's mountain. Sea-nymphs now are we, and thine own fleet. When, as we fled, the flames rained o'er us from the false Rutulian's hand

't was all unwillingly we cast away thy serviceable chains: and now once more we follow thee across the sea. These forms our pitying mother bade us take, with power to haunt immortally the moving sea.

Lo, thy Ascanius lies close besieged in moated walls, assailed by threatening arms and Latium 's front of war. Arcadia, her horsemen with the bold Etruscan joined, stands at the place appointed. Turnus means, with troop opposing, their advance to bar and hold them from the camp. Arouse thee, then, and with the rising beams of dawn call forth thy captains and their followers. Take that shield victorious, which for thee the Lord of Fire forged for a gift and rimmed about with gold.

To-morrow's light—deem not my words be vain!— shall shine on huge heaps of Rutulia's dead.”

So saying, she pushed with her right hand the stern with skilful thrust, and vanished. The ship sped swift as a spear, or as an arrow flies no whit behind the wind: and all the fleet quickened its course. Anchises' princely son, dumb and bewildered stood, but took good heart at such an omen fair. Then in few words with eyes upturned to heaven he made his prayer:

“Mother of gods, O Ida's Queen benign, who Iovest Dindymus and towns with towers, and lion-yokes obedient to thy rein, be thou my guide in battle, and fulfil thine augury divine. In Phrygia 's cause be present evermore with favoring power!”

He spoke no more. For now the wheels of day had sped full circle into perfect light, the dark expelling. Then, for his first care, he bade his captains heed the signal given, equip their souls for war, and wait in arms the coming fray. Now holds he full in view his Trojans and their fortress, as he stands upon his towering ship. With his left hand he lifts his radiant shield; then from the wall the Dardan warriors send a battle-cry that echoes to the stars, as kindling hope their rage renews. A flight of spears they hurl:

't was like the cranes of Strymon, through dark clouds each other calling, when they cleave the skies vociferous, outwinging as they fly the swift south winds—Ioud music them pursues.

Amazement on Ausonia's captains fell and Turnus, as they gazed. But soon they saw ships pointing shoreward and the watery plain all stirring with a fleet. Aeneas' helm uplifted its bright peak,—like streaming flame the crimson crest; his shield of orbed gold poured forth prodigious fire: it seemed as when in cloudless night a comet's blood-red beam makes mournful splendor, or the Dog-star glows, which rises to bring drought and pestilence to hapless men, and with ill-omened ray saddens the sky. But Turnus, undismayed, trusted not less to hurl th' invaders back and hold the shore against them. “Look!” he cried, your prayer is come to pass,—that sword in hand ye now may shatter them. The might of Mars is in a true man's blow. Remember well each man his home and wife! Now call to mind the glory and great deeds of all your sires!

Charge to yon river-bank, while yet they take with weak and fearful steps their shoreward way!

Fortune will help the brave.” With words like these, he chose, well-weighing, who should lead the charge, who at the leaguered walls the fight sustain.

Aeneas straightway from his lofty ships lets down his troop by bridges. Some await the ebbing of slack seas, and boldly leap into the shallows; others ply the oar.

Tarchon a beach discovers, where the sands sing not, nor waves with broken murmur fall, but full and silent swells the gentle sea.

Steering in haste that way, he called his crews:

“Now bend to your stout oars, my chosen brave.

Lift each ship forward, till her beak shall cleave yon hostile shore; and let her keel's full weight the furrow drive. I care not if we break our ship's side in so sure an anchorage, if once we land.” While Tarchon urged them thus, the crews bent all together to their blades and sped their foaming barks to Latium 's plain, till each beak gripped the sand and every keel lay on dry land unscathed:—all save thine own,

O Tarchon! dashed upon a sand-bar, she!

Long poised upon the cruel ridge she hung, tilted this way or that and beat the waves, then split, and emptied forth upon the tide her warriors; and now the drifting wreck of shattered oars and thwarts entangles them, or ebb of swirling waters sucks them down.

Turnus no lingering knows, but fiercely hurls his whole line on the Teucrians, and makes stand along the shore. Now peals the trumpet's call.

Aeneas in the van led on his troop against the rustic foe, bright augury for opening war, and laid the Latins low, slaughtering Theron, a huge chief who dared offer Aeneas battle; through the scales of brazen mail and corselet stiff with gold the sword drove deep, and gored the gaping side.

Then smote he Lichas, from his mother's womb ripped in her dying hour, and unto thee,

O Phoebus, vowed, because his infant days escaped the fatal steel. Hard by him fell stout Cisseus and gigantic Gyas; these to death were hurled, while with their knotted clubs they slew opposing hosts; but naught availed

Herculean weapons, nor their mighty hands, or that Melampus was their sire, a peer of Hercules, what time in heavy toils through earth he roved. See next how Pharon boasts!

But while he vainly raves, the whirling spear smites full on his loud mouth. And also thou,

Cydon, wast by the Trojan stroke o'erthrown, while following in ill-omened haste the steps of Clytius, thy last joy, whose round cheek wore its youthful golden down: soon hadst thou lain in death, unheeding of thy fancies fond which ever turned to youth;—but now arose the troop of all thy brothers, Phorcus' sons, a close array of seven, and seven spears they hurled: some from Aeneas' helm or shield glanced off in vain; some Venus' kindly power, just as they touched his body, turned away.

Aeneas then to true Achates cried:

“Bring on my spears: not one shall fruitless fly against yon Rutules, even as they pierced the breasts of Greeks upon the Ilian plain.”

Then one great shaft he seized and threw; it sped straight into Maeon's brazen shield, and clove his mail-clad heart. Impetuous to his aid brother Alcanor came, and lifted up with strong right hand his brother as he fell:

but through his arm a second skilful shaft made bloody way, and by the sinews held the lifeless right hand from the shoulder swung.

Then from his brother's body Numitor the weapon plucked and hurled it, furious, upon Aeneas; but it could not strike the hero's self, and grazed along the thigh of great Achates. Next into the fight

Clausus of Cures came, in youthful bloom exulting, and with far-thrown javelin struck Dryops at the chin, and took away from the gashed, shrieking throat both life and voice;

the warrior's fallen forehead smote the dust;

his lips poured forth thick blood. There also fell three Thracians, odspring of the lordly stem of Boreas, and three of Idas' sons from Ismara, by various doom struck down.

Halaesus here his wild Auruncans brings;

and flying to the fight comes Neptune's son,

Messapus, famous horseman. On both sides each charges on the foe. Ausonia's strand is one wide strife. As when o'er leagues of air the envious winds give battle to their peers, well-matched in rage and power; and neither they nor clouds above, nor plunging seas below will end the doubtful war, but each withstands the onset of the whole—in such wild way the line of Trojans on the Latian line hurls itself, limb on limb and man on man.

But at a distance where the river's flood had scattered rolling boulders and torn trees uprooted from the shore, young Pallas spied th' Arcadian band, unused to fight on foot, in full retreat, the Latins following close— who also for the roughness of the ground were all unmounted: he (the last resource of men in straits) to wild entreaty turned and taunts, enkindling their faint hearts anew:

“Whither, my men! O, by your own brave deeds,

O, by our lord Evander's happy wars, the proud hopes I had to make my name a rival glory,—think not ye can fly!

Your swords alone can carve ye the safe way straight through your foes. Where yonder warrior-throng is fiercest, thickest, there and only there your Country's honor calls for men like you, and for your captain Pallas. Nay, no gods against us fight; we are but mortal men pressed by a mortal foe. Not more than ours the number of their lives or swords. Behold, the barrier of yonder spreading sea emprisons us, and for a craven flight yon lands are all too small. Ha! Shall we steer across the sea to Troy?” He said, and sprang full in the centre of his gathered foes.

First in his path was Lagus, thither led by evil stars; whom, as he tried to lift a heavy stone, the shaft of Pallas pierced where ribs and spine divide: backward he drew the clinging spear; But Hisbo from above surprised him not, though meaning it; for while

(In anger blind for friend unpitying slain)

at Pallas' face he flew:—he, standing firm, plunged deep into that swelling breast the sword.

Then Sthenius he slew; and next Anchemolus of Rhoetus' ancient line, who dared defile his step-dame's bridal bed. And also ye, fair Thymber and Larides, Daucus' twins, fell on that Rutule field; so like were ye, your own kin scarce discerned, and parents proud smiled at the dear deceit; but now in death cruel unlikeness Pallas wrought; thy head fell, hapless Thymber, by Evander's sword;

and thy right hand, Larides, shorn away, seemed feeling for its Iord; the fingers cold clutched, trembling, at the sword. Now all the troop of Arcady, their chief's great action seen, and by his warning roused, made at their foes, spurred on by grief and shame. Next Pallas pierced the flying Rhoetus in his car; this gained for Ilus respite and delay, for him the stout spear aimed at; but its flight was stopped by Rhoetus, as in swift retreat he rode, by the two high-born brothers close pursued,

Teuthras and Tyres: from his car he rolled, making deep furrows with his lifeless heels along the Rutule plain. Oft when the winds of summer, long awaited, rise and blow, a shepherd fires the forest, and the blaze devours the dense grove, while o'er the fields, in that one moment, swift and sudden spread grim Vulcan's serried flames; from some high seat on distant hill, the shepherd peering down sees, glad at heart, his own victorious fires:

so now fierce valor spreads, uniting all in one confederate rage, 'neath Pallas' eyes.

But the fierce warrior Halaesus next led on the charge, behind his skilful shield close-crouching. Ladon and Demodocus and Pheres he struck down; his glittering blade cut Strymon's hand, which to his neck was raised, sheer off; with one great stone he crushed the brows of Thoas, scattering wide the broken skull, bones, brains, and gore. Halaesus' prophet-sire, foreseeing doom, had hid him in dark groves;

but when the old man's fading eyes declined in death, the hand of Fate reached forth and doomed the young life to Evander's sword; him now

Pallas assailed, first offering this prayer:

“O Father Tiber, give my poising shaft through stout Halaesus' heart its lucky way!

The spoil and trophy of the hero slain on thine own oak shall hang.” The god received the vow, and while Halaesus held his shield over Imaon, his ill-fated breast lay naked to th' Arcadian's hungry spear.

But Lausus, seeing such a hero slain, bade his troop have no fear, for he himself was no small strength in war; and first he slew

Abas, who fought hard, and had ever seemed himself the sticking-point and tug of war.

Down went Arcadia 's warriors, and slain etruscans fell, with many a Trojan brave the Greek had spared. Troop charges upon troop well-matched in might, with chiefs of like renown;

the last rank crowds the first;—so fierce the press scarce hand or sword can stir. Here Pallas stands, and pushes back the foe; before him looms

Lausus, his youthful peer, conspicuous both in beauty; but no star will them restore to home and native land. Yet would the King of high Olympus suffer not the pair to close in battle, but each hero found a later doom at hands of mightier foes.

Now Turnus' goddess-sister bids him haste to Lausus' help. So he, in wheeling car, cut through the lines; and when his friends he saw,

“Let the fight stop! “he cried, “for none but I may strike at Pallas; unto me alone the prize of Pallas falls. I would his sire stood by to see.” He spake: his troop withdrew a fitting space. But as they made him room, the young prince, wondering at the scornful words, looked upon Turnus, glancing up and down that giant frame, and with fierce-frowning brows scanned him from far, hurling defiant words in answer to the King's. “My honor now shall have the royal trophy of this war, or glorious death. For either fortune fair my sire is ready. Threaten me no more!”

So saying, to the midmost space he strode, and in Arcadian hearts the blood stood still.

Swift from his chariot Turnus leaped, and ran to closer fight. As when some lion sees from his far mountain-lair a raging bull that sniffs the battle from the grassy field, and down the steep he flies—such picture showed grim Turnus as he came. But when he seemed within a spear's cast, Pallas opened fight, expecting Fortune's favor to the brave in such unequal match; and thus he prayed:

“O, by my hospitable father's roof, where thou didst enter as a stranger-guest, hear me, Alcides, and give aid divine to this great deed. Let Turnus see these hands strip from his half-dead breast the bloody spoil!

and let his eyes in death endure to see his conqueror!” Alcides heard the youth:

but prisoned in his heart a deep-drawn sigh, and shed vain tears; for Jove, the King and Sire,.

spoke with benignant accents to his son:

“To each his day is given. Beyond recall man's little time runs by: but to prolong life's glory by great deeds is virtue's power.

Beneath the lofty walls of fallen Troy fell many a son of Heaven. Yea, there was slain

Sarpedon, my own offspring. Turnus too is summoned to his doom, and nears the bounds of his appointed span.” So speaking, Jove turned from Rutulia's war his eyes away.

But Pallas hurled his lance with might and main, and from its hollow scabbard flashed his sword.

The flying shaft touched where the plated steel over the shoulders rose, and worked its way through the shield's rim—then falling, glanced aside from Turnus' giant body. Turnus then poised, without haste, his iron-pointed spear, and, launching it on Pallas, cried, “Look now will not this shaft a good bit deeper drive?”

He said: and through the mid-boss of the shield, steel scales and brass with bull's-hide folded round, the quivering spear-point crashed resistlessly, and through the corselet's broken barrier pierced Pallas' heart. The youth plucked out in vain the hot shaft from the wound; his life and blood together ebbed away, as sinking prone on his rent side he fell; above him rang his armor; and from lips with blood defiled he breathed his last upon his foeman's ground.

Over him Turnus stood: “Arcadians all,”

He cried, “take tidings of this feat of arms to King Evander. With a warrior's wage his Pallas I restore, and freely grant what glory in a hero's tomb may lie, or comfort in a grave. They dearly pay who bid Aeneas welcome at their board.”

So saying, with his left foot he held down the lifeless form, and raised the heavy weight of graven belt, which pictured forth that crime of youthful company by treason slain, all on their wedding night, in bridal bowers to horrid murder given,—which Clonus, son of Eurytus, had wrought in lavish gold;

this Turnus in his triumph bore away, exulting in the spoil. O heart of man, not knowing doom, nor of events to be!

Nor, being lifted up, to keep thy bounds in prosperous days! To Turnus comes the hour when he would fain a prince's ransom give had Pallas passed unscathed, and will bewail cuch spoil of victory. With weeping now and lamentations Ioud his comrades lay young Pallas on his shield, and thronging close carry him homeward with a mournful song:

alas! the sorrow and the glorious gain thy sire shall have in thee. For one brief day bore thee to battle and now bears away;

yet leavest thou full tale of foemen slain.

No doubtful rumor to Aeneas breaks the direful news, but a sure messenger tells him his followers' peril, and implores prompt help for routed Troy. His ready sword reaped down the nearest foes, and through their line clove furious path and broad; the valiant blade through oft-repeated bloodshed groped its way, proud Turnus, unto thee! His heart beholds

Pallas and Sire Evander, their kind board in welcome spread, their friendly league of peace proffered and sealed with him, the stranger-guest.

So Sulmo's sons, four warriors, and four of Ufens sprung, he took alive—to slay as victims to the shades, and pour a stream of captives' blood upon a flaming pyre.

Next from afar his hostile shaft he threw at Mago, who with wary motion bowed beneath the quivering weapon, as it sped clean over him; then at Aeneas' knees he crouched and clung with supplicating cry:

“O, by thy father's spirit, by thy hope in young Iulus, I implore thee, spare for son and father's sake this life of mine.

A lofty house have I, where safely hid are stores of graven silver and good weight of wrought and unwrought gold. The fate of war hangs not on me; nor can one little life thy victory decide.” In answer spoke

Aeneas: “Hoard the silver and the gold for thy own sons. Such bartering in war finished with Turnus, when fair Pallas fell.

Thus bids Anchises' shade, Iulus—thus!”

He spoke: and, grasping with his mighty left the helmet of the vainly suppliant foe, bent back the throat and drove hilt-deep his sword.

A little space removed, Haemonides, priest of Phoebus and pale Trivia, stood, whose ribboned brows a sacred fillet bound:

in shining vesture he, and glittering arms.

Him too the Trojan met, repelled, and towered above the fallen form, o'ermantling it in mortal shade; Serestus bore away those famous arms a trophy vowed to thee,

Gradivus, Iord of war! Soon to fresh fight came Caeculus, a child of Vulcan's line, and Umbro on the Marsic mountains bred:

these met the Trojan's wrath. His sword shore off

Anxur 's left hand, and the whole orbed shield dropped earthward at the stroke: though Anxur 's tongue had boasted mighty things, as if great words would make him strong, and lifting his proud heart as high as heaven, had hoped perchance to see gray hairs and length of days. Then Tarquitus strode forth, exulting in his burnished arms

(Him Dryope, the nymph, to Faunus bore), and dared oppose Aeneas' rage. But he drew back his lance and, charging, crushed at once corselet and ponderous shield; then off he struck the supplicating head, which seemed in vain preparing speech; while o'er the reeking corpse the victor stood, and thrusting it away spoke thus with wrathful soul: “Now lie thou there, thou fearsome sight! No noble mother's hand shall hide thee in the ground, or give those limbs to their ancestral tomb. Thou shalt be left to birds of ravin; or go drifting far along yon river to engulfing seas, where starving fishes on those wounds shall feed.”

Antceus next and Lucas he pursues, though all in Turnus' van; and Numa bold and Camers tawny-tressed, the son and heir of Volscens the stout-hearted, whose domain surpassed the richest of Ausonia's lords, when over hushed Amyclae he was king.

Like old Aegaeon of the hundred arms, the hundred-handed, from whose mouths and breasts blazed fifty fiery blasts, as he made war with fifty sounding shields and fifty swords against Jove's thunder;—so Aeneas raged victorious o'er the field, when once his steel warmed to its work. But lo, he turns him now where come Niphaeus' bold-advancing wheels and coursers four, who, when at furious speed they faced his giant stride and dreadful cry, upreared in panic, and reversing spilled their captain to the ground, and bore away the chariot to the river's distant shore.

Meanwhile, with two white coursers to their car, the brothers Lucagus and Liger drove into the heart of battle: Liger kept with skilful hand the manage of the steeds;

bold Lucagus swung wide his naked sword.

Aeneas, by their wrathful brows defied, brooked not the sight, but to the onset flew, huge-looming, with adverse and threatening spear.

Cried Liger, “Not Achilles' chariot, ours!

Nor team of Diomed on Phrygia 's plain!

The last of life and strife shall be thy meed upon this very ground.” Such raving word flowed loud from Liger's lip: not with a word the Trojan hero answered him, but flung his whirling spear; and even as Lucagus leaned o'er the horses, goading them with steel, and, left foot forward, gathered all his strength to strike—the spear crashed through the under rim of his resplendent shield and entered deep in the left groin; then from the chariot fallen, the youth rolled dying on the field, while thus pious Aeneas paid him taunting words:

“O Lucagus, thy chariot did not yield because of horses slow to fly, or scared by shadows of a foe. It was thyself leaped o'er the wheel and fled.” So saying, he grasped the horses by the rein. The brother then, spilled also from the car, reached wildly forth his helpless hands: “O, by thy sacred head, and by the parents who such greatness gave, good Trojan, let me live! Some pity show to prostrate me!” But ere he longer sued,

Aeneas cried, “Not so thy language ran a moment gone! Die thou! Nor let this day brother from brother part!” Then where the life hides in the bosom, he thrust deep his sword.

Thus o'er the field of war the Dardan King moved on, death-dealing: like a breaking flood or cloudy whirlwind seemed his wrath. Straightway the boy Ascanius from the ramparts came, his warriors with him; for the siege had failed.

Now Jupiter to Juno thus began:

“O ever-cherished spouse and sister dear, surely 't is Venus—as thy mind misgave— whose favor props—O, what discernment thine!

Yon Trojan power; not swift heroic hands, or souls of fury facing perilous war!”

Juno made meek reply: “O noblest spouse!

Why vex one sick at heart, who humbly fears thy stern command? If I could claim to-day what once I had, my proper right and due, love's induence, I should not plead in vain to thee, omnipotent, to give me power to lead off Turnus from the fight unscathed, and save him at his father Daunus' prayer.

Aye, let him die! And with his loyal blood the Teucrians' vengeance feed! Yet he derives from our Saturnian stem, by fourth remove sprung from Pilumnus. Oft his liberal hands have heaped unstinted offering at thy shrine.”

Thus in few words th' Olympian King replied:

“If for the fated youth thy prayer implores delay and respite of impending doom, if but so far thou bidst me interpose,— go—favor Turnus' flight, and keep him safe in this imperilled hour; I may concede such boon. But if thy pleading words intend some larger grace, and fain would touch or change the issue of the war, then art thou fed on expectation vain.” With weeping eyes

Juno made answer: “Can it be thy mind gives what thy words refuse, and Turnus' life, if rescued, may endure? Yet afterward some cruel close his guiltless day shall see— or far from truth I stray! O, that I were the dupe of empty fears! and O, that thou wouldst but refashion to some happier end the things by thee begun—for thou hast power!”

She ceased; and swiftly from the peak of heaven moved earthward, trailing cloud-wrack through the air, and girdled with the storm. She took her way to where Troy 's warriors faced Laurentum's line.

There of a hollow cloud the goddess framed a shape of airy, unsubstantial shade,

Aeneas' image, wonderful to see, and decked it with a Dardan lance and shield, a crested helmet on the godlike head;

and windy words she gave of soulless sound, and motion like a stride—such shapes, they say, the hovering phantoms of the dead put on, or empty dreams which cheat our slumbering eyes.

Forth to the front of battle this vain shade stalked insolent, and with its voice and spear challenged the warrior. At it Turnus flew, and hurled a hissing spear with distant aim;

the thing wheeled round and fled. The foe forthwith, thinking Aeneas vanquished, with blind scorn flattered his own false hope: “Where wilt thou fly,

Aeneas? Wilt thou break a bridegroom's word?

This sword will give thee title to some land thou hast sailed far to find!” So clamoring loud he followed, flashing far his naked sword;

nor saw the light winds waft his dream away.

By chance in covert of a lofty crag a ship stood fastened and at rest; her sides showed ready bridge and stairway; she had brought

Osinius, king of Clusium. Thither came

Aeneas' counterfeit of flight and fear, and dropped to darkness. Turnus, nothing loth, gave close chase, overleaping every bar, and scaling the high bridge; but scarce he reached the vessel's prow, when Juno cut her loose, the cables breaking, and along swift waves pushed her to sea. Yet in that very hour

Aeneas to the battle vainly called the vanished foe, and round his hard-fought path stretched many a hero dead. No longer now the mocking shadow sought to hide, but soared visibly upward and was Iost in cloud, while Turnus drifted o'er the waters wide before the wind. Bewildered and amazed he looked around him; little joy had he in his own safety, but upraised his hands in prayer to Heaven: “O Sire omnipotent!

Didst thou condemn me to a shame like this?

Such retribution dire? Whither now?

Whence came I here? What panic wafts away this Turnus—if 't is he? Shall I behold

Laurentum's towers once more? But what of those my heroes yonder, who took oath to me, and whom—O sin and shame!—I have betrayed to horrible destruction? Even now

I see them routed, and my ears receive their dying groans. What is this thing I do?

Where will the yawning earth crack wide enough beneath my feet? Ye tempests, pity me!

On rocks and reef—'t is Turnus' faithful prayer, let this bark founder; fling it on the shoals of wreckful isles, where no Rutulian eye can follow me, or Rumor tell my shame.”

With such wild words his soul tossed to and fro, not knowing if to hide his infamy with his own sword and madly drive its blade home to his heart, or cast him in the sea, and, swimming to the rounded shore, renew his battle with the Trojan foe. Three times each fatal course he tried; but Juno's power three times restrained, and with a pitying hand the warrior's purpose barred. So on he sped o'er yielding waters and propitious tides, far as his father Daunus' ancient town.

At Jove's command Mezentius, breathing rage, now takes the field and leads a strong assault against victorious Troy. The Tuscan ranks meet round him, and press hard on him alone, on him alone with vengeance multiplied their host of swords they draw. As some tall cliff, projecting to the sea, receives the rage of winds and waters, and untrembling bears vast, frowning enmity of seas and skies,— so he. First Dolichaon's son he slew,

Hebrus; then Latagus and Palmus, though they fled amain; he smote with mighty stone torn from the mountain, full upon the face of Latagus; and Palmus he let lie hamstrung and rolling helpless; he bestowed the arms on his son Lausus for a prize, another proud crest in his helm to wear;

he laid the Phrygian Euanthus Iow;

and Mimas, Paris' comrade, just his age,— born of Theano's womb to Amycus his sire, that night when royal Hecuba, teeming with firebrand, gave Paris birth:

one in the city of his fathers sleeps;

and one, inglorious, on Laurentian strand.

As when a wild boar, harried from the hills by teeth of dogs (one who for many a year was safe in pine-clad Vesulus, or roamed the meres of Tiber, feeding in the reeds)

falls in the toils at last, and stands at bay, raging and bristling, and no hunter dares defy him or come near, but darts are hurled from far away, with cries unperilous:

not otherwise, though righteous is their wrath against Mezentius, not a man so bold as face him with drawn sword, but at long range they throw their shafts and with loud cries assail;

he, all unterrified, makes frequent stand, gnashing his teeth, and shaking off their spears.

From ancient Corythus had Acron come, a Greek, who left half-sung his wedding-song, and was an exile; him Mezentius saw among long lines of foes, with flaunting plumes and purple garments from his plighted spouse.

Then as a starving lion when he prowls about high pasture-lands, urged on his way by maddening hunger (if perchance he see a flying she-goat or tall-antlered stag)

lifts up his shaggy mane, and gaping wide his monstrous jaws, springs at the creature's side, feeding foul-lipped, insatiable of gore:

so through his gathered foes Mezentius flew at his prey. He stretched along the ground ill-fated Acron, who breathed life away, beating the dark dust with his heels, and bathed his broken weapons in his blood. Nor deigned

Mezentius to strike Orodes down as he took flight, nor deal a wound unseen with far-thrown spear; but ran before his face, fronting him man to man, nor would he win by sleight or trick, but by a mightier sword.

Soon on the fallen foe he set his heel, and, pushing hard, with heel and spear, cried out:

“Look ye, my men, where huge Orodes lies, himself a dangerous portion of this war!”

With loyal, Ioud acclaim his peers reply;

but thus the dying hero: “Victor mine, whoe'er thou art, I fall not unavenged!

Thou shalt but triumph for a fleeting hour.

Like doom for thee is written. Speedily thou shalt this dust inhabit, even as I!”

Mezentius answered him with wrathful smile:

“Now die! What comes on me concerns alone the Sire of gods and Sovereign of mankind.”

So saying, from the wounded breast he plucked his javelin: and on those eyes there fell inexorable rest and iron slumber, and in unending night their vision closed.

Then Caedicus cut down Alcathous,

Sacrator slew Hydaspes, Rapo smote

Parthenius and Orses stout and strong;

Messapus, good blade cut down Clonius and Ericetes, fierce Lycaon's child;

the one from an unbridled war-horse thrown, the other slain dismounted. Then rode forth

Agis the Lycian, but bold Valerus, true to his valiant breeding, hurled him down;

having slain Thronius, Salius was slain by skilled Nealces, of illustrious name for spear well cast and far-surprising bow.

Thus Mars relentless holds in equal scale slaughters reciprocal and mutual woe;

the victors and the vanquished kill or fall in equal measure; neither knows the way to yield or fly. Th' Olympians Iook down out of Jove's house, and pity as they see the unavailing wrath of either foe, and burdens measureless on mortals laid.

Lo! Venus here, Saturnian Juno yon, in anxious watch; while pale Tisiphone moves on infuriate through the battling lines.

On strode Mezentius o'er the gory plain, and swollen with rage waved wide-his awful spear.

Like tall Orion when on foot he goes trough the deep sea and lifts his shoulders high above the waves; or when he takes his path along the mountain-tops, and has for staff an aged ash-tree, as he fixes firm his feet in earth and hides his brows in cloud;— so Ioomed Mezentius with his ponderous arms.

To match him now, Aeneas, Iooking down the long array of war, came forth in arms to challenge and defy. But quailing not, a mass immovable, the other stood waiting his noble foe, and with a glance measured to cast his spear the space between.

“May this right hand“, he said, “and this swift spear which here I poise, be favoring gods for me!

The spoils from yonder robber's carcase stripped

I vow to hang on thee, my Lausus, thou shalt stand for trophy of Aeneas slain.”

He said, and hurled from far the roaring spear, which from the shield glanced off, and speeding still smote famed Antores 'twixt the loin and side— antores, friend of Hercules, who came from Argos, and had joined Evander's cause, abiding in Italia. Lo, a wound meant for another pierced him, and he lay, ill-fated! Iooking upward to the light, and dreaming of dear Argos as he died.

Then good Aeneas hurled his spear; it passed through hollow orb of triple bronze, and through layers of flax and triple-twisted hides;

then in the lower groin it lodged, but left its work undone. Aeneas, not ill-pleased to see the Tuscan wounded, swiftly drew the falchion from his thigh, and hotly pressed his startled foe. But Lausus at the sight groaned loud, so much he loved his father dear, and tears his cheek bedewed. O storied youth!

If olden worth may win believing ear, let not my song now fail of thee to sing, thy noble deeds, thy doom of death and pain!

Mezentius, now encumbered and undone, fell backward, trailing from the broken shield his foeman's spear. His son leaped wildly forth to join the fray; and where Aeneas' hand lifted to strike, he faced the thrusting sword and gave the hero pause. His comrades raised applauding cries, as shielded by his son the father made retreat; their darts they hurl, and vex with flying spears the distant foe:

Aeneas, wrathful, stands beneath his shield.

As when the storm-clouds break in pelting hail, the swains and ploughmen from the furrows fly, and every traveller cowers in sure defence of river-bank or lofty shelving crag, while far and wide it pours; and by and by, each, when the sun returns, his task pursues:

so great Aeneas, by assault o'erwhelmed, endured the cloud of battle, till its rage thundered no more; then with a warning word to Lausus with upbraiding voice he called:

“Why, O death-doomed, rush on to deeds too high for strength like thine. Thou art betrayed, rash boy, by thine own loyal heart!” But none the less the youth made mad defence; while fiercer burned the Trojan's anger; and of Lausus' days the loom of Fate spun forth the last thin thread;

for now Aeneas thrust his potent blade deep through the stripling's breast and out of sight;

through the light shield it passed—a frail defence to threaten with!—and through the tunic fine his mother's hand had wrought with softest gold:

blood filled his bosom, and on path of air down to the shades the mournful soul withdrew, its body quitting. As Anchises' son beheld the agonizing lips and brow so wondrous white in death, he groaned aloud in pity, and reached o'er him his right hand, touched to the heart such likeness to behold of his own filial love. “Unhappy boy!

What reward worthy of heroic deeds can I award thee now? Wear still those arms so proudly worn! And I will send thee home

(Perhaps thou carest!) to the kindred shades and ashes of thy sires. But let it be some solace in thy pitiable doom that none but great Aeneas wrought thy fall.”

Then to the stripling's tardy followers he sternly called, and lifted from the earth with his own hand the fallen foe: dark blood defiled those princely tresses braided fair.

Meanwhile Mezentius by the Tiber 's wave with water staunched his wound, and propped his weight against a tree; upon its limbs above his brazen helmet hung, and on the sward his ponderous arms lay resting. Round him watched his chosen braves. He, gasping and in pain, clutched at his neck and let his flowing beard loose on his bosom fall; he questions oft of Lausus, and sends many a messenger to bid him back, and bear him the command of his sore-grieving sire. But lo! his peers bore the dead Lausus back upon his shield, and wept to see so strong a hero quelled by stroke so strong. From long way off the sire, with soul prophetic of its woe, perceived what meant their wail and cry. On his gray hairs the dust he flung, and, stretching both his hands to heaven, he cast himself the corpse along.

“O son,” he cried, “was life to me so sweet, that I to save myself surrendered o'er my own begotten to a foeman's steel?

Saved by these gashes shall thy father be, and living by thy death? O wretched me, how foul an end have I! Now is my wound deep! deep! 't was I, dear son, have stained thy name with infamy—to exile driven from sceptre and hereditary throne by general curse. Would that myself had borne my country's vengeance and my nation's hate!

Would my own guilty life my debt had paid— yea, by a thousand deaths! But, see, I live!

Not yet from human kind and light of day have I departed. But depart I will.”

So saying, he raised him on his crippled thigh, and though by reason of the grievous wound his forces ebbed, yet with unshaken mien he bade them lead his war-horse forth, his pride, his solace, which from every war victorious bore him home. The master then to the brave beast, which seemed to know his pain, spoke thus: “My Rhoebus, we have passed our days long time together, if long time there be for mortal creatures. Either on this day thou shalt his bloody spoils in triumph bear and that Aeneas' head,—and so shalt be avenger of my Lausus' woe; or else, if I be vanquished, thou shalt sink and fall beside me. For, my bravest, thou wouldst spurn a stranger's will, and Teucrian lords to bear.”

He spoke and, mounting to his back, disposed his limbs the wonted way and filled both hands with pointed javelins; a helm of brass with shaggy horse-hair crest gleamed o'er his brow.

Swift to the front he rode: a mingled flood surged in his heart of sorrow, wrath, and shame;

and thrice with loud voice on his foe he called.

Aeneas heard and made exulting vow:

“Now may the Father of the gods on high, and great Apollo hear! Begin the fray!”

He said, and moved forth with a threatening spear.

The other cried: “Hast robbed me of my son, and now, implacable, wouldst fright me more?

That way, that only, was it in thy power to cast me down. No fear of death I feel.

Nor from thy gods themselves would I refrain.

Give o'er! For fated and resolved to die

I come thy way: but; bring thee as I pass these offerings.” With this he whirled a spear against his foe, and after it drove deep another and another, riding swift in wide gyration round him. But the shield, the golden boss, broke not. Three times he rode in leftward circles, hurling spear on spear against th' unmoved Aeneas: and three times the Trojan hero in his brazen shield the sheaf of spears upbore. But such slow fight, such plucking of spent shafts from out his shield, the Trojan liked not, vexed and sorely tried in duel so ill-matched. With wrathful soul at length he strode forth, and between the brows of the wild war-horse planted his Iong spear.

Up reared the creature, beating at the air with quivering feet, then o'er his fallen lord entangling dropped, and prone above him lay, pinning with ponderous shoulder to the ground.

The Trojans and the Latins rouse the skies with clamor Ioud. Aeneas hastening forth unsheathes his sword, and looming o'er him cries:

“Where now is fierce Mezentius, and his soul's wild pulse of rage?” The Tuscan in reply with eyes uprolled, and gasping as he gave long looks at heaven, recalled his fading mind:

“Why frown at me and fume, O bitterest foe?

Why threaten death? To slay me is no sin.

Not to take quarter came I to this war, not truce with thee did my lost Lausus crave, yet this one boon I pray,—if mercy be for fallen foes: O, suffer me when dead in covering earth to hide! Full well I know what curses of my people ring me round.

Defend me from that rage! I pray to be my son's companion in our common tomb.”

He spoke: then offered with unshrinking eye his veined throat to the sword. O'er the bright mail his vital breath gushed forth in streaming gore.