Book 12

When Turnus marks how much the Latins quail in adverse war, how on himself they call to keep his pledge, and with indignant eyes gaze all his way, fierce rage implacable swells his high heart. As when on Libyan plain a lion, gashed along his tawny breast by the huntsman's grievous thrust, awakens him unto his last grim fight, and gloriously shaking the great thews of his maned neck, shrinks not, but crushes the despoiler's spear with blood-sprent, roaring mouth,—not less than so burns the wild soul of Turnus and his ire.

Thus to the King he spoke with stormful brow:

“The war lags not for Turnus' sake. No cause constrains the Teucrian cowards and their King to eat their words and what they pledged refuse.

On his own terms I come. Bring forward, sire, the sacrifice, and seal the pact I swear:

either to deepest hell this hand shall fling yon Trojan runaway—the Latins all may sit at ease and see!—and my sole sword efface the general shame; or let him claim the conquest, and Lavinia be his bride.”

To him Latinus with unruffled mind thus made reply: “O youth surpassing brave!

The more thy sanguinary valor burns beyond its wont, the more with toilsome care

I ponder with just fear what chance may fall, weighing it well. Thy father Daunus' throne, and many a city by thy sword subdued, are still thy own. Latinus also boasts much golden treasure and a liberal hand.

Other unwedded maids of noble stem in Latium and Laurentine land are found.

Permit me, then, to tell thee without guile things hard to utter; let them deeply fill thy listening soul. My sacred duty 'twas to plight my daughter's hand to nonesoe'er of all her earlier wooers—so declared the gods and oracles; but overcome by love of thee, by thy dear, kindred blood, and by the sad eyes of my mournful Queen,

I shattered every bond; I snatched away the plighted maiden from her destined lord, and took up impious arms. What evil case upon that deed ensued, what hapless wars, thou knowest, since thyself dost chiefly bear the cruel burden. In wide-ranging fight twice-conquered, our own city scarce upholds the hope of Italy. Yon Tiber 's wave still runs warm with my people's blood; the plains far round us glisten with their bleaching bones.

Why tell it o'er and o'er? What maddening dream perverts my mind? If after Turnus slain

I must for friendship of the Trojan sue, were it not better to suspend the fray while Turnus lives? For what will be the word of thy Rutulian kindred—yea, of all

Italia, if to death I give thee o'er—

(Which Heaven avert!) because thou fain wouldst win my daughter and be sworn my friend and son?

Bethink thee what a dubious work is war;

have pity on thy father's reverend years, who even now thy absence daily mourns in Ardea, his native land and thine.”

But to this pleading Turnus' frenzied soul yields not at all, but rather blazes forth more wildly, and his fever fiercer burns beneath the healer's hand. In answer he, soon as his passion gathered voice, began:

“This keen solicitude for love of me,

I pray, good sire, for love of me put by!

And let me traffic in the just exchange of death for glory. This right hand, O King, can scatter shafts not few, nor do I wield untempered steel. Whene'er I make a wound blood follows. For my foeman when we meet will find no goddess-mother near, with hand to hide him in her woman's skirt of cloud, herself in dim, deluding shade concealed.”

But now the Queen, whose whole heart shrank in fear from these new terms of duel, wept aloud, and like one dying clasped her fiery son:

“O Turnus, by these tears-if in thy heart thou honorest Amata still—O thou who art of our distressful, dark old age the only hope and peace, the kingly name and glory of Latinus rests in thee;

thou art the mighty prop whereon is stayed our falling house. One favor I implore:

give o'er this fight with Trojans. In such strife thy destined doom is destined to be mine by the same fatal stroke. For in that hour this hated life shall cease, nor will I look with slave's eyes on Aeneas as my son.”

Lavinia heard her mother's voice, and tears o'erflowed her scarlet cheek, where blushes spread like flame along her warm, young face and brow:

as when the Indian ivory must wear ensanguined crimson stain, or lilies pale mingled with roses seem to blush, such hues her virgin features bore; and love's desire disturbed his breast, as, gazing on the maid, his martial passion fiercer flamed; whereon in brief speech he addressed the Queen: “No tears!

No evil omen, mother, I implore!

Make me no sad farewells, as I depart to the grim war-god's game! Can Turnus' hand delay death's necessary coming? Go,

Idmon, my herald, to the Phrygian King, and tell him this—a word not framed to please:

soon as Aurora from her crimson car flushes to-morrow's sky, let him no more against the Rutule lead the Teucrian line;

let Teucrian swords and Rutule take repose, while with our own spilt blood we twain will make an end of war; on yonder mortal field let each man woo Lavinia for his bride.”

So saying, he hied him to his lordly halls, summoned his steeds, and with pleased eye surveyed their action proud: them Orithyia, bride of Boreas, to Sire Pilumnus gave, which in their whiteness did surpass the snow in speed the wind. The nimble charioteers stood by and smote with hollowed hand and palm the sounding chests, or combed the necks and manes.

But he upon his kingly shoulders clasped his corselet, thick o'erlaid with blazoned gold and silvery orichalch; he fitted him with falchion, shield, and helm of purple plume, that falchion which the Lord of Fire had made for Daunus, tempering in the Stygian wave when white it glowed; next grasped he the good spear which leaned its weight against a column tall in the mid-court, Auruncan Actor's spoil, and waved it wide in air with mighty cry:

“O spear, that ne'er did fail me when I called, the hour is come! Once mighty Actor's hand, but now the hand of Turnus is thy lord.

Grant me to strike that carcase to the ground, and with strong hand the corselet rip and rend from off that Phrygian eunuch: let the dust befoul those tresses, tricked to curl so fine with singeing steel and sleeked with odorous oil.”

Such frenzy goads him: his impassioned brow is all on flame, the wild eyes flash with fire.

Thus, bellowing loud before the fearful fray, some huge bull proves the fury of his horns, pushing against a tree-trunk; his swift thrusts would tear the winds in pieces; while his hoofs toss up the turf and sand, rehearsing war.

That self-same day with aspect terrible

Aeneas girt him in the wondrous arms his mother gave; made sharp his martial steel, and roused his heart to ire; though glad was he to seal such truce and end the general war.

Then he spoke comfort to his friends; and soothed

Iulus' fear, unfolding Heaven's intent;

but on Latinus bade his heralds lay unyielding terms and laws of peace impose.

Soon as the breaking dawn its glory threw along the hills, and from the sea's profound leaped forth the horses of the sun-god's car, from lifted nostrils breathing light and fire, then Teucrian and Rutulian measured out a place for duel, underneath the walls of the proud city. In the midst were set altars of turf and hearth-stones burning bright in honor of their common gods. Some brought pure waters and the hallowed flame, their thighs in priestly skirt arrayed, and reverend brows with vervain bound. Th' Ausonians, spear in hand, out from the city's crowded portals moved in ordered column: next the Trojans all, with Tuscan host in various martial guise, equipped with arms of steel, as if they heard stern summons to the fight. Their captains, too, emerging from the multitude, in pride of gold and purple, hurried to and fro:

Mnestheus of royal stem, Asilas brave;

and Neptune's offspring, tamer of the steed,

Messapus. Either host, at signal given, to its own ground retiring, fixed in earth the long shafts of the spears and stacked the shields.

Then eagerly to tower and rampart fly the women, the infirm old men, the throng of the unarmed, and sit them there at gaze, or on the columned gates expectant stand.

But Juno, peering from that summit proud which is to-day the Alban (though that time nor name nor fame the hallowed mountain knew), surveyed the plain below and fair array of Trojan and Laurentine, by the walls of King Latinus. Whereupon straightway with Turnus' sister she began converse, goddess with goddess; for that nymph divine o'er Alba's calm lakes and loud rivers reigns;

Jove, the high monarch of th' ethereal sky, gave her such glory when he stole away her virgin zone. “O nymph“, she said, “who art the pride of flowing streams, and much beloved of our own heart! thou knowest thou alone hast been my favorite of those Latin maids that to proud Jove's unthankful bed have climbed;

and willingly I found thee place and share in our Olympian realm. So blame not me, but hear, Juturna, what sore grief is thine:

while chance and destiny conceded aught of strength to Latium 's cause, I shielded well both Turnus and thy city's wall; but now

I see our youthful champion make his war with fates adverse. The Parcae's day of doom implacably impends. My eyes refuse to Iook upon such fight, such fatal league.

If for thy brother's life thou couldst be bold to venture some swift blow, go, strike it now!

'T is fit and fair! Some issue fortunate may tread on sorrow's heel.” She scarce had said, when rained the quick tears from Juturna's eyes.

Three times and yet again her desperate hand smote on her comely breast. But Juno cried,

“No tears to-day! But haste thee, haste and find what way, if way there be, from clutch of death to tear thy brother free; arouse the war;

their plighted peace destroy. I grant thee leave such boldness to essay.” With this command she left the nymph dismayed and grieving sore.

Meanwhile the kings ride forth: Latinus first, looming tall-statured from his four-horse car;

twelve rays of gold encircle his bright brow, sign of the sun-god, his progenitor;

next Turnus, driving snow-white steeds, is seen,— two bread-tipped javelins in his hand he bears;

Aeneas, of Rome 's blood the source and sire, with star-bright shield and panoply divine, far-shining comes; Ascanius by his side— of Roman greatness the next hope is he.

To camp they rode, where, garbed in blameless white, with youngling swine and two-year sheep unshorn, the priest before the flaming altars drove his flock and offering: to the rising sun all eyes are lifted, as with careful hand the salted meal is scattered, while with knives they mark each victim's brow, outpouring wine from shallow bowls, the sacrifice to bless.

Then good Aeneas, his sword drawn, put forth this votive prayer: “O Sun in heaven; and thou,

Italia, for whom such toils I bear, be witness of my orison. On thee,

Father omnipotent, I call; on thee, his Queen Saturnia,—now may she be more gracious to my prayer! O glorious Mars, beneath whose godhead and paternity all wars begin and end, on thee I call;

hail, all ye river-gods and haunted springs;

hail, whatsoever gods have seat of awe in yonder distant sky, and ye whose power is in the keeping of the deep, blue sea:

if victory to Ausonian Turnus fall, then let my vanquished people take its way unto Evander's city! From these plains

Iulus shall retire—so stands the bond;

nor shall the Trojans with rebellious sword bring after-trouble on this land and King.

But if on arms of ours success shall shine, as I doubt not it shall (may gods on high their will confirm!), I purpose not to chain

Italian captive unto Teucrian lord, nor seek I kingly power. Let equal laws unite in federation without end the two unconquered nations; both shall share my worshipped gods. Latinus, as my sire, shall keep his sword, and as my sire receive inviolable power. The Teucrians shall build my stronghold, but our citadel shall bear forevermore Lavinia's name.”

Aeneas thus: then with uplifted eyes

Latinus swore, his right hand raised to heaven:

“I too, Aeneas, take the sacred vow.

By earth and sea and stars in heaven I swear, by fair Latona's radiant children twain, and two-browed Janus; by the shadowy powers of Hades and th' inexorable shrines of the Infernal King; and may Jove hear, who by his lightnings hallows what is sworn!

I touch these altars, and my lips invoke the sacred altar-fires that 'twixt us burn:

we men of Italy will make this peace inviolate, and its bond forever keep, let come what will; there is no power can change my purpose, not if ocean's waves o'erwhelm the world in billowy deluge and obscure the bounds of heaven and hell. We shall remain immutable as my smooth sceptre is“

(By chance a sceptre in his hand he bore),

“which wears no more light leaf or branching shade;

for long since in the grove 't was plucked away from parent stem, and yielded to sharp steel its leaves and limbs; erewhile 't was but a tree, till the wise craftsman with fair sheath of bronze encircled it and laid it in the hands of Latium 's royal sires.” With words like these they swore the bond, in the beholding eyes of gathered princes. Then they slit the throats of hallowed victims o'er the altar's blaze, drew forth the quivering vitals, and with flesh on loaded chargers heaped the sacrifice.

But to Rutulian eyes th' approaching joust seemed all ill-matched; and shifting hopes and fears disturbed their hearts the closer they surveyed th' unequal risks: still worse it was to see how Turnus, silent and with downcast eyes, dejectedly drew near the place of prayer, worn, pale, and wasted in his youthful bloom.

The nymph Juturna, with a sister's fear, noted the growing murmur, and perceived how all the people's will did shift and change;

she went from rank to rank, feigning the shape of Camers, scion of illustrious line, with heritage of valor, and himself dauntless in war; unceasingly she ran from rank to rank, spreading with skilful tongue opinions manifold, and thus she spoke:

“Will ye not blush, Rutulians, so to stake one life for many heroes? Are we not their match in might and numbers? O, behold those Trojan sons of Heaven making league with exiled Arcady; see Tuscan hordes storming at Turnus. Yet we scarce could find one foe apiece, forsooth, if we should dare fight them with half our warriors. Of a truth your champion brave shall to those gods ascend before whose altars his great heart he vows;

and lips of men while yet on earth he stays will spread his glory far. Ourselves, instead, must crouch to haughty masters, and resign this fatherland upon whose fruitful fields we dwell at ease.” So speaking, she inflamed the warriors' minds, and through the legions ran increasing whisper; the Laurentine host and even Latium wavered. Those who late prayed but for rest and safety, clamored loud for arms, desired annulment of the league, and pitied Turnus' miserable doom.

Whereon Juturna tried a mightier stroke, a sign from heaven, which more than all beside confused the Latins and deceived their hearts with prodigy. For through the flaming skies

Jove's golden eagle swooped, and scattered far a clamorous tribe of river-haunting birds;

then, swiftly to the waters falling, seized one noble swan, which with keen, curving claws he ruthless bore away: th' Italians all watched eagerly, while the loud-screaming flock wheeled upward (wondrous sight!), with host of wings shadowed the sky, and in a legion-cloud chased through the air the foe; till, overborne by heavier odds, the eagle from his claws flung back his victim to the waves, and fled to the dim, distant heaven. The Rutules then hailed the good omen with consenting cry, and grasped the sword and shield. Tolumnius the augur spake first: “Lo, the sign I sought with many a prayer! I welcome and obey the powers divine. Take me for captain, me!

And draw your swords, ye wretches, whom th' assault of yonder foreign scoundrel puts in fear like feeble birds, and with his violence lays waste your shore. He too shall fly away, spreading his ships' wings on the distant seas.

Close up your ranks—one soul in all our breasts!

Defend in open war your stolen King.”

So saying, he hurled upon th' opposing foe his javelin, running forward. The strong shaft of corner whistled shrill, and clove the air unerring. Instantly vast clamor rose, and all th' onlookers at the spectacle leaped up amazed, and every heart beat high.

The spear sped flying to the foeman's line, where stood nine goodly brethren, pledges all of one true Tuscan mother to her lord,

Gylippus of Arcadia; it struck full on one of these at his gold-belted waist, and where the clasp clung, pierced the rib clean through.

And stretched the fair youth in his glittering arms full length and lifeless on the yellow sand.

His brothers then, bold band to wrath aroused by sorrow, seize the sword or snatch the spear and blindly charge. Opposing them, the host

Laurentine makes advance, and close-arrayed the Trojans like a torrent pour, enforced by Tuscans and the gay-accoutred clans of Arcady. One passion moved in all to try the judgment of the sword. They tore the altars down: a very storm of spears rose angrily to heaven, in iron rain down-pouring: while the priests bore far away the sacrificial bowls and sacred fires.

Even Latinus fled; his stricken gods far from his violated oath he bore.

Some leaped to horse or chariot and rode with naked swords in air. Messapus, wild to break the truce, assailed the Tuscan King,

Aulestes, dressed in kingly blazon fair, with fearful shock of steeds; the Tuscan dropped helplessly backward, striking as he fell his head and shoulders on the altar-stone that lay behind him. But Messapus flew, infuriate, a javelin in his hand, and, towering o'er the suppliant, smote him strong with the great beam-like spear, and loudly cried:

“Down with him! Ah! no common victim he to give the mighty gods!” Italia 's men despoiled the dead man ere his limbs were cold.

Then Corynaeus snatched a burning brand out of the altar, and as Ebysus came toward him for to strike, he hurled the flame full in his face: the big beard quickly blazed with smell of singeing; while the warrior bold strode over him, and seized with firm left hand his quailing foe's Iong hair; then with one knee he pushed and strained, compelled him to the `ground— and struck straight at his heart with naked steel.

The shepherd Alsus in the foremost line came leaping through the spears; when o'er him towered huge Podalirius with a flashing sword in close pursuit; the mighty battle-axe clove him with swinging stroke from brow to chin, and spilt along his mail the streaming gore:

so stern repose and iron slumber fell upon that shepherd's eyes, and sealed their gaze in endless night. But good Aeneas now stretched forth his unarmed hand, and all unhelmed thus Ioudly to his people called: “What means this frantic stir, this quarrel rashly bold?

Recall your martial rage! The pledge is given and all its terms agreed. 'T is only I do lawful battle here. So let me forth, and tremble not. My own hand shall confirm the solemn treaty. For these rites consign

Turnus to none but me.” Yet while he spoke, behold, a winged arrow, hissing loud, the hero pierced; but what bold hand impelled its whirling speed, none knew; nor if it were chance or some power divine that brought this fame upon Rutulia; for the glorious deed was covered o'er with silence: none would boast an arrow guilty of Aeneas' wound.

When Turnus saw Aeneas from the line retreating, and the captains in dismay, with sudden hope he burned: he called for steeds, for arms, and, leaping to his chariot, rode insolently forth, the reins in hand.

Many strong heroes he dispatched to die, as on he flew, and many stretched half-dead, or from his chariot striking, or from far raining his javelins on the recreant foe.

As Mars, forth-speeding by the wintry stream of Hebrus, smites his sanguinary shield and whips the swift steeds to the front of war, who, flying past the winds of eve and morn, scour the wide champaign; the bounds of Thrace beneath their hoof-beats thunder; the dark shapes of Terror, Wrath, and Treachery move on in escort of the god: in such grim guise bold Turnus lashed into the fiercest fray his streaming steeds, that pitiful to see trod down the slaughtered foe; each flying hoof scattered a bloody dew; their path was laid in mingled blood and sand. To death he flung

Pholus and Sthenelus and Thamyris:

two smitten in close fight and one from far:

also from far he smote with fatal spear

Glaucus and Lades, the Imbrasidae, whom Imbrasus himself in Lycia bred, and honored them with arms of equal skill when grappling with a foe, or o'er the field speeding a war-horse faster than the wind.

Elsewhere Eumedes through a throng of foes to battle rode, the high-born Dolon's child, famous in war, who bore his grandsire's name, but seemed in might and courage like his sire:

that prince, who reconnoitring crept so near the Argive camp, he dared to claim for spoil the chariot of Achilles; but that day great Diomed for such audacious deed paid wages otherwise,—and he no more dreamed to possess the steeds of Peleus' son.

When Turnus recognized in open field this warrior, though far, he aimed and flung his javelin through the spacious air; then stayed his coursers twain, and, leaping from his car, found the wretch helpless fallen; so planted he his foot upon his neck, and from his hand wrested the sword and thrust it glittering deep in the throat, thus taunting as he slew:

“There's land for thee, thou Trojan! Measure there th' Hesperian provinces thy sword would find.

Such reward will I give to all who dare draw steel on me; such cities they shall build.”

To bear him company his spear laid low

Asbutes, Sybaris, Thersilochus,

Chloreus and Dares, and Thymoetes thrown sheer off the shoulders of his balking steed.

As when from Thrace the north wind thunders down the vast Aegean, flinging the swift flood against the shore, and where his blasts assail the cloudy cohorts vanish out of heaven:

so before Turnus, where his path he clove, the lines fell back, the wheeling legions fled.

The warrior's own wild impulse swept him on, and every wind that o'er his chariot blew shook out his plume in air. But such advance so bold, so furious, Phegeus could not brook, but, fronting the swift chariot's path, he seized the foam-flecked bridles of its coursers wild, while from the yoke his body trailed and swung;

the broad lance found his naked side, and tore his double corselet, pricking lightly through the outer flesh; but he with lifted shield still fought his foe and thrust with falchion bare;

but the fierce pace of whirling wheel and pole flung him down prone, and stretched him on the plain.

Then Turnus, aiming with relentless sword between the corselet's edge and helmet's rim struck off his whole head, leaving on the sands the mutilated corpse. While thus afield victorious Turnus dealt out death and doom,

Mnestheus, Achates true, and by their side

Ascanius, have carried to the camp

Aeneas, gashed and bleeding, whose long lance sustained his limping step. With fruitless rage he struggled with the spear-head's splintered barb, and bade them help him by the swiftest way to carve the wound out with a sword, to rip the clinging weapon forth, and send him back to meet the battle. Quickly to his side came Iapyx, dear favorite and friend of Phoebus, upon whom the god bestowed his own wise craft and power, Iove-impelled.

The gifts of augury were given, and song, with arrows of swift wing: he when his sire was carried forth to die, deferred the doom for many a day, by herbs of virtue known to leechcraft; and without reward or praise his silent art he plied. Aeneas stood, bitterly grieving, propped upon his spear;

a throng of warriors were near him, and

Iulus, sorrowing. The aged man gathered his garments up as leeches do, and with skilled hand and Phoebus' herbs of power bustled in vain; in vain his surgery pried at the shaft, and with a forceps strong seized on the buried barb. But Fortune gave no remedy, nor did Apollo aid his votary. So more and more grim fear stalks o'er the field of war, and nearer hies the fatal hour; the very heavens are dust;

the horsemen charge, and in the midmost camp a rain of javelins pours. The dismal cry of men in fierce fight, and of men who fall beneath relentless Mars, rends all the air.

Then Venus, by her offspring's guiltless woe sore moved, did cull from Cretan Ida's crest some dittany, with downy leaf and stem and flowers of purple bloom—a simple known to mountain goats, when to their haunches clings an arrow gone astray. This Venus brought, mantling her shape in cloud; and this she steeped in bowls of glass, infusing secretly ambrosia's healing essence and sweet drops of fragrant panacea. Such a balm aged Iapyx poured upon the wound, though unaware; and sudden from the flesh all pain departed and the blood was staunched, while from the gash the arrow uncompelled followed the hand and dropped: his wonted strength flowed freshly through the hero's frame. “Make haste!

Bring forth his arms! Why tarry any more?”

Iapyx shouted, being first to fire their courage 'gainst the foe. “This thing is done not of man's knowledge, nor by sovereign skill;

nor has my hand, Aeneas, set thee free.

Some mighty god thy vigor gives again for mighty deeds.” Aeneas now put on, all fever for the fight, his golden greaves, and, brooking not delay, waved wide his spear.

Soon as the corselet and the shield were bound on back and side, he clasped Ascanius to his mailed breast, and through his helmet grim tenderly kissed his son. “My boy", he cried,

“What valor is and patient, genuine toil learn thou of me; let others guide thy feet to prosperous fortune. Let this hand and sword defend thee through the war and lead thee on to high rewards. Thou also play the man!

And when thy riper vigor soon shall bloom, forget not in thy heart to ponder well the story of our line. Heed honor's call, like Sire Aeneas and Hector thy close kin.”

After such farewell word, he from the gates in mighty stature strode, and swung on high his giant spear. With him in serried line

Antheus and Mnestheus moved, and all the host from the forsaken fortress poured. The plain was darkened with their dust; the startled earth shook where their footing fell. From distant hill

Turnus beheld them coming, and the eyes of all Ausonia saw: a chill of fear shot through each soldier's marrow; in their van

Juturna knew full well the dreadful sound, and fled before it, shuddering. But he hurried his murky cohorts o'er the plain.

As when a tempest from the riven sky drives landward o'er mid-ocean, and from far the hearts of husbandmen, foreboding woe, quake ruefully,—for this will come and rend their trees asunder, kill the harvests all, and sow destruction broadcast; in its path fly roaring winds, swift heralds of the storm:

such dire approach the Trojan chieftain showed before his gathered foes. In close array they wedge their ranks about him. With a sword

Thymbraeus cuts huge-limbed Osiris down;

Mnestheus, Arcetius; from Epulo

Achates shears the head; from Ufens, Gyas;

Tolumnius the augur falls, the same who flung the first spear to the foeman's line.

Uprose to heaven the cries. In panic now the Rutules in retreating clouds of dust scattered across the plain. Aeneas scorned either the recreant or resisting foe to slaughter, or the men who shoot from far:

for through the war-cloud he but seeks the arms of Turnus, and to single combat calls.

The warrior-maid Juturna, seeing this, distraught with terror, strikes down from his place

Metiscus, Turnus' charioteer, who dropped forward among the reins and off the pole.

Him leaving on the field, her own hand grasped the loosely waving reins, while she took on

Metiscus' shape, his voice, and blazoned arms.

As when through some rich master's spacious halls speeds the black swallow on her lightsome wing, exploring the high roof, or harvesting some scanty morsel for her twittering brood, round empty corridors or garden-pools noisily flitting: so Juturna roams among the hostile ranks, and wings her way behind the swift steeds of the whirling car.

At divers points she lets the people see her brother's glory, but not yet allows the final tug of war; her pathless flight keeps far away. Aeneas too must take a course circuitous, and follows close his foeman's track; Ioud o'er the scattered lines he shouts his challenge. But whene'er his eyes discern the foe, and fain he would confront the flying-footed steeds, Juturna veers the chariot round and flies. What can he do?

Aeneas' wrath storms vainly to and fro, and wavering purposes his heart divide.

Against him lightly leaped Messapus forth, bearing two pliant javelins tipped with steel;

and, whirling one in air, he aimed it well, with stroke unfailing. Great Aeneas paused in cover of his shield and crouched low down upon his haunches. But the driven spear battered his helmet's peak and plucked away the margin of his plume. Then burst his rage:

his cunning foes had forced him; so at last, while steeds and chariot in the distance fly, he plunged him in the fray, and called on Jove the altars of that broken oath to see.

Now by the war-god's favor he began grim, never-pitying slaughter, and flung free the bridle of his rage.

What voice divine such horror can make known? What song declare the bloodshed manifold, the princes slain, or flying o'er the field from Turnus' blade, or from the Trojan King? Did Jove ordain so vast a shock of arms should interpose

'twixt nations destined to perpetual bond?

Aeneas met the Rutule Sucro—thus staying the Trojan charge—and with swift blow struck at him sidewise, where the way of death is quickest, cleaving ribs and rounded side with reeking sword. Turnus met Amycus, unhorsed him, though himself afoot, and slew

Diores, his fair brother (one was pierced fronting the spear, the other felled to earth by strike of sword), and both their severed heads he hung all dripping to his chariot's rim.

But Talon, Tanais, and Cethegus brave, three in one onset, unto death went down at great Aeneas' hand; and he dispatched ill-starred Onites of Echion's line, fair Peridia's child. Then Turnus slew two Lycian brothers unto Phoebus dear, and young Menoetes, an Arcadian, who hated war (though vainly) when he plied his native fisher-craft in Lerna 's streams, where from his mean abode he ne'er went forth to wait at great men's doors, but with his sire reaped the scant harvest of a rented glebe.

as from two sides two conflagrations sweep dry woodlands or full copse of crackling bay, or as, swift-leaping from the mountain-vales, two flooded, foaming rivers seaward roar, each on its path of death, not less uproused, speed Turnus and Aeneas o'er the field;

now storms their martial rage; now fiercely swells either indomitable heart; and now each hero's full strength to the slaughter moves.

Behold Murranus, boasting his high birth from far-descended sires of storied name, the line of Latium 's kings! Aeneas now with mountain-boulder lays him low in dust, smitten with whirlwind of the monster stone;

and o'er him fallen under yoke and rein roll his own chariot wheels, while with swift tread the mad hoofs of his horses stamp him down, not knowing him their lord. But Turnus found proud Hyllus fronting him with frantic rage, and at his golden helmet launched the shaft that pierced it; in his cloven brain it clung.

Nor could thy sword, O Cretheus, save thee then from Turnus, though of bravest Greeks the peer;

nor did Cupencus' gods their priest defend against Aeneas, but his breast he gave unto the hostile blade; his brazen shield delayed no whit his miserable doom.

Thee also, Aeolus, Laurentum saw spread thy huge body dying on the ground;

yea, dying, thou whom Greeks in serried arms subdued not, nor Achilles' hand that hurled the throne of Priam down: here didst thou touch thy goal of death; one stately house was thine on Ida's mountain, at Lyrnessus, one;

Laurentum's hallowed earth was but thy grave.

Now the whole host contends; all Latium meets all Ilium; Mnestheus and Serestus bold;

Messapus, the steed-breaker, and high-soured

Asilas; Tuscans in a phalanx proud;

Arcadian riders of Evander's train:

each warrior lifts him to his height supreme of might and skill; no sloth nor lingering now, but in one far-spread conflict all contend.

His goddess-mother in Aeneas' mind now stirred the purpose to make sudden way against the city-wall, in swift advance of all his line, confounding Latium so with slaughter and surprise. His roving glance, seeking for Turnus through the scattered lines this way and that, beholds in distant view the city yet unscathed and calmly free from the wide-raging fight. Then on his soul rushed the swift vision of a mightier war.

Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus brave, his chosen chiefs, he summons to his side, and stands upon a hillock, whither throng the Teucrian legions, each man holding fast his shield and spear. He, towering high, thus from the rampart to his people calls:

“Perform my bidding swiftly: Jove's own hand sustains our power. Be ye not slack, because the thing I do is sudden. For this day

I will pluck out th' offending root of war,— yon city where Latinus reigns. Unless it bear our yoke and heed a conqueror's will, will lay low in dust its blazing towers.

Must I wait Turnus' pleasure, till he deign to meet my stroke, and have a mind once more, though vanquished, to show fight? My countrymen, see yonder stronghold of their impious war!

Bring flames; avenge the broken oath with fire!”

Scarce had he said, when with consenting souls, they speed them to the walls in dense array, forming a wedge. Ladders now leap in air, and sudden-blazing fires. In various war some troops run charging at the city-gates, and slay the guards; some fling the whirling spear and darken heaven with arrows. In their van, his right hand lifted to the wails and towers,

Aeneas, calling on the gods to hear, loudly upbraids Latinus that once more conflict is thrust upon him; that once more

Italians are his foes and violate their second pledge of peace. So blazes forth dissension 'twixt the frighted citizens:

some would give o'er the city and fling wide its portals to the Trojan, or drag forth the King himself to parley; others fly to arms, and at the rampart make a stand.

'T is thus some shepherd from a caverned crag stirs up the nested bees with plenteous fume of bitter smoke; they, posting to and fro, fly desperate round the waxen citadel, and whet their buzzing fury; through their halls the stench and blackness rolls; within the caves noise and confusion ring; the fatal cloud pours forth incessant on the vacant air.

But now a new adversity befell the weary Latins, which with common woe shook the whole city to its heart. The Queen, when at her hearth she saw the close assault of enemies, the walls beset, and fire spreading from roof to roof, but no defence from the Rutulian arms, nor front of war with Turnus leading,—she, poor soul, believed her youthful champion in the conflict slain;

and, mad with sudden sorrow, shrieked aloud against herself, the guilty chief and cause of all this ill; and, babbling her wild woe in endless words, she rent her purple pall, and with her own hand from the rafter swung a noose for her foul death. The tidings dire among the moaning wives of Latium spread, and young Lavinia's frantic fingers tore her rose-red cheek and hyacinthine hair.

Then all her company of women shrieked in anguish, and the wailing echoed far along the royal seat; from whence the tale of sorrow through the peopled city flew;

hearts sank; Latinus rent his robes, appalled to see his consort's doom, his falling throne;

and heaped foul dust upon his hoary hair.

Meanwhile the warrior Turnus far afield pursued a scattered few; but less his speed, for less and less his worn steeds worked his will;

and now wind-wafted to his straining ear a nameless horror came, a dull, wild roar, the city's tumult and distressful cry.

“Alack,” he cried, “what stirs in yonder walls such anguish? Or why rings from side to side such wailing through the city?” Asking so, he tightened frantic grasp upon the rein.

To him his sister, counterfeiting still the charioteer Metiscus, while she swayed rein, steeds, and chariot, this answer made:

“Hither, my Turnus, let our arms pursue the sons of Troy. Here lies the nearest way to speedy triumph. There be other swords to keep yon city safe. Aeneas now storms against Italy in active war;

we also on this Trojan host may hurl grim havoc. Nor shalt thou the strife give o'er in glory second, nor in tale of slain.”

Turnus replied, “O sister, Iong ago

I knew thee what thou wert, when guilefully thou didst confound their treaty, and enlist thy whole heart in this war. No Ionger now thy craft divine deceives me. But what god compelled thee, from Olympus fallen so far, to bear these cruel burdens? Wouldst thou see thy wretched brother slaughtered? For what else is in my power? What flattering hazard still holds forth deliverance? My own eyes have seen

Murranus (more than any now on earth my chosen friend) who, calling on my name, died like a hero by a hero's sword.

Ill-fated Ufens fell, enduring not to Iook upon my shame; the Teucrians divide his arms for spoil and keep his bones.

Shall I stand tamely, till my hearth and home are levelled with the ground? For this would be the only blow not fallen. Shall my sword not give the lie to Drances' insolence?

Shall I take flight and let my country see her Turnus renegade? Is death a thing so much to weep for? O propitious dead,

O spirits of the dark, receive and bless me whom yon gods of light have cast away!

Sacred and guiltless shall my soul descend to join your company; I have not been unworthy offspring of my kingly sires.”

Scarce had he said, when through the foeman's line

Saces dashed forth upon a foaming steed, his face gashed by an arrow. He cried loud on Turnus' name: “O Turnus, but in thee our last hope lies. Have pity on the woe of all thy friends and kin! Aeneas hurls his thunderbolt of war, and menaces to crush the strongholds of all Italy, and lay them low; already where we dwell his firebrands are raining. Unto thee the Latins Iook, and for thy valor call.

The King sits dumb and helpless, even he, in doubt which son-in-law, which cause to choose.

Yea, and the Queen, thy truest friend, is fallen by her own hand; gone mad with grief and fear, she fled the light of day. At yonder gates

Messapus only and Atinas bear the brunt of battle; round us closely draw the serried ranks; their naked blades of steel are thick as ripening corn; wilt thou the while speed in thy chariot o'er this empty plain?”

Dazed and bewildered by such host of ills,

Turnus stood dumb; in his pent bosom stirred shame, frenzy, sorrow, a despairing love goaded to fury, and a warrior's pride of valor proven.

But when first the light of reason to his blinded soul returned, he strained his flaming eyeballs to behold the distant wall, and from his chariot gazed in wonder at the lordly citadel.

For, lo, a pointed peak of flame uprolled from tier to tier, and surging skyward seized a tower—the very tower his own proud hands had built of firm-set beams and wheeled in place, and slung its Iofty bridges high in air.

“Fate is too strong, my sister! Seek no more to stay the stroke. But let me hence pursue that path where Heaven and cruel Fortune call.

Aeneas I must meet; and I must bear the bitterness of death, whate'er it be.

O sister, thou shalt look upon my shame no longer. But first grant a madman's will!”

He spoke; and leaping from his chariot, sped through foes and foemen's spears, not seeing now his sister's sorrow, as in swift career he burst from line to line. Thus headlong falls a mountain-boulder by a whirlwind flung from lofty peak, or loosened by much rain, or by insidious lapse of seasons gone;

the huge, resistless crag goes plunging down by leaps and bounds, o'erwhelming as it flies tall forests, Bocks and herds, and mortal men:

so through the scattered legions Turnus ran straight to the city walls, where all the ground was drenched with blood, and every passing air shrieked with the noise of spears. His lifted hand made sign of silence as he loudly called:

“Refrain, Rutulians! O ye Latins all, your spears withhold! The issue of the fray is all my own. I only can repair our broken truce by judgment of the sword.”

Back fell the hostile lines, and cleared the field.

But Sire Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name, down the steep rampart from the citadel unlingering tried, all lesser task laid by, with joy exultant and dread-thundering arms.

Like Athos ' crest he loomed, or soaring top of Eryx, when the nodding oaks resound, or sovereign Apennine that lifts in air his forehead of triumphant snow. All eyes of Troy, Rutulia, and Italy were fixed his way; and all who kept a guard on lofty rampart, or in siege below were battering the foundations, now laid by their implements and arms. Latinus too stood awestruck to behold such champions, born in lands far-sundered, met upon one field for one decisive stroke of sword with sword.

Swift striding forth where spread the vacant plain, they hurled their spears from far; then in close fight the brazen shields rang. Beneath their tread

Earth groaned aloud, as with redoubling blows their falchions fell; nor could a mortal eye

'twixt chance and courage the dread work divide.

As o'er Taburnus' top, or spacious hills of Sila, in relentless shock of war, two bulls rush brow to brow, while terror-pale the herdsmen fly; the herd is hushed with fear;

the heifers dumbly marvel which shall be true monarch of the grove, whom all the kine obedient follow; but the rival twain, commingling mightily wound after wound, thrust with opposing horns, and bathe their necks in streams of blood; the forest far and wide repeats their bellowing rage: not otherwise

Trojan Aeneas and King Daunus' son clashed shield on shield, till all the vaulted sky felt the tremendous sound. The hand of Jove held scales in equipoise, and threw thereon th' unequal fortunes of the heroes twain:

one to vast labors doomed and one to die.

Soon Turnus, reckless of the risk, leaped forth, upreached his whole height to his lifted sword, and struck: the Trojans and the Latins pale cried mightily, and all eyes turned one way expectant. But the weak, perfidious sword broke off, and as the blow descended, failed its furious master, whose sole succor now was flight; and swifter than the wind he flew.

But, lo! a hilt of form and fashion strange lay in his helpless hand. For in his haste, when to the battle-field his team he drove, his father's sword forgotten (such the tale), he snatched Metiscus' weapon. This endured to strike at Trojan backs, as he pursued, but when on Vulcan's armory divine its earthly metal smote, the brittle blade broke off like ice, and o'er the yellow sands in flashing fragments scattered. Turnus now takes mad flight o'er the distant plain, and winds in wavering gyration round and round;

for Troy 's close ring confines him, and one way a wide swamp lies, one way a frowning wall.

But lo! Aeneas—though the arrow's wound still slackens him and oft his knees refuse their wonted step—pursues infuriate his quailing foe, and dogs him stride for stride.

As when a stag-hound drives the baffled roe to torrent's edge (or where the flaunting snare of crimson feathers fearfully confines)

and with incessant barking swift pursues;

while through the snared copse or embankment high the frightened creature by a thousand ways doubles and turns; but that keen Umbrian hound with wide jaws, undesisting, grasps his prey, or, thinking that he grasps it, snaps his teeth cracking together, and deludes his rage, devouring empty air: then peal on peal the cry of hunters bursts; the lake and shore reecho, and confusion fills the sky:— such was the flight of Turnus, who reviled the Rutules as he fled, and loudly sued of each by name to fetch his own lost sword.

Aeneas vowed destruction and swift death to all who dared come near, and terrified their trembling souls with menace that his power would raze their city to the ground. Straightway, though wounded, he gave chase, and five times round in circles ran; then winding left and right coursed the swift circles o'er. For, lo! the prize is no light laurel or a youthful game:

for Turnus' doom and death their race is run.

But haply in that place a sacred tree, a bitter-leaved wild-olive, once had grown, to Faunus dear, and venerated oft by mariners safe-rescued from the waves, who nailed their gifts thereon, or hung in air their votive garments to Laurentum's god.

But, heeding not, the Teucrians had shorn the stem away, to clear the field for war.

'T was here Aeneas' lance stuck fast; its speed had driven it firmly inward, and it clave to the hard, clinging root. Anchises' son bent o'er it, and would wrench his weapon free, and follow with a far-flung javelin the swift out-speeding foe. But Turnus then, bewildered and in terror, cried aloud:

“O Faunus, pity me and heed my prayer!

Hold fast his weapon, O benignant Earth!

If ere these hands have rendered offering due, where yon polluting Teucrians fight and slay.”

He spoke; invoking succor of the god, with no Iost prayer. For tugging valiantly and laboring long against the stubborn stem,

Aeneas with his whole strength could but fail to Ioose the clasping tree. While fiercely thus he strove and strained, Juturna once again, wearing the charioteer Metiscus' shape, ran to her brother's aid, restoring him his own true sword. But Venus, wroth to see what license to the dauntless nymph was given, herself came near, and plucked from that deep root the javelin forth. So both with lofty mien strode forth new-armed, new-hearted: one made bold by his good sword, the other, spear in hand, uptowered in wrath, and with confronting brows they set them to the war-god's breathless game.

Meanwhile th' Olympian sovereign supreme to Juno speaks, as from an amber cloud the strife she views: “My Queen, what end shall be?

What yet remains? Thou seest Aeneas' name numbered with tutelary gods of power;

and well thou know'st what station in the sky his starward destiny intends. What scheme vexes thy bosom still? What stubborn hope, fostered in cloud and cold? O, was it well to desecrate a god with mortal wound;

or well (what were a nymph unhelped by thee?)

to give back Turnus his lost sword, and lend strength unavailing to the fallen brave?

Give o'er, and to our supplication yield;

let not such grief thy voiceless heart devour;

nor from thy sweet lips let thy mournful care so oft assail my mind. For now is come the last decisive day. Thy power availed to vex the Trojans upon land and sea, to wake abominable war, bring shame upon a royal house, and mix the songs of marriage and the grave: but further act

I thee refuse.” Such was the word of Jove.

Thus Saturn's daughter answered, drooping low her brows divine: “Because, great Jove, I knew thy pleasure, I from yonder earth retired and Turnus' cause, tho, with unwilling mind.

Else shouldst thou not behold me at this hour

Upon my solitary throne of air enduring fair and foul; I should be found flame-girded on the battle's deadly verge, tempting the Teucrians to a hated war.

Yea, 't was my motion thrust Juturna forth to help her hapless brother. I approved— to save his life—that she should be too bold;

but bade no whirl of spear nor bending bow:

I swear it by th' inexorable fount whence flow the Stygian rivers, the sole seat where gods of light bow down in awful prayer.

I yield me now; heart-sick I quit the war.

But ask one boon, which in the book of fate is not denied; for Latium 's good I sue, and high prerogatives of men that be thy kith and kin: when happy wedlock vows

(aye, be it so!) shall join them by strong laws of chartered peace, let not the Latins Iose their ancient, native name. Bid them not pass for Trojans, nor be hailed as Teucer's sons;

no alien speech, no alien garb impose.

Let it be Latium ever; let the lords of Alba unto distant ages reign;

let the strong, master blood of Rome receive the manhood and the might of Italy.

Troy perished: let its name and glory die!”

The Author of mankind and all that is, smiling benignant, answered thus her plea:

“Jove's sister true, and Saturn's second child, what seas of anger vex thy heart divine!

But come, relinquish thy rash, fruitless rage:

I give thee this desire, and yield to thee free submission. The Ausonian tribes shall keep the speech and customs of their sires;

the name remains as now; the Teucrian race, abiding in the land, shall but infuse the mixture of its blood. I will bestow a league of worship, and to Latins give one language only. From the mingled breed a people shall come forth whom thou shalt see surpass all mortal men and even outvie the faithfulness of gods; for none that live shall render to thy name an equal praise.”

So Juno bowed consent, and let her will be changed, as with much comfort in her breast she left Olympus and her haunt of cloud.

After these things Jove gave his kingly mind to further action, that he might forthwith cut off Juturna from her brother's cause.

Two plagues there be, called Furies, which were spawned at one birth from the womb of wrathful Night with dread Megaera, phantom out of hell;

and of their mother's gift, each Fury wears grim-coiling serpents and tempestuous wings.

These at Jove's throne attend, and watch the doors of that stern King—to whet the edge of fear for wretched mortals, when the King of gods hurls pestilence and death, or terrifies offending nations with the scourge of war.

'T was one of these which Jove sent speeding down from his ethereal seat, and bade her cross the pathway of Juturna for a sign.

Her wings she spread, and earthward seemed to ride upon a whirling storm. As when some shaft, with Parthian poison tipped or Cretan gall, a barb of death, shoots cloudward from the bow, and hissing through the dark hastes forth unseen:

so earthward flew that daughter of the night.

Soon as she spied the Teucrians in array and Turnus' lines, she shrivelled to the shape of that small bird which on lone tombs and towers sits perching through the midnight, and prolongs in shadow and deep gloom her troubling cry.

In such disguise the Fury, screaming shrill, flitted in Turnus' face, and with her wings smote on his hollow shield. A strange affright palsied his every limb; each several hair lifted with horror, and his gasping voice died on his lips. But when Juturna knew from far the shrieking fiend's infernal wing, she loosed her tresses, and their beauty tore, to tell a sister's woe; with clenching hands she marred her cheeks and beat her naked breast.

“What remedy or help, my Turnus, now is in a sister's power? What way remains for stubborn me? Or with what further guile thy life prolong? What can my strength oppose to this foul thing? I quit the strife at last.

Withdraw thy terror from my fearful eyes, thou bird accurst! The tumult of thy wings

I know full well, and thy death-boding call.

The harsh decrees of that large-minded Jove

I plainly see. Is this the price he pays for my lost maidenhood? Why flatter me with immortality, and snatch away my property of death? What boon it were to end this grief this hour, and hie away to be my brother's helpmeet in his grave!

I, an immortal? O, what dear delight is mine, sweet brother, living without thee?

O, where will earth yawn deep enough and wide to hide a goddess with the ghosts below?”

She spoke; and veiled in glistening mantle gray her mournful brow; then in her stream divine the nymph sank sighing to its utmost cave.

Aeneas now is near; and waving wide a spear like some tall tree, he called aloud with unrelenting heart: “What stays thee now?

Or wherefore, Turnus, backward fly? Our work is not a foot-race, but the wrathful strife of man with man. Aye, hasten to put on tricks and disguises; gather all thou hast of skill or courage; wish thou wert a bird to fly to starry heaven, or hide thy head safe in the hollow ground!” The other then shook his head, saying: “It is not thy words, not thy hot words, affright me, savage man!

Only the gods I fear, and hostile Jove.”

Silent he stood, and glancing round him saw a huge rock Iying by, huge rock and old, a landmark justly sundering field from field, which scarce six strong men's shoulders might upraise, such men as mother-Earth brings forth to-day:

this grasped he with impetuous hand and hurled, stretched at full height and roused to all his speed, against his foe. Yet scarcely could he feel it was himself that ran, himself that moved with lifted hand to fling the monster stone;

for his knees trembled, and his languid blood ran shuddering cold; nor could the stone he threw, tumbling in empty air, attain its goal nor strike the destined blow. But as in dreams, when helpless slumber binds the darkened eyes, we seem with fond desire to tread in vain along a lengthening road, yet faint and fall when straining to the utmost, and the tongue is palsied, and the body's wonted power obeys not, and we have no speech or cry:

so unto Turnus, whatsoever way his valiant spirit moved, the direful Fiend stopped in the act his will. Swift-changing thoughts rush o'er his soul; on the Rutulian host, then at the town he glares, shrinks back in fear, and trembles at th' impending lance; nor sees what path to fly, what way confront the foe:— no chariot now, nor sister-charioteer!

Above his faltering terror gleams in air

Aeneas' fatal spear; whose eye perceived the moment of success, and all whose strength struck forth: the vast and ponderous rock outflung from engines which make breach in sieged walls not louder roars nor breaks in thunder-sound more terrible; like some black whirlwind flew the death-delivering spear, and, rending wide the corselet's edges and the heavy rim of the last circles of the seven-fold shield, pierced, hissing, through the thigh. Huge Turnus sinks o'erwhelmed upon the ground with doubling knee.

Up spring the Rutules, groaning; the whole hill roars answering round them, and from far and wide the lofty groves give back an echoing cry.

Lowly, with suppliant eyes, and holding forth his hand in prayer: “I have my meed,” he cried,

“Nor ask for mercy. Use what Fate has given!

But if a father's grief upon thy heart have power at all,—for Sire Anchises once to thee was dear,—I pray thee to show grace to Daunus in his desolate old age;

and me, or, if thou wilt, my lifeless clay, to him and his restore. For, lo, thou art my conqueror! Ausonia's eyes have seen me suppliant, me fallen. Thou hast made

Lavinia thy bride. Why further urge our enmity?”With swift and dreadful arms

Aeneas o'er him stood, with rolling eyes, but his bare sword restraining; for such words moved on him more and more: when suddenly, over the mighty shoulder slung, he saw that fatal baldric studded with bright gold which youthful Pallas wore, what time he fell vanquished by Turnus' stroke, whose shoulders now carried such trophy of a foeman slain.

Aeneas' eyes took sure and slow survey of spoils that were the proof and memory of cruel sorrow; then with kindling rage and terrifying look, he cried, “Wouldst thou, clad in a prize stripped off my chosen friend, escape this hand? In this thy mortal wound

't is Pallas has a victim; Pallas takes the lawful forfeit of thy guilty blood!”

He said, and buried deep his furious blade in the opposer's heart. The failing limbs sank cold and helpless; and the vital breath with moan of wrath to darkness fled away.