The Aeneid Part 24

O more than madmen! you yourselves shall bear The guilt of blood and sacrilegious war: Thou, Turnus, shalt atone it by thy fate, And pray to Heav'n for peace, but pray too late.

For me, my stormy voyage at an end, I to the port of death securely tend.

The fun'ral pomp which to your kings you pay, Is all I want, and all you take away."

He said no more, but, in his walls confin'd, Shut out the woes which he too well divin'd Nor with the rising storm would vainly strive, But left the helm, and let the vessel drive.

A solemn custom was observ'd of old, Which Latium held, and now the Romans hold, Their standard when in fighting fields they rear Against the fierce Hyrcanians, or declare The Scythian, Indian, or Arabian war; Or from the boasting Parthians would regain Their eagles, lost in Carrhae's b.l.o.o.d.y plain.

Two gates of steel (the name of Mars they bear, And still are wors.h.i.+p'd with religious fear) Before his temple stand: the dire abode, And the fear'd issues of the furious G.o.d, Are fenc'd with brazen bolts; without the gates, The wary guardian Ja.n.u.s doubly waits.

Then, when the sacred senate votes the wars, The Roman consul their decree declares, And in his robes the sounding gates unbars.

The youth in military shouts arise, And the loud trumpets break the yielding skies.

These rites, of old by sov'reign princes us'd, Were the king's office; but the king refus'd, Deaf to their cries, nor would the gates unbar Of sacred peace, or loose th' imprison'd war; But hid his head, and, safe from loud alarms, Abhorr'd the wicked ministry of arms.

Then heav'n's imperious queen shot down from high: At her approach the brazen hinges fly; The gates are forc'd, and ev'ry falling bar; And, like a tempest, issues out the war.

The peaceful cities of th' Ausonian sh.o.r.e, Lull'd in their ease, and undisturb'd before, Are all on fire; and some, with studious care, Their restiff steeds in sandy plains prepare; Some their soft limbs in painful marches try, And war is all their wish, and arms the gen'ral cry.

Part scour the rusty s.h.i.+elds with seam; and part New grind the blunted ax, and point the dart: With joy they view the waving ensigns fly, And hear the trumpet's clangor pierce the sky.

Five cities forge their arms: th' Atinian pow'rs, Antemnae, Tibur with her lofty tow'rs, Ardea the proud, the Crustumerian town: All these of old were places of renown.

Some hammer helmets for the fighting field; Some twine young sallows to support the s.h.i.+eld; The croslet some, and some the cuishes mold, With silver plated, and with ductile gold.

The rustic honors of the scythe and share Give place to swords and plumes, the pride of war.

Old fauchions are new temper'd in the fires; The sounding trumpet ev'ry soul inspires.

The word is giv'n; with eager speed they lace The s.h.i.+ning headpiece, and the s.h.i.+eld embrace.

The neighing steeds are to the chariot tied; The trusty weapon sits on ev'ry side.

And now the mighty labor is begun Ye Muses, open all your Helicon.

Sing you the chiefs that sway'd th' Ausonian land, Their arms, and armies under their command; What warriors in our ancient clime were bred; What soldiers follow'd, and what heroes led.

For well you know, and can record alone, What fame to future times conveys but darkly down.

Mezentius first appear'd upon the plain: Scorn sate upon his brows, and sour disdain, Defying earth and heav'n. Etruria lost, He brings to Turnus' aid his baffled host.

The charming Lausus, full of youthful fire, Rode in the rank, and next his sullen sire; To Turnus only second in the grace Of manly mien, and features of the face.

A skilful horseman, and a huntsman bred, With fates averse a thousand men he led: His sire unworthy of so brave a son; Himself well worthy of a happier throne.

Next Aventinus drives his chariot round The Latian plains, with palms and laurels crown'd.

Proud of his steeds, he smokes along the field; His father's hydra fills his ample s.h.i.+eld: A hundred serpents hiss about the brims; The son of Hercules he justly seems By his broad shoulders and gigantic limbs; Of heav'nly part, and part of earthly blood, A mortal woman mixing with a G.o.d.

For strong Alcides, after he had slain The triple Geryon, drove from conquer'd Spain His captive herds; and, thence in triumph led, On Tuscan Tiber's flow'ry banks they fed.

Then on Mount Aventine the son of Jove The priestess Rhea found, and forc'd to love.

For arms, his men long piles and jav'lins bore; And poles with pointed steel their foes in battle gore.

Like Hercules himself his son appears, In salvage pomp; a lion's hide he wears; About his shoulders hangs the s.h.a.ggy skin; The teeth and gaping jaws severely grin.

Thus, like the G.o.d his father, homely dress'd, He strides into the hall, a horrid guest.

Then two twin brothers from fair Tibur came, (Which from their brother Tiburs took the name,) Fierce Coras and Catillus, void of fear: Arm'd Argive horse they led, and in the front appear.

Like cloud-born Centaurs, from the mountain's height With rapid course descending to the fight; They rush along; the rattling woods give way; The branches bend before their sweepy sway.

Nor was Praeneste's founder wanting there, Whom fame reports the son of Mulciber: Found in the fire, and foster'd in the plains, A shepherd and a king at once he reigns, And leads to Turnus' aid his country swains.

His own Praeneste sends a chosen band, With those who plow Saturnia's Gabine land; Besides the succor which cold Anien yields, The rocks of Hernicus, and dewy fields, Anagnia fat, and Father Amasene- A num'rous rout, but all of naked men: Nor arms they wear, nor swords and bucklers wield, Nor drive the chariot thro' the dusty field, But whirl from leathern slings huge b.a.l.l.s of lead, And spoils of yellow wolves adorn their head; The left foot naked, when they march to fight, But in a bull's raw hide they sheathe the right.

Messapus next, (great Neptune was his sire,) Secure of steel, and fated from the fire, In pomp appears, and with his ardor warms A heartless train, unexercis'd in arms: The just Faliscans he to battle brings, And those who live where Lake Ciminia springs; And where Feronia's grove and temple stands, Who till Fescennian or Flavinian lands.

All these in order march, and marching sing The warlike actions of their sea-born king; Like a long team of snowy swans on high, Which clap their wings, and cleave the liquid sky, When, homeward from their wat'ry pastures borne, They sing, and Asia's lakes their notes return.

Not one who heard their music from afar, Would think these troops an army train'd to war, But flocks of fowl, that, when the tempests roar, With their hoa.r.s.e gabbling seek the silent sh.o.r.e.

Then Clausus came, who led a num'rous band Of troops embodied from the Sabine land, And, in himself alone, an army brought.

'T was he, the n.o.ble Claudian race begot, The Claudian race, ordain'd, in times to come, To share the greatness of imperial Rome.

He led the Cures forth, of old renown, Mutuscans from their olive-bearing town, And all th' Eretian pow'rs; besides a band That follow'd from Velinum's dewy land, And Amiternian troops, of mighty fame, And mountaineers, that from Severus came, And from the craggy cliffs of Tetrica, And those where yellow Tiber takes his way, And where Himella's wanton waters play.

Casperia sends her arms, with those that lie By Fabaris, and fruitful Foruli: The warlike aids of Horta next appear, And the cold Nursians come to close the rear, Mix'd with the natives born of Latine blood, Whom Allia washes with her fatal flood.

Not thicker billows beat the Libyan main, When pale Orion sets in wintry rain; Nor thicker harvests on rich Hermus rise, Or Lycian fields, when Phoebus burns the skies, Than stand these troops: their bucklers ring around; Their trampling turns the turf, and shakes the solid ground.

High in his chariot then Halesus came, A foe by birth to Troy's unhappy name: From Agamemnon born- to Turnus' aid A thousand men the youthful hero led, Who till the Ma.s.sic soil, for wine renown'd, And fierce Auruncans from their hilly ground, And those who live by Sidicinian sh.o.r.es, And where with shoaly fords Vulturnus roars, Cales' and Osca's old inhabitants, And rough Saticulans, inur'd to wants: Light demi-lances from afar they throw, Fasten'd with leathern thongs, to gall the foe.

Short crooked swords in closer fight they wear; And on their warding arm light bucklers bear.

Nor Oebalus, shalt thou be left unsung, From nymph Semethis and old Telon sprung, Who then in Teleboan Capri reign'd; But that short isle th' ambitious youth disdain'd, And o'er Campania stretch'd his ample sway, Where swelling Sarnus seeks the Tyrrhene sea; O'er Batulum, and where Abella sees, From her high tow'rs, the harvest of her trees.

And these (as was the Teuton use of old) Wield brazen swords, and brazen bucklers hold; Sling weighty stones, when from afar they fight; Their casques are cork, a covering thick and light.

Next these in rank, the warlike Ufens went, And led the mountain troops that Nursia sent.

The rude Equicolae his rule obey'd; Hunting their sport, and plund'ring was their trade.

In arms they plow'd, to battle still prepar'd: Their soil was barren, and their hearts were hard.

Umbro the priest the proud Marrubians led, By King Archippus sent to Turnus' aid, And peaceful olives crown'd his h.o.a.ry head.

His wand and holy words, the viper's rage, And venom'd wounds of serpents could a.s.suage.

He, when he pleas'd with powerful juice to steep Their temples, shut their eyes in pleasing sleep.

But vain were Marsian herbs, and magic art, To cure the wound giv'n by the Dardan dart: Yet his untimely fate th' Angitian woods In sighs remurmur'd to the Fucine floods.

The son of fam'd Hippolytus was there, Fam'd as his sire, and, as his mother, fair; Whom in Egerian groves Aricia bore, And nurs'd his youth along the marshy sh.o.r.e, Where great Diana's peaceful altars flame, In fruitful fields; and Virbius was his name.

Hippolytus, as old records have said, Was by his stepdam sought to share her bed; But, when no female arts his mind could move, She turn'd to furious hate her impious love.

Torn by wild horses on the sandy sh.o.r.e, Another's crimes th' unhappy hunter bore, Glutting his father's eyes with guiltless gore.

But chaste Diana, who his death deplor'd, With Aesculapian herbs his life restor'd.

Then Jove, who saw from high, with just disdain, The dead inspir'd with vital breath again, Struck to the center, with his flaming dart, Th' unhappy founder of the G.o.dlike art.

But Trivia kept in secret shades alone Her care, Hippolytus, to fate unknown; And call'd him Virbius in th' Egerian grove, Where then he liv'd obscure, but safe from Jove.

For this, from Trivia's temple and her wood Are coursers driv'n, who shed their master's blood, Affrighted by the monsters of the flood.

His son, the second Virbius, yet retain'd His father's art, and warrior steeds he rein'd.

Amid the troops, and like the leading G.o.d, High o'er the rest in arms the graceful Turnus rode: A triple of plumes his crest adorn'd, On which with belching flames Chimaera burn'd: The more the kindled combat rises high'r, The more with fury burns the blazing fire.

Fair Io grac'd his s.h.i.+eld; but Io now With horns exalted stands, and seems to low- A n.o.ble charge! Her keeper by her side, To watch her walks, his hundred eyes applied; And on the brims her sire, the wat'ry G.o.d, Roll'd from a silver urn his crystal flood.

A cloud of foot succeeds, and fills the fields With swords, and pointed spears, and clatt'ring s.h.i.+elds; Of Argives, and of old Sicanian bands, And those who plow the rich Rutulian lands; Auruncan youth, and those Sacrana yields, And the proud Labicans, with painted s.h.i.+elds, And those who near Numician streams reside, And those whom Tiber's holy forests hide, Or Circe's hills from the main land divide; Where Ufens glides along the lowly lands, Or the black water of Pomptina stands.

Last, from the Volscians fair Camilla came, And led her warlike troops, a warrior dame; Unbred to spinning, in the loom unskill'd, She chose the n.o.bler Pallas of the field.

Mix'd with the first, the fierce virago fought, Sustain'd the toils of arms, the danger sought, Outstripp'd the winds in speed upon the plain, Flew o'er the fields, nor hurt the bearded grain: She swept the seas, and, as she skimm'd along, Her flying feet unbath'd on billows hung.

Men, boys, and women, stupid with surprise, Where'er she pa.s.ses, fix their wond'ring eyes: Longing they look, and, gaping at the sight, Devour her o'er and o'er with vast delight; Her purple habit sits with such a grace On her smooth shoulders, and so suits her face; Her head with ringlets of her hair is crown'd, And in a golden caul the curls are bound.

She shakes her myrtle jav'lin; and, behind, Her Lycian quiver dances in the wind.

BOOK VIII

When Turnus had a.s.sembled all his pow'rs, His standard planted on Laurentum's tow'rs; When now the sprightly trumpet, from afar, Had giv'n the signal of approaching war, Had rous'd the neighing steeds to scour the fields, While the fierce riders clatter'd on their s.h.i.+elds; Trembling with rage, the Latian youth prepare To join th' allies, and headlong rush to war.

Fierce Ufens, and Messapus, led the crowd, With bold Mezentius, who blasphem'd aloud.

These thro' the country took their wasteful course, The fields to forage, and to gather force.

Then Venulus to Diomede they send, To beg his aid Ausonia to defend, Declare the common danger, and inform The Grecian leader of the growing storm: Aeneas, landed on the Latian coast, With banish'd G.o.ds, and with a baffled host, Yet now aspir'd to conquest of the state, And claim'd a t.i.tle from the G.o.ds and fate; What num'rous nations in his quarrel came, And how they spread his formidable name.

What he design'd, what mischief might arise, If fortune favor'd his first enterprise, Was left for him to weigh, whose equal fears, And common interest, was involv'd in theirs.

While Turnus and th' allies thus urge the war, The Trojan, floating in a flood of care, Beholds the tempest which his foes prepare.

This way and that he turns his anxious mind; Thinks, and rejects the counsels he design'd; Explores himself in vain, in ev'ry part, And gives no rest to his distracted heart.

So, when the sun by day, or moon by night, Strike on the polish'd bra.s.s their trembling light, The glitt'ring species here and there divide, And cast their dubious beams from side to side; Now on the walls, now on the pavement play, And to the ceiling flash the glaring day.

'T was night; and weary nature lull'd asleep The birds of air, and fishes of the deep, And beasts, and mortal men. The Trojan chief Was laid on Tiber's banks, oppress'd with grief, And found in silent slumber late relief.