The Aeneid Part 28

The victor to the G.o.ds his thanks express'd, And Rome, triumphant, with his presence bless'd.

Three hundred temples in the town he plac'd; With spoils and altars ev'ry temple grac'd.

Three s.h.i.+ning nights, and three succeeding days, The fields resound with shouts, the streets with praise, The domes with songs, the theaters with plays.

All altars flame: before each altar lies, Drench'd in his gore, the destin'd sacrifice.

Great Caesar sits sublime upon his throne, Before Apollo's porch of Parian stone; Accepts the presents vow'd for victory, And hangs the monumental crowns on high.

Vast crowds of vanquish'd nations march along, Various in arms, in habit, and in tongue.

Here, Mulciber a.s.signs the proper place For Carians, and th' ungirt Numidian race; Then ranks the Thracians in the second row, With Scythians, expert in the dart and bow.

And here the tam'd Euphrates humbly glides, And there the Rhine submits her swelling tides, And proud Araxes, whom no bridge could bind; The Danes' unconquer'd offspring march behind, And Morini, the last of humankind.

These figures, on the s.h.i.+eld divinely wrought, By Vulcan labor'd, and by Venus brought, With joy and wonder fill the hero's thought.

Unknown the names, he yet admires the grace, And bears aloft the fame and fortune of his race.

BOOK IX

While these affairs in distant places pa.s.s'd, The various Iris Juno sends with haste, To find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought, The secret shade of his great grandsire sought.

Retir'd alone she found the daring man, And op'd her rosy lips, and thus began: "What none of all the G.o.ds could grant thy vows, That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows.

Aeneas, gone to seek th' Arcadian prince, Has left the Trojan camp without defense; And, short of succors there, employs his pains In parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains.

Now s.n.a.t.c.h an hour that favors thy designs; Unite thy forces, and attack their lines."

This said, on equal wings she pois'd her weight, And form'd a radiant rainbow in her flight.

The Daunian hero lifts his hands eyes, And thus invokes the G.o.ddess as she flies: "Iris, the grace of heav'n, what pow'r divine Has sent thee down, thro' dusky clouds to s.h.i.+ne?

See, they divide; immortal day appears, And glitt'ring planets dancing in their spheres!

With joy, these happy omens I obey, And follow to the war the G.o.d that leads the way."

Thus having said, as by the brook he stood, He scoop'd the water from the crystal flood; Then with his hands the drops to heav'n he throws, And loads the pow'rs above with offer'd vows.

Now march the bold confed'rates thro' the plain, Well hors'd, well clad; a rich and s.h.i.+ning train.

Messapus leads the van; and, in the rear, The sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear.

In the main battle, with his flaming crest, The mighty Turnus tow'rs above the rest.

Silent they move, majestically slow, Like ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow.

The Trojans view the dusty cloud from far, And the dark menace of the distant war.

Caicus from the rampire saw it rise, Black'ning the fields, and thick'ning thro' the skies.

Then to his fellows thus aloud he calls: "What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls?

Arm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears And pointed darts! the Latian host appears."

Thus warn'd, they shut their gates; with shouts ascend The bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend: For their wise gen'ral, with foreseeing care, Had charg'd them not to tempt the doubtful war, Nor, tho' provok'd, in open fields advance, But close within their lines attend their chance.

Unwilling, yet they keep the strict command, And sourly wait in arms the hostile band.

The fiery Turnus flew before the rest: A piebald steed of Thracian strain he press'd; His helm of ma.s.sy gold, and crimson was his crest.

With twenty horse to second his designs, An unexpected foe, he fac'd the lines.

"Is there," he said, "in arms, who bravely dare His leader's honor and his danger share?"

Then spurring on, his brandish'd dart he threw, In sign of war: applauding shouts ensue.

Amaz'd to find a dastard race, that run Behind the rampires and the battle shun, He rides around the camp, with rolling eyes, And stops at ev'ry post, and ev'ry pa.s.sage tries.

So roams the nightly wolf about the fold: Wet with descending show'rs, and stiff with cold, He howls for hunger, and he grins for pain, (His gnas.h.i.+ng teeth are exercis'd in vain,) And, impotent of anger, finds no way In his distended paws to grasp the prey.

The mothers listen; but the bleating lambs Securely swig the dug, beneath the dams.

Thus ranges eager Turnus o'er the plain.

Sharp with desire, and furious with disdain; Surveys each pa.s.sage with a piercing sight, To force his foes in equal field to fight.

Thus while he gazes round, at length he spies, Where, fenc'd with strong redoubts, their navy lies, Close underneath the walls; the was.h.i.+ng tide Secures from all approach this weaker side.

He takes the wish'd occasion, fills his hand With ready fires, and shakes a flaming brand.

Urg'd by his presence, ev'ry soul is warm'd, And ev'ry hand with kindled firs is arm'd.

From the fir'd pines the scatt'ring sparkles fly; Fat vapors, mix'd with flames, involve the sky.

What pow'r, O Muses, could avert the flame Which threaten'd, in the fleet, the Trojan name?

Tell: for the fact, thro' length of time obscure, Is hard to faith; yet shall the fame endure.

'T is said that, when the chief prepar'd his flight, And fell'd his timber from Mount Ida's height, The grandam G.o.ddess then approach'd her son, And with a mother's majesty begun: "Grant me," she said, "the sole request I bring, Since conquer'd heav'n has own'd you for its king.

On Ida's brows, for ages past, there stood, With firs and maples fill'd, a shady wood; And on the summit rose a sacred grove, Where I was wors.h.i.+p'd with religious love.

Those woods, that holy grove, my long delight, I gave the Trojan prince, to speed his flight.

Now, fill'd with fear, on their behalf I come; Let neither winds o'erset, nor waves intomb The floating forests of the sacred pine; But let it be their safety to be mine."

Then thus replied her awful son, who rolls The radiant stars, and heav'n and earth controls: "How dare you, mother, endless date demand For vessels molded by a mortal hand?

What then is fate? Shall bold Aeneas ride, Of safety certain, on th' uncertain tide?

Yet, what I can, I grant; when, wafted o'er, The chief is landed on the Latian sh.o.r.e, Whatever s.h.i.+ps escape the raging storms, At my command shall change their fading forms To nymphs divine, and plow the wat'ry way, Like Dotis and the daughters of the sea."

To seal his sacred vow, by Styx he swore, The lake of liquid pitch, the dreary sh.o.r.e, And Phlegethon's innavigable flood, And the black regions of his brother G.o.d.

He said; and shook the skies with his imperial nod.

And now at length the number'd hours were come, Prefix'd by fate's irrevocable doom, When the great Mother of the G.o.ds was free To save her s.h.i.+ps, and finish Jove's decree.

First, from the quarter of the morn, there sprung A light that sign'd the heav'ns, and shot along; Then from a cloud, fring'd round with golden fires, Were timbrels heard, and Berecynthian choirs; And, last, a voice, with more than mortal sounds, Both hosts, in arms oppos'd, with equal horror wounds: "O Trojan race, your needless aid forbear, And know, my s.h.i.+ps are my peculiar care.

With greater ease the bold Rutulian may, With hissing brands, attempt to burn the sea, Than singe my sacred pines. But you, my charge, Loos'd from your crooked anchors, launch at large, Exalted each a nymph: forsake the sand, And swim the seas, at Cybele's command."

No sooner had the G.o.ddess ceas'd to speak, When, lo! th' obedient s.h.i.+ps their haulsers break; And, strange to tell, like dolphins, in the main They plunge their prows, and dive, and spring again: As many beauteous maids the billows sweep, As rode before tall vessels on the deep.

The foes, surpris'd with wonder, stood aghast; Messapus curb'd his fiery courser's haste; Old Tiber roar'd, and, raising up his head, Call'd back his waters to their oozy bed.

Turnus alone, undaunted, bore the shock, And with these words his trembling troops bespoke: "These monsters for the Trojans' fate are meant, And are by Jove for black presages sent.

He takes the cowards' last relief away; For fly they cannot, and, constrain'd to stay, Must yield unfought, a base inglorious prey.

The liquid half of all the globe is lost; Heav'n shuts the seas, and we secure the coast.

Theirs is no more than that small spot of ground Which myriads of our martial men surround.

Their fates I fear not, or vain oracles.

'T was giv'n to Venus they should cross the seas, And land secure upon the Latian plains: Their promis'd hour is pa.s.s'd, and mine remains.

'T is in the fate of Turnus to destroy, With sword and fire, the faithless race of Troy.

Shall such affronts as these alone inflame The Grecian brothers, and the Grecian name?

My cause and theirs is one; a fatal strife, And final ruin, for a ravish'd wife.

Was 't not enough, that, punish'd for the crime, They fell; but will they fall a second time?

One would have thought they paid enough before, To curse the costly s.e.x, and durst offend no more.

Can they securely trust their feeble wall, A slight part.i.tion, a thin interval, Betwixt their fate and them; when Troy, tho' built By hands divine, yet perish'd by their guilt?

Lend me, for once, my friends, your valiant hands, To force from out their lines these dastard bands.

Less than a thousand s.h.i.+ps will end this war, Nor Vulcan needs his fated arms prepare.

Let all the Tuscans, all th' Arcadians, join!

Nor these, nor those, shall frustrate my design.

Let them not fear the treasons of the night, The robb'd Palladium, the pretended flight: Our onset shall be made in open light.

No wooden engine shall their town betray; Fires they shall have around, but fires by day.

No Grecian babes before their camp appear, Whom Hector's arms detain'd to the tenth tardy year.

Now, since the sun is rolling to the west, Give we the silent night to needful rest: Refresh your bodies, and your arms prepare; The morn shall end the small remains of war."

The post of honor to Messapus falls, To keep the nightly guard, to watch the walls, To pitch the fires at distances around, And close the Trojans in their scanty ground.

Twice seven Rutulian captains ready stand, And twice seven hundred horse these chiefs command; All clad in s.h.i.+ning arms the works invest, Each with a radiant helm and waving crest.

Stretch'd at their length, they press the gra.s.sy ground; They laugh, they sing, (the jolly bowls go round,) With lights and cheerful fires renew the day, And pa.s.s the wakeful night in feasts and play.

The Trojans, from above, their foes beheld, And with arm'd legions all the rampires fill'd.

Seiz'd with affright, their gates they first explore; Join works to works with bridges, tow'r to tow'r: Thus all things needful for defense abound.

Mnestheus and brave Seresthus walk the round, Commission'd by their absent prince to share The common danger, and divide the care.