So with such words she lit the hearts of all that young array; Yet more and more a murmur creeps about the ranks of men; Changed even are Laurentine folk; changed are the Latins then; 240 They who had hoped that rest from fight and peaceful days were won, Are now but fain of battle-gear, and wish the troth undone, For ruth that such a cruel fate on Turnus' head should fall.

But unto these a greater thing Jaturna adds withal, A sign from heaven; and nought so much stirred Italy that day, As this whose prodigy beguiled men's hearts to go astray: For now the yellow bird of Jove amid the ruddy light Was chasing of the river-fowl, and drave in hurried flight The noisy throng; when suddenly down to the waves he ran, And caught in greedy hooked claws a goodly-bodied swan: 250 Uprose the hearts of Italy, for all the fowl cry out, And, wonderful for eyes to see, from fleeing turn about, Darken the air with cloud of wings, and fall upon the foe; Till he, oppressed by might of them and by his prey held low, Gives way, and casts the quarry down from out his hooked claws Into the river, and aback to inner cloud-land draws.

Then to the sign the Rutuli shout greeting with one breath, And spread their hands abroad; but first the seer Tolumnius saith: "This, this is that, which still my prayers sought oft and o'er again.

I take the sign, I know the G.o.d! to arms with me, O men! 260 Poor people, whom the stranger-thief hath terrified with war.

E'en like these feeble fowl; who wastes the acres of your sh.o.r.e, Yet shall he fly, and give his sails unto the outer sea: But ye, your ranks with heart and mind now serry manfully, And ward your ravished King and Duke with all your battle-world!"

He spake, and, running forth, a shaft against the foe he hurled.

Forth whizzed the cornel through the air, cleaving its way aright, And therewithal great noise outbreaks, and every wedge of fight Is turmoiled, and the hearts of men are kindled for the fray.

On sped the shaft to where there stood across its baneful way 270 Nine fair-shaped brethren, whom whilom one faithful Tuscan wife Amid Gylippus' Arcad house brought forth to light and life: Now one of these, e'en where the belt of knitted st.i.tches wrought Chafed on the belly, and the clasp the joining edges caught, A youth most excellent of frame and clad in glittering gear-- It pierced his ribs; on yellow sand it stretched him dying there.

Thereat his brethren, a fierce folk, with grief and rage alight, Some draw their swords and some catch up the steel of speedy flight, And rush on blind: Laurentum's ranks, against them swift they go, And thick the Trojans from their side the meadows overflow, 280 Agyllans and Arcadian men with painted war array; And one l.u.s.t winneth over all with point and edge to play.

They strip the altars; drifting storm of weapon-shot doth gain O'er all the heavens, and ever grows the iron battle-rain.

The bowls and hearths they bear away: Latinus gets him gone, Bearing aback the beaten G.o.ds and troth-plight all undone, But other men rein in the car and leap upon the steed, And there with naked swords they sit, all ready for the need.

Messapus, fain to rend the troth, on hostile horse down-bears Upon Aulestes, Tuscan king, who kingly raiment wears: 290 He fled, but as abackward there away from him he went, Came on the altars at his back in hapless tanglement Of head and shoulders: thitherward doth hot Messapus fly With spear in hand, and from his steed he smites him heavily With the great beam amid his prayers, and word withal doth say: "He hath it, and the G.o.ds have got a better host today!"

Therewith to strip his body warm up runs the Italian band; But Corynaeus from the hearth catches a half-burnt brand, And e'en as Ebusus comes up, and stroke in hand doth bear, He filleth all his face with flame; out doth his great beard flare, 300 And sendeth stink of burning forth: the Trojan followed on The wildered man, and with his left grip of his tresses won, And, straining hard with weight of knee, to earth he pinned his foe, And drave the stark sword through his side.

See Podalirius go, Chasing the shepherd Alsus through the front of weapon-wrack; O'er him he hangs with naked sword; but he, with bill swung back, Cleaveth the foeman facing him through midmost brow and chin, And all about his battle-gear the b.l.o.o.d.y rain doth win: Then iron slumber fell on him, hard rest weighed down his eyes, And shut were they for evermore in night that never dies. 310

Then good aeneas stretched forth hands all empty of the sword, And called bare-headed on his folk, with eager shouted word: "Where rush ye on, and whither now doth creeping discord rise?

Refrain your wrath; the troth is struck; its laws in equal wise Are doomed; and 'tis for me alone the battle to endure.

Nay, let me be! cast fear away; my hand shall make it sure.

This troth-plight, all these holy things, owe Turnus to my sword."

But while his voice was sounding, lo, amidmost of his word, A whistling speedy-winged shaft unto the hero won; Unknown what hand hath sped it forth, what whirlwind bore it on; 320 What G.o.d, what hap, such glory gave to hands of Rutuli; Beneath the weight of things unknown dead doth the honour lie, Nor boasted any of the hurt aeneas had that day.

But Turnus, when he saw the King give back from that array, And all the turmoil of the Dukes, with hope his heart grew fain; He cried for horse and arms, and leapt aloft to battle-wain, And high of heart set on apace, the bridle in his hand; And many a brave man there he gave unto the deadly land, And rolled o'er wounded men in heaps, and high in car wore down The ranks of men; and fleers' spears from out his hand were thrown: E'en as when litten up to war by Hebrus' chilly flood 331 Red Mavors beateth on his shield, and rouseth fightful mood Amid the fury of his steeds, who o'er the level lea In uttermost hoof-smitten Thrace the south and west outflee.

And lo, the fellows of the G.o.d, the black Fear's bitter face, The Rage of men, the Guile of War anigh him wend apace: E'en so amid the battle-field his horses Turnus sped, Reeking with sweat: there tramples he the woeful heaps of dead, The hurrying hoofs go scattering wide a drift of b.l.o.o.d.y rain; The gore, all blent with sandy dust, is pounded o'er the plain. 340 To death he casteth Sthenelus, Pholus, and Thamyris; Those twain anigh, but him afar; from far the bane he is Of Glaucus and of Lades, sons of Imbrasus, whom he In Lycia bred a while agone, and armed them equally To fight anigh, or on their steeds the winds to overrun.

But otherwhere amidst the fight Eumedes fareth on, The son of Dolon of old time, most well-renowned in fight, And bringing back his father's name in courage and in might: For that was he who while agone the Danaan camp espied, And chose Achilles' car for spoil in his abundant pride: 350 But otherwise Tydides paid for such a deed o'erbold, And no more had he any hope Achilles' steeds to hold.

So Turnus, when adown the lea this warrior he had seen, First a light spear he sent in chase across the void between, Then stayed his steeds, and leaping down unto the fallen ran, And set his foot upon the neck of that scarce-breathing man, And from his right hand wrenched the sword and bathed its glittering blade Deep in his throat, and therewithal such spoken chiding said: "Down, Trojan! measure out the mead, and that Hesperean land Thou sought'st in war: such are the gifts that fall unto the hand 360 Of those that dare the sword with me; such city-walls they raise!"

Asbutes wends 'neath spear-cast then, a fellow of his ways; Chloreus, Dares, Thersilochus, and Sybaris, withal; Thymoetes, who from rearing horse had hap to catch a fall; And e'en as when the breathing forth of Thracian Boreas roars O'er deep aegean, driving on the wave-press to the sh.o.r.es, Then wheresoe'er the wind stoops down the clouds flee heaven apace; So wheresoe'er cleaves Turnus way all battle giveth place, All war-array is turned to wrack: his onrush beareth him, And in the breeze that meets his car his tossing crest doth swim. 370

This onset of the maddened heart nought Phegeus might abide, But cast himself before the steeds, and caught and wrenched aside The bit-befoaming mouths of them, the heart-stung hurrying steeds.

But while he hangeth dragged along, the spear broad-headed speeds Unto his shieldless side, and rends the twilinked coat of mail, And for the razing of his flesh a little doth avail: But he turned round about his shield and at the foemen made, And from his naked sword drawn forth sought most well-needed aid; When now the axle-tree and wheel, unto fresh speeding won, Cast him down headlong unto earth, and Turnus following on, 380 Betwixt the lowest of the helm and haubert's upper lip Sheared off his head, and left the trunk upon the sand to slip.

But while victorious Turnus gives these deaths unto the plain, Mnestheus and that Achates leal, Ascanius with the twain, Bring great aeneas to the camp all covered with his blood; There, propping up his halting steps with spear-shaft long, he stood: Mad wroth he is, and strives to pluck the broken reed away, And bids them help by any road, the swiftest that they may, To cut away the wound with sword, cut to the hiding-place Where lies the steel, and send him back to meet the battle's face. 390 Iapis, son of Iasus, by Phoebus best beloved, Draws nigh now: Phoebus on a time, by mighty longing moved, Was fain to give him gifts of G.o.d, his very heavenly craft-- Foresight, or skill of harp-playing, or mastery of the shaft: But he, that from his bed-rid sire the death he yet might stave, Would liefer know the might of herbs, and how men heal and save, And, speeding of a silent craft, inglorious life would wear.

aeneas, fretting bitterly, stood leaning on his spear Midst a great concourse of the lords, with sad Iulus by, Unmoved amid their many tears: the elder, girded high 400 In folded gown, in e'en such wise as Paeon erst was dight, With hurrying hand speeds many a salve of Phoebus' herbs of might; But all in vain: his right hand woos the arrow-head in vain; For nought the teeth of pincers grip the iron of the bane; No happy road will Fortune show, no help Apollo yields: And grimly terror more and more prevaileth o'er the fields, And nigher draws the evil hour: they see the dusty pall Spread o'er the heaven; draw hors.e.m.e.n nigh, and shafts begin to fall Thick in the midmost of the camp: grim clamour smites the stars, The shouts of men, the cries of men that fall in game of Mars. 410

Now Mother Venus, sore at heart for her sore-wounded son, Plucketh a stalk of dittany from Cretan Ida won, That with a downy leaf of grey and purple head doth grow, And well enough the mountain-goats the herbage of it know What time the winged shaft of man within them clingeth sore.

This Venus brought, with cloudy cloak her body covered o'er, This in the waves of glittering rims she steepeth privily, Drugging the cup, and wholesome juice withal there blendeth she, Wrought of ambrosia; heal-all too most sweet of heavenly smell.

So with that stream Iapis old the shaft-wound cherished well 420 Unwitting: sudden from the flesh all grievance doth depart, And all the blood is staunched at once up from the wound's deep heart, And comes the shaft unto the hand with nought to force it forth, And freshly to the king returns his ancient might and worth.

Then cries Iapis: "Loiter ye? arms for the hero then!"

And he is first against the foe to whet the hearts of men.

"Lo, not from any help of man, nor from art's mastery These things have happed, nor hath mine hand, aeneas, holpen thee.

A great G.o.d wrought to send thee back great deeds of fame to win."

Then, fain of fight, on either side the king his legs shuts in 430 With ruddy gold: he loathes delay, and high his war-shaft shakes; And then his left side meets the shield, his back the hauberk takes, And round Iulus casteth he a steel-clad man's embrace, And saith, but lightly kissing him from midst the helmet's s.p.a.ce:

"Child, the bare valour learn of me and very earthly toil, Good-hap of others; my right hand shall ward thee in the broil These days that are, and gain for thee exceeding great rewards; But thou, when ripe thine age shall grow, remember well the swords; Then as thine heart seeks through the past for kin to show the road, Well shall thy sire aeneas stir, thine uncle Hector goad." 440

But when these words are cast abroad, huge through the gate he goes, Shaking in hand a mighty spear; then in arrayment close Antheus and Mnestheus rush to war: the camp is left behind, And all the host flows forth; the fields are blent with dust-cloud blind, And, stirred by trample of the feet, the earth's face trembleth sore.

But Turnus from a facing mound beheld that coming war.

The Ausonians looked, and through their hearts swift ran the chilly fear: And now before all other men first doth Jaturna hear, And know the sound, and, quaking sore, she fleeth back again.

On comes he, hurrying on the host black o'er the open plain: 450 As when a storm cast on the world from heaven asunder rent, Wendeth across the middle sea: out! how the dread is sent Deep to the field-folks' boding hearts:--here comes the orchards' bane, Here comes the acres' utter wrack, the ruin of all the plain!

The gale that goes before its face brings tidings to the sh.o.r.e: So 'gainst the foe the Trojan Duke led on his hosts of war; And gathering in the wedge-array all knit them close around.

Now hath Thymbraeus' battle-blade the huge Osiris found, And Mnestheus slays Archetius, Achates Epulo, And Gyas Ufens: yea, the seer Tolumnius lieth low, 460 He who was first against the foe to hurl the war-shaft out.

The cry goes up unto the heaven; the war-tide turns about, Dust-cloud of flight the Rutuli raise up across the field: But he, the King, thinks scorn of it to smite the backs that yield; Nay, those that meet him foot to foot, the wielders of the spear, He followeth not: Turnus alone his eyes track everywhere Amid the dust-cloud, him alone he crieth unto fight.

Hereby Jaturna's manly mind is shaken with affright; Metiscus, Turnus' charioteer, she plucketh from the rein, And leaveth him fallen down afar from yoking pole and wain: 470 But she mounts up, and with her hand the waving bridle guides, The while Metiscus' voice, and limbs, and war-gear with her bides: As when amid a lordling's house there flits a swallow black, On skimming wings she seeks to still her noisy nestlings' lack, And wandering through the lofty halls but little feast doth get, Then soundeth through the empty porch, and round the fish-pools wet, So is Jaturna borne on wheels amidmost of the foe, And flying on in hurrying chase by everything doth go, Now here, now there, her brother shows all flushed with victory, But still refrains him from the press; far o'er the waste they fly. 480

No less aeneas picks his way amid the winding road, Tracking the man, and through the rout cries ever high and loud; But e'en as oftentimes as he his foeman caught with eye, And 'gainst the flight of winged steeds his running feet would try, So oft the speedy wain of war Jaturna turned aside.

Ah, what to do? In vain he went, borne on a shifting tide, While diverse cares to clashing ways the soul within him drave.

But lo, Messapus, speedy-light, who chanced in hand to have Two light and limber shafts of tree, each with its iron head, Now whirling one, a shot well aimed unto the hero sped: 490 aenesis stayed, and gathered him behind his shielding-gear, And sank upon his knee; no less the eager-driven spear Smote on his helm, and sh.o.r.e away the topmost of his crest Then verily his wrath arose; by all that guile oppressed, When he beheld the steeds and car far from his battle borne, He bade Jove witness, and the hearths of troth-plight wronged and torn: He breaks at last amidst of them with Mars to help him on, And fearful speedeth work of death wherein he spareth none, And casteth every rein aside that held his anger in.

What G.o.d shall tell me all the woe, what G.o.d the song shall win 500 Of shifting death and Dukes undone, and all those many dead, By Turnus and by him of Troy about the fight-field spread?

O Jupiter, was this thy will, that nations doomed to live In peace hereafter, on that day in such a broil should strive?

Rutulian Sucro was the first that Trojan onset stayed; aeneas met him, and forsooth no long delay he made, But smote his side, and through his ribs and fencing of the breast Drave on his bitter naked sword where way was easiest.

Turnus afoot met Amycus, cast down from off his horse, His brother, swift Diores, too: the first amidst his course 510 The long spear smote, the sword the last; the heads of both the twain He hangeth up and beareth on shedding a b.l.o.o.d.y rain.

Talon and Tanais therewith, Cethegus stout to do, All three at once the Trojan sped, and sad Onytes slew, Whom to the name of Echion Peridia's womb did yield.

Then Turnus slew the brethren sent from Phoebus' Lycian field: Menates, too, of Arcady, who loathed the war in vain; By fruitful fishy Lerna's flood was once his life and gain, And unrich house, and nought he knew of mighty men's abode, And hired for a price of men the earth his father sowed. 520

As when two fires, that on a while are sped from diverse ways, Run through the dry and tinder wood, and crackling twigs of bays; As when from off the mountain-tops two hurrying rivers speed, And foaming, roaring, as they rush, drive down to ocean's mead, And each one wastes his proper road; no slothfuller than these, aeneas, Turnus, fare afield; swell up the anger-seas In both their hearts; torn are their b.r.e.a.s.t.s that know not how to yield, In speeding of the wounding-craft their utter might they wield.

Murra.n.u.s, as his sires of sires and ancient name he sings, And boasts his blood come far adown the line of Latin kings, 530 aeneas, with a mighty rock and whirlwind of a stone, O'erthrows, and stretches on the earth; the wain-wheels roll him on, Amid the bridle and the yoke, whom there upon the sward The hurrying hoofs of horses pound, remembering not their lord.

Then Hyllus' onset, and his heart with fury all aglow, Doth Turnus meet; who hurls a shaft against his golden brow, And through the helm the war-spear flies, and in the brain is stayed.

Thee, Cretheus, bravest of the Greeks, thine hands did nothing aid To s.n.a.t.c.h from Turnus.

Nought his G.o.ds did their Cupencus cloak Against aeneas' rush of war; breast-on he met the stroke, 540 And nought availed that hapless one the tarrying golden shield.

Thee also, warring aeolus, did that Laurentine field See fallen, and c.u.mbering the earth with body laid alow; Thou diest, whom the Argive hosts might never overthrow, Nor that Achilles' hand that wrought the Priam's realm its wrack.

Here was thy meted mortal doom; high house 'neath Ida's back, High house within Lyrnessus' garth, grave in Laurentine lea.

Now all the hosts to fight are turned, and blent in battle's sea, All Latin folk, all Dardan sons, Mnestheus, Serestus keen, Messapus tamer of the horse, Asylas fame-beseen, 550 The Tuscan host, Evander's men, the Arcadian wings of fight, Each for himself the warriors play, and strive with utter might; No tarrying, no rest, they strain in contest measureless.

But now a thought his mother sent aeneas' mind to bless.

That he should wend unto the walls, and townward turn his host, And blend amid destruction swift the Latin people lost.

For he, now marking Turnus' ways through many a company, Hither and thither turns his eyes, and sees the city lie At peace amid the mighty stir, unharmed amid the fight, And image of a greater war set all his soul alight. 560 Mnestheus, Sergestus then he calls, Serestus battle-strong, The Dukes of war; he mounts a knoll; thither the Teucrians throng In serried ranks, yet lay not by the battle-spear and shield: So there from off the mound he speaks amidmost of the field:

"Let none hang back from these my words, for Jove is standing by; Let none be dull herein because it cometh suddenly: Today the town, the cause of war, the king Latinus' home, Unless they cry them craven men, and 'neath the yoke they come, Will I o'erthrow; the smoking towers upon the ground will lay.

What! must I wait till Turnus grows fain of the battle-play? 570 And shall he, conquered, take his ease to fight me o'er and o'er?

O fellows, this is head and well of all the wicked war.

Haste with the torches, set we forth the troth with fire to find!"

He spake; but all they set to work, and striving with one mind Knit close their ranks, and on the town a world of battle bear: Unlooked-for ladders are at hand, and sudden fires appear; While some they run unto the gates, and there the out-guards slay, Or hurl the spears, and with their cloud dim down the light of day.