These eyes
beheld Murranus bite the ground:
Mighty the man, and
mighty was the wound.
I heard my dearest friend, with dying breath,
My name invoking to
revenge his death.
Brave Ufens fell with honor on the place,
To shun the
shameful sight of my disgrace.
On earth supine, a manly
corpse he lies;
His vest and armor are the
victor's prize.
Then, shall I see Laurentum in a flame,
Which only wanted, to complete my shame?
How will the Latins hoot their champion's
flight!
How Drances will
insult and point them to the sight!
Is death so hard to bear? Ye gods below,
(Since those above so small
passion" target="_blank" title="n.同情;怜悯">
compassion show,)
Receive a soul unsullied yet with shame,
Which not belies my great forefather's name!"
He said; and while he spoke, with flying speed
Came Sages urging on his foamy steed:
Fix'd on his wounded face a shaft he bore,
And, seeking Turnus, sent his voice before:
"Turnus, on you, on you alone, depends
Our last
relief:
passion" target="_blank" title="n.同情;怜悯">
compassionate your friends!
Like
lightning,
fierce Aeneas, rolling on,
With arms invests, with flames invades the town:
The brands are toss'd on high; the winds conspire
To drive along the
deluge of the fire.
All eyes are fix'd on you: your foes rejoice;
Ev'n the king staggers, and suspends his choice;
Doubts to deliver or defend the town,
Whom to
reject, or whom to call his son.
The queen, on whom your
utmost hopes were plac'd,
Herself suborning death, has breath'd her last.
'T is true, Messapus,
fearless of his fate,
With
fierce Atinas' aid, defends the gate:
On ev'ry side surrounded by the foe,
The more they kill, the greater numbers grow;
An iron
harvest mounts, and still remains to mow.
You, far aloof from your
forsaken bands,
Your rolling
chariot drive o'er empty
Stupid he sate, his eyes on earth declin'd,
And various cares revolving in his mind:
Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast,
And sorrow mix'd with shame, his soul oppress'd;
And
conscious worth lay lab'ring in his thought,
And love by
jealousy" target="_blank" title="n.妒忌;猜忌">
jealousy to
madness wrought.
By slow degrees his reason drove away
The mists of
passion, and resum'd her sway.
Then, rising on his car, he turn'd his look,
And saw the town involv'd in fire and smoke.
A
wooden tow'r with flames already blaz'd,
Which his own hands on beams and rafters rais'd;
And bridges laid above to join the space,
And wheels below to roll from place to place.
"Sister, the Fates have vanquish'd: let us go
The way which Heav'n and my hard fortune show.
The fight is fix'd; nor shall the branded name
Of a base
coward blot your brother's fame.
Death is my choice; but suffer me to try
My force, and vent my rage before I die."
He said; and, leaping down without delay,
Thro' crowds of scatter'd foes he freed his way.
Striding he pass'd,
impetuous as the wind,
And left the grieving
goddess far behind.
As when a
fragment, from a mountain torn
By raging tempests, or by torrents borne,
Or sapp'd by time, or loosen'd from the roots-
Prone thro' the void the rocky ruin shoots,
Rolling from crag to crag, from steep to steep;
Down sink, at once, the shepherds and their sheep:
Involv'd alike, they rush to
nether ground;
Stunn'd with the shock they fall, and stunn'd from earth rebound:
So Turnus, hasting
headlong to the town,
Should'ring and shoving, bore the squadrons down.
Still pressing
onward, to the walls he drew,
Where shafts, and spears, and darts promiscuous flew,
And
sanguine streams the slipp'ry ground embrue.
First stretching out his arm, in sign of peace,
He cries aloud, to make the
combat cease:
"Rutulians, hold; and Latin troops, retire!
The fight is mine; and me the gods require.
'T is just that I should vindicate alone
The broken truce, or for the
breach atone.
This day shall free from wars th' Ausonian state,
Or finish my misfortunes in my fate."
Both armies from their
bloody work desist,
And,
bearingbackward, form a
spacious list.
The Trojan hero, who receiv'd from fame
The
welcome sound, and heard the champion's name,
Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls,
Greedy of war where greater glory calls.
He springs to fight, exulting in his force
His jointed armor rattles in the course.
Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows,
Or Father Apennine, when, white with snows,
His head
divine obscure in clouds he hides,
And shakes the sounding forest on his sides.
The nations, overaw'd, surcease the fight;
Immovable their bodies, fix'd their sight.
Ev'n death stands still; nor from above they throw
Their darts, nor drive their batt'ring-rams below.
In silent order either army stands,
And drop their swords, unknowing, from their hands.
Th' Ausonian king beholds, with wond'ring sight,
Two
mighty champions match'd in single fight,
Born under climes
remote, and brought by fate,
With swords to try their titles to the state.
Now, in clos'd field, each other from afar
They view; and, rushing on, begin the war.
They
launch their spears; then hand to hand they meet;
The trembling soil resounds beneath their feet:
Their bucklers clash; thick blows
descend from high,
And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly.
Courage conspires with chance, and both ingage
With equal fortune yet, and
mutual rage.
As when two bulls for their fair
female fight
In Sila's shades, or on Taburnus' height;
With horns
adverse they meet; the
keeper flies;
Mute stands the herd; the heifers roll their eyes,
And wait th' event; which
victor they shall bear,
And who shall be the lord, to rule the lusty year:
With rage of love the
jealous rivals burn,
And push for push, and wound for wound return;
Their dewlaps gor'd, their sides are lav'd in blood;
Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow thro' the wood:
Such was the
combat in the listed ground;
So clash their swords, and so their shields resound.
Jove sets the beam; in either scale he lays
The champions' fate, and each exactly weighs.
On this side, life and lucky chance ascends;
Loaded with death, that other scale
descends.
Rais'd on the stretch, young Turnus aims a blow
Full on the helm of his
unguarded foe:
Shrill shouts and clamors ring on either side,
As hopes and fears their panting hearts divide.
But all in pieces flies the
traitor sword,
And, in the middle stroke, deserts his lord.
Now is but death, or
flight; disarm'd he flies,
When in his hand an unknown hilt he spies.
Fame says that Turnus, when his steeds he join'd,
Hurrying to war, disorder'd in his mind,
Snatch'd the first
weapon which his haste could find.
'T was not the fated sword his father bore,
But that his
charioteer Metiscus wore.
This, while the Trojans fled, the toughness held;
But, vain against the great Vulcanian shield,
The
mortal-temper'd steel deceiv'd his hand:
The shiver'd
fragments shone amid the sand.
Surpris'd with fear, he fled along the field,
And now forthright, and now in orbits wheel'd;
For here the Trojan troops the list surround,
And there the pass is clos'd with pools and marshy ground.
Aeneas hastens, tho' with heavier pace-
His wound, so newly knit, retards the chase,
And oft his trembling knees their aid refuse-
Yet, pressing foot by foot, his foe pursues.
Thus, when a
fearful stag is clos'd around
With
crimson toils, or in a river found,
High on the bank the deep-mouth'd hound appears,
Still
opening, following still, where'er he steers;
The persecuted creature, to and fro,
Turns here and there, to scape his Umbrian foe:
Steep is th'
ascent, and, if he gains the land,
The
purple death is pitch'd along the strand.
His eager foe, determin'd to the chase,
Stretch'd at his length, gains ground at ev'ry pace;
Now to his beamy head he makes his way,
And now he holds, or thinks he holds, his prey:
Just at the pinch, the stag springs out with fear;
He bites the wind, and fills his sounding jaws with air:
The rocks, the lakes, the meadows ring with cries;
The
mortaltumult mounts, and thunders in the skies.
Thus flies the Daunian
prince, and, flying, blames
His tardy troops, and,
calling by their names,
Demands his
trusty sword. The Trojan threats
The realm with ruin, and their ancient seats
To lay in ashes, if they dare supply
With arms or aid his vanquish'd enemy:
Thus menacing, he still pursues the course,
With vigor, tho' diminish'd of his force.
Ten times already round the listed place
One chief had fled, and t' other giv'n the chase:
No
trivial prize is play'd; for on the life
Or death of Turnus now depends the strife.
Within the space, an olive tree had stood,
A
sacred shade, a
venerable wood,
For vows to Faunus paid, the Latins'
guardian god.
Here hung the vests, and tablets were ingrav'd,
Of sinking mariners from shipwrack sav'd.
With
heedless hands the Trojans fell'd the tree,
To make the ground inclos'd for
combat free.
Deep in the root, whether by fate, or chance,
Or erring haste, the Trojan drove his lance;
Then stoop'd, and tugg'd with force
immense, to free
Th' incumber'd spear from the tenacious tree;
That, whom his fainting limbs pursued in vain,
His flying
weapon might from far attain.
Confus'd with fear,
bereft of human aid,
Then Turnus to the gods, and first to Faunus pray'd:
"O Faunus, pity! and thou Mother Earth,
Where I thy
foster son receiv'd my birth,
Hold fast the steel! If my religious hand