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The Aeneid-Part61_Virgil(70-19BC)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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By southern tempests to the seas is borne.

Now, when the jav'lin whizz'd along the skies,



Both armies on Camilla turn'd their eyes,

Directed by the sound. Of either host,



Th' unhappyvirgin, tho' concern'd the most,

Was only deaf; so greedy was she bent



On golden spoils, and on her prey intent;

Till in her pap the wingedweapon stood



Infix'd, and deeply drunk the purple blood.

Her sad attendants hasten to sustain



Their dying lady, drooping on the plain.

Far from their sight the trembling Aruns flies,



With beating heart, and fear confus'd with joys;

Nor dares he farther to pursue his blow,



Or ev'n to bear the sight of his expiring foe.

As, when the wolf has torn a bullock's hide



At unawares, or ranch'd a shepherd's side,

Conscious of his audacious deed, he flies,



And claps his quiv'ring tail between his thighs:

So, speeding once, the wretch no more attends,



But, spurring forward, herds among his friends.

She wrench'd the jav'lin with her dying hands,



But wedg'd within her breast the weapon stands;

The wood she draws, the steely point remains;



She staggers in her seat with agonizing pains:

(A gath'ring mist o'erclouds her cheerful eyes,



And from her cheeks the rosy color flies:)

Then turns to her, whom of her female train



She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain:

"Acca, 't is past! he swims before my sight,



Inexorable Death; and claims his right.

Bear my last words to Turnus; fly with speed,



And bid him timely to my charge succeed,

Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve:



Farewell! and in this kiss my partingbreath receive."

She said, and, sliding, sunk upon the plain:



Dying, her open'd hand forsakes the rein;

Short, and more short, she pants; by slow degrees



Her mind the passage from her body frees.

She drops her sword; she nods her plumy crest,



Her drooping head declining on her breast:

In the last sigh her struggling soul expires,



And, murm'ring with disdain, to Stygian sounds retires.

A shout, that struck the golden stars, ensued;



Despair and rage the languish'd fight renew'd.

The Trojan troops and Tuscans, in a line,



Advance to charge; the mix'd Arcadians join.

But Cynthia's maid, high seated, from afar



Surveys the field, and fortune of the war,

Unmov'd a while, till, prostrate on the plain,



Welt'ring in blood, she sees Camilla slain,

And, round her corpse, of friends and foes a fighting train.



Then, from the bottom of her breast, she drew

A mournful sigh, and these sad words ensue:



"Too dear a fine, ah much lamented maid,

For warring with the Trojans, thou hast paid!



Nor aught avail'd, in this unhappy strife,

Diana's sacred arms, to save thy life.



Yet unreveng'd thy goddess will not leave

Her vot'ry's death, nor; with vain sorrow grieve.



Branded the wretch, and be his name abhorr'd;

But after ages shall thy praise record.



Th' inglorious coward soon shall press the plain:

Thus vows thy queen, and thus the Fates ordain."



High o'er the field there stood a hilly mound,

Sacred the place, and spread with oaks around,



Where, in a marble tomb, Dercennus lay,

A king that once in Latium bore the sway.



The beauteous Opis thither bent her flight,

To mark the traitor Aruns from the height.



Him in refulgent arms she soon espied,

Swoln with success; and loudly thus she cried:



"Thy backward steps, vain boaster, are too late;

Turn like a man, at length, and meet thy fate.






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