watch the retreat and slack of the sea, and leap boldly into the shoal
water; others slide down the oars. Tarchon, marking the shore where the
shallows do not seethe and plash with broken water, but the sea glides
up and spreads its tide unbroken, suddenly turns his bows to land and
implores his comrades: 'Now, O chosen crew, bend strongly to your oars;
lift your ships, make them go; let the prows cleave this hostile land
and the keel plough [297-330]herself a furrow. I will let my vessel
break up on such harbourage if once she takes the land.' When Tarchon
had spoken in such wise, his comrades rise on their oar-blades and carry
their ships in foam towards the Latin fields, till the prows are fast on
dry land and all the keels are aground unhurt. But not thy galley,
Tarchon; for she dashes on a shoal, and swings long swaying on the cruel
bank, pitching and slapping the flood, then breaks up, and lands her
crew among the waves. Broken oars and floating thwarts entangle them,
and the ebbing wave sucks their feet away.
Nor does Turnus keep idly dallying, but swiftly hurries his whole array
against the Trojans and ranges it to face the beach. The trumpets blow.
At once Aeneas charges and confounds the rustic squadrons of the Latins,
and slays Theron for omen of battle. The giant advances to challenge
Aeneas; but through sewed plates of brass and tunic rough with gold the
sword plunges in his open side. Next he strikes Lichas, cut from his
mother already dead, and consecrated, Phoebus, to thee, since his
infancy was granted escape from the perilous steel. Near thereby he
struck dead brawny Cisseus and vast Gyas, whose clubs were mowing down
whole files: naught availed them the arms of Hercules and their strength
of hand, nor Melampus their father, ever of Alcides' company while earth
yielded him sore travail. Lo! while Pharus utters weak vaunts the hurled
javelin strikes on his shouting mouth. Thou too, while thou followest
thy new delight, Clytius, whose cheeks are golden with youthful
down--thou, luckless Cydon, struck down by the Dardanian hand, wert
lying past thought, ah pitiable! of the young loves that were ever
thine, did not the close array of thy brethren interpose, the children
of Phorcus, seven in number, and send a sevenfold shower of darts. Some
glance ineffectual from helmet and shield; [331-365]some Venus the
bountiful turned aside as they grazed his body. Aeneas calls to trusty
Achates: 'Give me store of weapons; none that hath been planted in
Grecian body on the plains of Ilium shall my hand hurl at Rutulian in
vain.' Then he catches and throws his great spear; the spear flies
grinding through the brass of Maeon's shield, and breaks through corslet
and through breast. His brother Alcanor runs up and sustains with his
right arm his sinking brother; through his arm the spear passes speeding
straight on its message, and holds its bloody way, and the hand dangles
by the sinews lifeless from the shoulder. Then Numitor, seizing his dead
brother's javelin, aims at Aeneas, but might not fairly pierce him, and
grazed tall Achates on the thigh. Here Clausus of Cures comes confident
in his pride of strength, and with a long reach strikes Dryops under the
chin, and, urging the stiff spear-shaft home, stops the accents of his
speech and his life together, piercing the throat; but he strikes the
earth with his forehead, and vomits clots of blood. Three Thracians
likewise of Boreas' sovereign race, and three sent by their father Idas
from their native Ismarus, fall in divers wise before him. Halesus and
his Auruncan troops hasten thither; Messapus too, seed of Neptune, comes
up charioted. This side and that strive to hurl back the enemy, and
fight hard on the very edge of Ausonia. As when in the depth of air
adverse winds rise in battle with equal spirit and strength; not they,
not clouds nor sea, yield one to another; long the battle is doubtful;
all stands locked in counterpoise: even thus clash the ranks of Troy and
ranks of Latium, foot fast on foot, and man crowded up on man.
But in another quarter, where a torrent had driven a wide path of
rolling stones and bushes torn away from the banks, Pallas saw his
Arcadians, unaccustomed to move as infantry, giving back before the
Latin pursuit, when the [366-400]roughness of the ground bade them
dismount. This only was left in his strait, to kindle them to valour,
now by entreaties, now by taunts: 'Whither flee you, comrades? by your
deeds of bravery, by your leader Evander's name, by your triumphant
campaigns, and my hope that now rises to rival my father's honour, trust
not to flight. Our swords must hew a way through the enemy. Where yonder
mass of men presses thickest, there your proud country calls you with
Pallas at your head. No gods are they who bear us down; mortals, we feel
the pressure of a mortal foe; we have as many lives and hands as he. Lo,
the deep shuts us in with vast sea barrier; even now land fails our
flight; shall we make ocean or Troy our goal?'
So speaks he, and bursts amid the serried foe. First Lagus meets him,
drawn thither by malign destiny; him, as he tugs at a ponderous stone,
hurling his spear where the spine ran dissevering the ribs, he pierces
and wrenches out the spear where it stuck fast in the bone. Nor does
Hisbo catch him stooping, for all that he hoped it; for Pallas, as he
rushes unguarded on, furious at his comrade's cruel death, receives him
on his sword and buries it in his distended lungs. Next he attacks
Sthenius, and Anchemolus of Rhoetus' ancient family, who dared to
violate the bridal chamber of his stepmother. You, too, the twins
Larides and Thymber, fell on the Rutulian fields, children of Daucus,
indistinguishable for likeness and a sweet perplexity to your parents.
But now Pallas made cruel difference between you; for thy head, Thymber,
is swept off by Evander's sword; thy right hand, Larides, severed, seeks
its master, and the dying fingers jerk and clutch at the sword. Fired by
his encouragement, and beholding his noble deeds, the Arcadians advance
in wrath and shame to meet the enemy in arms. Then Pallas pierces
Rhoeteus as he flies past in his chariot. This space, this
[401-435]much of respite was given to Ilus; for at Ilus he had aimed
the strong spear from afar, and Rhoeteus intercepts its passage, in
flight from thee, noble Teuthras and Tyres thy brother; he rolls from
the chariot in death, and his heels strike the Rutulian fields. And as
the shepherd, when summer winds have risen to his desire, kindles the
woods dispersedly; on a sudden the mid spaces catch, and a single
flickering line of fire spreads wide over the plain; he sits looking
down on his conquest and the revel of the flames; even so, Pallas, do
thy brave comrades gather close to sustain thee. But warrior Halesus
advances full on them, gathering himself behind his armour; he slays
Ladon, Pheres, Demodocus; his gleaming sword shears off Strymonius' hand
as it rises to his throat; he strikes Thoas on the face with a stone,
and drives the bones asunder in a shattered mass of blood and brains.
Halesus had his father the soothsayer kept hidden in the woodland: when
the old man's glazing eyes sank to death, the Fates laid hand on him and
devoted him to the arms of Evander. Pallas aims at him, first praying
thus: 'Grant now, lord Tiber, to the steel I poise and hurl, a
prosperous way through brawny Halesus' breast; thine oak shall bear
these arms and the dress he wore.' The god heard it; while Halesus
covers Imaon, he leaves, alas! his breast unarmed to the Arcadian's
weapon. Yet at his grievous death Lausus, himself a great arm of the
war, lets not his columns be dismayed; at once he meets and cuts down
Abas, the check and stay of their battle. The men of Arcadia go down
before him; down go the Etruscans, and you, O Teucrians, invincible by
Greece. The armies close, matched in strength and in captains; the rear
ranks crowd in; weapons and hands are locked in the press. Here Pallas
strains and pushes on, here Lausus opposite, nearly matched in age,
excellent in beauty; but fortune [436-467]had denied both return to
their own land. Yet that they should meet face to face the sovereign of
high Olympus allowed not; an early fate awaits them beneath a mightier
foe.
Meanwhile Turnus' gracious sister bids him take Lausus' room, and his
fleet chariot parts the ranks. When he saw his comrades, 'It is time,'
he cried, 'to stay from battle. I alone must assail Pallas; to me and
none other Pallas is due; I would his father himself were here to see.'
So speaks he, and his Rutulians draw back from a level space at his
bidding. But then as they withdrew, he, wondering at the haughty
command, stands in amaze at Turnus, his eyes scanning the vast frame,
and his fierce glance perusing him from afar. And with these words he
returns the words of the monarch: 'For me, my praise shall even now be
in the lordly spoils I win, or in illustrious death: my father will bear
calmly either lot: away with menaces.' He speaks, and advances into the
level ring. The Arcadians' blood gathers chill about their hearts.
Turnus leaps from his chariot and prepares to close with him. And as a
lion sees from some lofty outlook a bull stand far off on the plain
revolving battle, and flies at him, even such to see is Turnus' coming.
When Pallas deemed him within reach of a spear-throw, he advances, if so
chance may assist the daring of his overmatched strength, and thus cries
into the depth of sky: 'By my father's hospitality and the board whereto
thou camest a wanderer, on thee I call, Alcides; be favourable to my
high emprise; let Turnus even in death discern me stripping his
blood-stained armour, and his swooning eyes endure the sight of his
conqueror.' Alcides heard him, and deep in his heart he stifled a heavy
sigh, and let idle tears fall. Then with kindly words the father accosts
his son: 'Each hath his own appointed day; short and irrecoverable
[468-502]is the span of life for all: but to spread renown by deeds is
the task of valour. Under high Troy town many and many a god's son fell;
nay, mine own child Sarpedon likewise perished. Turnus too his own fate
summons, and his allotted period hath reached the goal.' So speaks he,
and turns his eyes away from the Rutulian fields. But Pallas hurls his
spear with all his strength, and pulls his sword flashing out of the
hollow scabbard. The flying spear lights where the armour rises high
above the shoulder, and, forcing a way through the shield's rim, ceased
not till it drew blood from mighty Turnus. At this Turnus long poises
the spear-shaft with its sharp steel head, and hurls it on Pallas with
these words: _See thou if our weapon have not a keener point._ He ended;
but for all the shield's plating of iron and brass, for all the
bull-hide that covers it round about, the quivering spear-head smashes
it fair through and through, passes the guard of the corslet, and
pierces the breast with a gaping hole. He tears the warm weapon from the
wound; in vain; together and at once life-blood and sense follow it. He
falls heavily on the ground, his armour clashes over him, and his
bloodstained face sinks in death on the hostile soil. And Turnus
standing over him . . .: 'Arcadians,' he cries, 'remember these my
words, and bear them to Evander. I send him back his Pallas as was due.
All the meed of the tomb, all the solace of sepulture, I give freely.
Dearly must he pay his welcome to Aeneas.' And with these words,
planting his left foot on the dead, he tore away the broad heavy
sword-belt engraven with a tale of crime, the array of grooms foully
slain together on their bridal night, and the nuptial chambers dabbled
with blood, which Clonus, son of Eurytus, had wrought richly in gold.
Now Turnus exults in spoiling him of it, and rejoices at his prize. Ah
spirit of man, ignorant of fate and the allotted future, or to keep
bounds when elate with prosperity!--the day will [503-535]come when
Turnus shall desire to have bought Pallas' safety at a great ransom, and
curse the spoils of this fatal day. But with many moans and tears
Pallas' comrades lay him on his shield and bear him away amid their
ranks. O grief and glory and grace of the father to whom thou shalt
return! This one day sent thee first to war, this one day takes thee
away, while yet thou leavest heaped high thy Rutulian dead.
And now no rumour of the dreadful loss, but a surer messenger flies to
Aeneas, telling him his troops are on the thin edge of doom; it is time
to succour the routed Teucrians. He mows down all that meets him, and
hews a broad path through their columns with furious sword, as he seeks
thee, O Turnus, in thy fresh pride of slaughter. Pallas, Evander, all
flash before his eyes; the board whereto but then he had first come a
wanderer, and the clasped hands. Here four of Sulmo's children, as many
more of Ufens' nurture, are taken by him alive to slaughter in sacrifice
to the shade below, and slake the flames of the pyre with captive blood.
Next he levelled his spear full on Magus from far. He stoops cunningly;
the spear flies quivering over him; and, clasping his knees, he speaks
thus beseechingly: 'By thy father's ghost, by Iülus thy growing hope, I
entreat thee, save this life for a child and a parent. My house is
stately; deep in it lies buried wealth of engraven silver; I have masses
of wrought and unwrought gold. The victory of Troy does not turn on
this, nor will a single life make so great a difference.' He ended; to
him Aeneas thus returns answer: 'All the wealth of silver and gold thou
tellest of, spare thou for thy children. Turnus hath broken off this thy
trafficking in war, even then when Pallas fell. Thus judges the ghost of
my father Anchises, thus Iülus.' So speaking, he grasps his helmet with
his left hand, and, bending back his neck, drives his [536-572]sword up
to the hilt in the suppliant. Hard by is Haemonides, priest of Phoebus
and Trivia, his temples wound with the holy ribboned chaplet, all
glittering in white-robed array. Him he meets and chases down the plain,
and, standing over his fallen foe, slaughters him and wraps him in great
darkness; Serestus gathers the armour and carries it away on his
shoulders, a trophy, King Gradivus, to thee. Caeculus, born of Vulcan's
race, and Umbro, who comes from the Marsian hills, fill up the line. The
Dardanian rushes full on them. His sword had hewn off Anxur's left arm,
with all the circle of the shield--he had uttered brave words and deemed
his prowess would second his vaunts, and perchance with spirit lifted up
had promised himself hoar age and length of years--when Tarquitus in the
pride of his glittering arms met his fiery course, whom the nymph Dryope
had borne to Faunus, haunter of the woodland. Drawing back his spear, he
pins the ponderous shield to the corslet; then, as he vainly pleaded and
would say many a thing, strikes his head to the ground, and, rolling
away the warm body, cries thus over his enemy: 'Lie there now, terrible
one! no mother's love shall lay thee in the sod, or place thy limbs
beneath thine heavy ancestral tomb. To birds of prey shalt thou be left,
or borne down sunk in the eddying water, where hungry fish shall suck
thy wounds.' Next he sweeps on Antaeus and Lucas, the first of Turnus'
train, and brave Numa and tawny-haired Camers, born of noble Volscens,
who was wealthiest in land of the Ausonians, and reigned in silent
Amyclae. Even as Aegaeon, who, men say, had an hundred arms, an hundred
hands, fifty mouths and breasts ablaze with fire, and arrayed against
Jove's thunders as many clashing shields and drawn swords: so Aeneas,
when once his sword's point grew warm, rages victorious over all the
field. Nay, lo! he darts full in face on Niphaeus' four-horse chariot;
before his long strides [573-608]and dreadful cry they turned in terror
and dashed back, throwing out their driver and tearing the chariot down
the beach. Meanwhile the brothers Lucagus and Liger drive up with their
pair of white horses. Lucagus valiantly waves his drawn sword, while his
brother wheels his horses with the rein. Aeneas, wrathful at their mad
onslaught, rushes on them, towering high with levelled spear. To him
Liger . . . 'Not Diomede's horses dost thou discern, nor Achilles'
chariot, nor the plains of Phrygia: now on this soil of ours the war and
thy life shall end together.' Thus fly mad Liger's random words. But not
in words does the Trojan hero frame his reply: for he hurls his javelin
at the foe. As Lucagus spurred on his horses, bending forward over the
whip, with left foot advanced ready for battle, the spear passes through
the lower rim of his shining shield and pierces his left groin, knocks
him out of the chariot, and stretches him in death on the fields. To him
good Aeneas speaks in bitter words: 'Lucagus, no slackness in thy
coursers' flight hath betrayed thee, or vain shadow of the foe turned
them back; thyself thou leapest off the harnessed wheels.' In such wise
he spoke, and caught the horses. His brother, slipping down from the
chariot, pitiably outstretched helpless hands: 'Ah, by the parents who
gave thee birth, great Trojan, spare this life and pity my prayer.' More
he was pleading; but Aeneas: 'Not such were the words thou wert
uttering. Die, and be brother undivided from brother.' With that his
sword's point pierces the breast where the life lies hid. Thus the
Dardanian captain dealt death over the plain, like some raging torrent
stream or black whirlwind. At last the boy Ascanius and his troops burst
through the ineffectual leaguer and issue from the camp.
Meanwhile Jupiter breaks silence to accost Juno: 'O sister and wife best
beloved, it is Venus, as thou deemedst, [609-639]nor is thy judgment
astray, who sustains the forces of Troy; not their own valour of hand in
war, and untamable spirit and endurance in peril.' To whom Juno
beseechingly:
'Why, fair my lord, vexest thou one sick at heart and trembling at thy
bitter words? If that force were in my love that once was, and that was
well, never had thine omnipotence denied me leave to withdraw Turnus
from battle and preserve him for his father Daunus in safety. Now let
him perish, and pay forfeit to the Trojans of his innocent blood. Yet he
traces his birth from our name, and Pilumnus was his father in the
fourth generation, and oft and again his bountiful hand hath heaped thy
courts with gifts.'
To her the king of high heaven thus briefly spoke: 'If thy prayer for
him is delay of present death and respite from his fall, and thou dost
understand that I ordain it thus, remove thy Turnus in flight, and
snatch him from the fate that is upon him. For so much indulgence there
is room. But if any ampler grace mask itself in these thy prayers, and
thou dreamest of change in the whole movement of the war, idle is the
hope thou nursest.'
And Juno, weeping: 'Ah yet, if thy mind were gracious where thy lips are
stern, and this gift of life might remain confirmed to Turnus! Now his
portion is bitter and guiltless death, or I wander idly from the truth.
Yet, oh that I rather deluded myself with false alarms, and thou who
canst wouldst bend thy course to better counsels.'
These words uttered, she darted through the air straight from high
heaven, cloud-girt in driving tempest, and sought the Ilian ranks and
camp of Laurentum. Then the goddess, strange and ominous to see,
fashions into the likeness of Aeneas a thin and pithless shade of hollow
mist, decks it with Dardanian weapons, and gives it the mimicry of
shield and divine helmet plume, gives unsubstantial [640-673]words and
senseless utterance, and the mould and motion of his tread: like shapes
rumoured to flit when death is past, or dreams that delude the
slumbering senses. But in front of the battle-ranks the phantom dances
rejoicingly, and with arms and mocking accents provokes the foe. Turnus
hastens up and sends his spear whistling from far on it; it gives back
and turns its footsteps. Then indeed Turnus, when he believed Aeneas
turned and fled from him, and his spirit madly drank in the illusive
hope: 'Whither fliest thou, Aeneas? forsake not thy plighted bridal
chamber. This hand shall give thee the land thou hast sought overseas.'
So clamouring he pursues, and brandishes his drawn sword, and sees not
that his rejoicing is drifting with the winds. The ship lay haply moored
to a high ledge of rock, with ladders run out and gangway ready, wherein
king Osinius sailed from the coasts of Clusium. Here the fluttering
phantom of flying Aeneas darts and hides itself. Nor is Turnus slack to
follow; he overleaps the barriers and springs across the high gangways.
Scarcely had he lighted on the prow; the daughter of Saturn snaps the
hawser, and the ship, parted from her cable, runs out on the ebbing
tide. And him Aeneas seeks for battle and finds not, and sends many a
man that meets him to death. Then the light phantom seeks not yet any
further hiding-place, but, flitting aloft, melts in a dark cloud; and a
blast comes down meanwhile and sweeps Turnus through the seas. He looks
back, witless of his case and thankless for his salvation, and, wailing,
stretches both hands to heaven: 'Father omnipotent, was I so guilty in
thine eyes, and is this the punishment thou hast ordained? Whither am I
borne? whence came I? what flight is this, or in what guise do I return?
Shall I look again on the camp or walls of Laurentum? What of that array
of men who followed me to arms? whom--oh horrible!--I have abandoned all
amid [674-707]a dreadful death; and now I see the stragglers and catch
the groans of those who fall. What do I? or how may earth ever yawn for
me deep enough? Do you rather, O winds, be pitiful, carry my bark on
rock or reef; it is I, Turnus, who desire and implore you; or drive me
on the cruel shoals of the Syrtis, where no Rutulian may follow nor
rumour know my name.' Thus speaking, he wavers in mind this way and
that: maddened by the shame, shall he plunge on his sword's harsh point
and drive it through his side, or fling himself among the waves, and
seek by swimming to gain the winding shore, again to return on the
Trojan arms? Thrice he essayed either way; thrice queenly Juno checked
and restrained him in pity of heart. Cleaving the deep, he floats with
the tide down the flood, and is borne on to his father Daunus' ancient
city.