Complete Works of William Morris, page 698
Sends rolling ham-strung: but their arms he biddeth Lausus bear 700
Upon his back, and with their crests upon his helm to wend.
Phrygian Evanthes then he slays, and Mimas, whiles the friend
Like-aged of Paris; unto day and Amycus his sire
Theano gave him on the night that she who went with fire,
E’en Cisseus’ daughter, Paris bore: now Paris lies asleep
In ancient Troy; Laurentian land unknown doth Mimas keep.
Tis as a boar by bite of hounds from the high mountains driven,
Who on pine-nursing Vesulus a many years hath thriven,
Or safe in that Laurentian marsh long years hath had his home,
And fed adown the reedy wood; now mid the toil-nets come 710
He stands at bay, and foameth fierce, and bristleth up all o’er,
And none hath heart to draw anigh and rouse the wrath of war,
But with safe shouts and shafts aloof they press about the place;
While he, unhastening, unafeard, doth everywhither face,
Gnashing his teeth and shaking off the spears from out his back.
So they, who ‘gainst Mezentius there just wrath do nowise lack,
Lack heart to meet him hand to hand with naked brandished blade,
But clamour huge and weapon-shot from far upon him laid.
From that old land of Corythus erewhile had Acron come,
A Grecian man; half-wed he passed the threshold of his home: 720
Whom when Mezentius saw afar turmoiling the mid fight,
Purple with plumes and glorious web his love for him had dight;
E’en as a lion hunger-pinched about the high-fenced fold,
When ravening famine driveth him, if he by chance behold
Some she-goat, or a hart that thrusts his antlers up in air,
Merry he waxeth, gaping fierce his mane doth he uprear,
And hugs the flesh he lies upon; a loathsome sea of blood
Washes the horror of his mouth.
So merry runs Mezentius forth amid the press of foes,
And hapless Acron falls, and pounds the black earth mid his throes 730
With beat of heel; staining the shaft that splintered in the wound.
Scorn had he then Orodes swift to fell unto the ground
Amidst his flight, or give blind bane with unknown cast afar;
He ran to meet him man to man, prevailing in the war
By nought of guile or ambushing, but by the dint of blade.
Foot on the fallen then he set, and strength to spear-shaft laid:
“Fellows, here tall Orodes lies, no thrall in battle throng.”
Then merrily his following folk shout forth their victory-song:
Yet saith the dying:
“Whosoe’er thou art, thou winnest me
Not unavenged: thy joy grows old: the like fate looks for thee, 740
And thou the self-same lea shalt hold within a little while!”
To whom Mezentius spake, his wrath crossed by a gathering smile:
“Die thou! the Father of the Gods, the earth-abider’s lord,
Will look to me.”
He drew the spear from out him at the word,
And iron slumber fell on him, hard rest weighed down his eyes,
And shut were they for evermore by night that never dies.
Now Cædicus slays Alcathous; Sacrator ends outright
Hydaspes; then Parthenius stark and Orses fall in fight
By Rapo; and Messapus fells strong Clonius, and the son,
Of Lycaon; one laid alow, by his own steeds cast down, 750
One foot to foot. Lo Agis now, the Lycian, standeth forth,
Whom Valerus, that nothing lacked his grandsire’s might and worth,
O’erthroweth: Salius Thronius slays; Nealces, Salius;
For skilled he was in dart and shaft, far-flying, perilous.
Now grief and death in Mavors’ scales even for each they lie;
Victors and vanquished, here they slay, and here they fall and die,
But neither these nor those forsooth had fleeing in their thought.
But in Jove’s house the Gods had ruth of rage that nothing wrought,
And such a world of troubles sore for men of dying days;
On this side Venus, and on that Saturnian Juno gaze; 760
And wan Tisiphonè runs wild amid the thousands there.
But lo, Mezentius fierce and fell, shaking a mighty spear,
Stalks o’er the plain. — Lo now, how great doth great Orion sweep
Afoot across the Nereus’ field, the mid sea’s mightiest deep,
Cleaving his way, raised shoulder-high above the billowy wash;
Or when from off the mountain-top he bears an ancient ash
His feet are on the soil of earth, the cloud-rack hides his head:
— E’en so in mighty battle-gear afield Mezentius sped.
But now Æneas, noting him adown the battle-row,
Wendeth to meet him; undismayed he bideth for his foe, 770
Facing the great-souled man, and stands unmoved, a mighty mass:
Then measuring the space between if spear thereby may pass:
“Right hand,” he cries, “my very God, and fleeing spear I shake,
To aid! Thee, Lausus, clad in arms that I today shall take
From body of the sea-thief here I vow for gift of war
Over Æneas slain.”
He spake, and hurled the shaft afar
Loud whistling: from the shield it glanced, and flying far and wide
Smit glory-great Antores down through bowels and through side:
Antores friend of Hercules, who, erst from Argos come, 780
Clung to Evander, and abode in that Italian home:
There laid to earth by straying wound he looketh on the sky,
With lovely Argos in his heart, though death be come anigh.
Then good Æneas cast his spear, and through the hollow round
Of triple brass, through linen skin, through craftsmanship inwound,
With threefold bull-hides, pierced the shaft, and in the groin did lie,
Nor further could its might avail. Then swiftly from his thigh
Æneas caught his glaive, and glad the Tyrrhene blood to see,
Set on upon his wildered foe hot-heart and eagerly.
But Lausus, by his father’s love sore moved, did all behold,
And groaned aloud, while o’er his cheeks a heavy tear-flood rolled 790
— Ah, I will tell of thine ill-fate and deeds that thou hast done;
If any troth in stories told may reach from yore agone,
My speech, O unforgotten youth, in nowise shalt thou lack —
The father with a halting foot hampered and spent drew back,
Still dragging on the foeman’s spear that hung amid his shield;
But mingling him in battle-rush the son took up the field,
And as Æneas’ right hand rose well laden with the blow
He ran beneath, bore off the sword, and stayed the eager foe,
And with a mighty shout behind his fellows follow on,
While shielded by his son’s defence the father gat him gone, 800
And shafts they cast and vex the foe with weapon shot afar.
Mad wroth Æneas grows, but bides well covered from the war;
And as at whiles the clouds come down with furious pelt of hail,
And every driver of the plough the beaten lea doth fail,
And every one that works afield, while safe the traveller lurks
In castle of the river-bank or rock-wrought cloister-works,
The while the rain is on the earth, that they may wear the day
When once again the sun comes back; — so on Æneas lay
The shaft-storm, so the hail of fight loud thundering he abode,
And Lausus with the wrath of words, Lausus with threats did load. 810
“Ah, whither rushest thou to die, and darest things o’ergreat?
Thy love betrays thine heedless heart.”
No less, the fool of fate,
He rusheth on, till high and fierce the tide of wrath doth win
O’er heart of that Dardanian duke, and now the Parcæ spin
Lausus’ last thread: for his stark sword Æneas drives outright
Through the young body, hiding it hilt-deep therein from light
It pierced the shield and glittering gear wherewith he threatened war,
And kirtle that his mother erst with gold had broidered o’er,
And flooded all his breast with blood; and woeful down the wind
His spirit sought the under-world, and left his corpse behind. 820
But when Anchises’ son beheld the face of that dead man,
His face that in a wondrous wise grew faded out and wan,
Groaning for ruth his hand therewith down toward him did he move,
For o’er his soul the image came of his own father’s love:
“O boy, whom all shall weep, what then for such a glorious deed,
What gift can good Æneas give, thy bounteous valour’s meed?
Keep thou the arms thou joyedst in. I give thy body here
Unto thy father’s buried ghosts, if thou thereof hast care.
But let this somewhat solace thee for thine unhappy death,
By great Æneas’ hand thou diest.”
Then chiding words he saith 830
Unto his fellows hanging back, and lifteth up the dead
From off the lea, where blood defiled the tresses of his head.
Meanwhile the father by the wave that ripples Tiber’s breast
With water staunched his bleeding hurt and gave his body rest,
Leaning against a tree-trunk there: high up amid the tree
Hangeth his brazen helm; his arms lie heavy on the lea;
The chosen war-youths stand about: he, sick and panting now,
Nurseth his neck, and o’er his breast his combed-down beard lets flow.
Much about Lausus did he ask, and sore to men he spake
To bid him back, or warning word from his sad sire to take. 840
But Lausus dead his weeping folk were bearing on his shield;
A mighty heart, to mighty hand the victory must he yield
The father’s soul foretaught of ill, afar their wail he knew,
And fouled his hoar hair with the dust, and both his hands upthrew
Toward heaven aloft; then clinging fast unto that lifeless one:
“What lust,” saith he, “of longer life so held my heart, O son,
That thee, my son, I suffered thus to bare thee to the bane
Instead of me; that I, thy sire, health of thy hurts I gain,
Life of thy death! Ah now at last my exile is become
A woe unto my weary heart; yea, now the wound goes home. 850
For I am he who stained thy name, O son, with guilt of mine,
Thrust forth by Fate from fatherland and sceptre of my line:
I should have paid the penalty unto my country’s hate,
And given up my guilty soul to death, my very fate.
I live: I leave not sons of men, nor let the light go by —
— Yet will I leave them.”
So he spake, and on his halting thigh
Rose up, and, howsoe’er his hurt might drag his body down,
Unvanquished yet, he called his horse, his very pleasures crown,
And glory; who had borne him forth victorious from all war;
And thus he spake unto the beast that seemed to sorrow sore: 860
“Rhoebus, o’erlong — if aught be long to men that pass away —
Have we twain lived: those bloody spoils shalt thou bring home today,
And carrying Æneas’ head avenge my Lausus’ woe.
Or if our might no more may make a road whereby to go,
Thou too shalt fall: I deem indeed thou, stout-heart, hast no will
To suffer other men’s commands, or Trojan joy fulfil.”
And therewithal he backeth him, and as he used of old
Settleth his limbs: good store of shafts his either hand doth hold:
His head is glittering o’er with brass, and horse-hair shags his crest.
So midmost of the fight he bears, and ever in his breast 870
Swelleth the mighty sea of shame and mingled miseries.
And now across the fight his voice thrice on Æneas cries.
Æneas knew it well forsooth, and joyfully he prayed:
“So grant the Father of the Gods! So may Apollo aid
That thou may’st fall on me in fight!”
So much he spake, and went his way to meet the foeman’s shaft;
But spake the other: “Bitter wretch, who took’st away my son,
Why fright me now? by that one way my heart might be undone:
No death I dread, no God that is, in battle would I spare.
Enough — I come to thee to die; but first these gifts I bear.” 880
He spake the word, and ‘gainst the foe a dart withal he cast,
And shaft on shaft he lays on him about him flitting fast,
Wide circling; but the golden boss through all the storm bore out
Thrice while Æneas faceth him he rides the ring about,
Casting the weapons from his hand; and thrice the Trojan lord
Bears round a mighty thicket set in brazen battle-board.
But when such tarrying wearieth him, such plucking forth of spears,
And standing in such ill-matched fight the heart within him wears,
Turning the thing o’er manywise, he breaketh forth to speed
A shaft amid the hollow brow of that war-famous steed: 890
Then beating of the air with hoof uprears the four-foot thing
And with his fallen master falls, and ‘neath his cumbering
Weighs down his shoulders brought to earth, and heavy on him lies.
Then Trojan men and Latin men with shouting burn the skies,
And swift Æneas runneth up and pulleth forth his sword,
And crieth o’er him:
“Where is now Mezentius, eager lord?
Where is the fierce heart?”
Unto whom the Tuscan spake, when he
Got sense again, and breathed the air, and o’er him heaven did see:
“O bitter foe, why chidest thou? why slayest thou with words? 899
Slay me and do no wrong! death-safe I came not mid the swords;
And no such covenant of war for us my Lausus bought:
One thing I pray, if vanquished men of grace may gain them aught,
Let the earth hide me! well I know how bitter and how nigh
My people’s wrath draws in on me: put thou their fury by,
And in the tomb beside my son I pray thee let me lie.”
He saith, and open-eyed receives the sword-point in his throat,
And o’er his arms in waves of blood his life and soul doth float.
BOOK XI.
ARGUMENT.
TRUCE IS MADE FOR THE BURYING OF THE DEAD: THE LATINS TAKE COUNSEL OF PEACE OR WAR. CAMILLA’S DEEDS AND DEATH.
Meanwhile Aurora risen up from bed of ocean wends,
And King Æneas, though his grief bids him in burying friends
To wear the day, and though his heart the death of men dismays,
Yet to the Gods of Dawning-tide the worship duly pays.
From a great oak on every side the branches doth he shear,
And setteth on a mound bedight in gleaming battle-gear
The spoils of King Mezentius: a gift to thee it stood,
O Might of War! Thereon he set the crest with blood bedewed,
The broken shafts, the mail-coat pierced amid the foughten field
With twice six dints: on the left arm he tied the brazen shield, 10
And round about the neck he hung the ivory-hilted sword.
Then to his friends, a mighty hedge of duke and battle-lord,
He turned, and to their joyous hearts these words withal he said:
“The most is done, and for the rest let all your fears lie dead:
Lo here the first-fruits! battle-spoil won from a haughty king:
Lo this is all Mezentius now, mine own hands’ fashioning.
Now toward the King and Latin walls all open lies the way;
Up hearts, for war! and let your hope foregrip the battle-day,
That nought of sloth may hinder you, or take you unaware,
When Gods shall bid the banners up, and forth with men ye fare 20
From out of camp, — that craven dread clog not your spirits then:
Meanwhile give we unto the earth these our unburied men,
The only honour they may have in nether Acheron.
Come, fellows, to those noble souls who with their blood have won
A country for us, give those gifts, the last that they may spend.
And first unto Evander’s town of sorrow shall I send
That Pallas, whom, in nowise poor of valour or renown,
The black day reft away from us in bitter death to drown.”
With weeping eyes he drew aback, e’en as the word he said,
Unto the threshold of the place where Pallas, cold and dead, 30
The old Acoetes watched, who erst of that Parrhasian King,
Evander, was the shield-bearer, but now was following
His well-belovèd foster-child in no such happy wise;
But round him were the homemen’s band and Trojan companies,
And Ilian wives with loosened locks in guise of sorrow sore.
But when Æneas entereth now beneath the lofty door
From beaten breast great moan they cast up to the starry heaven;
And wailing of their woeful cheer through all the house is driven.
The King himself when he beheld the pillowed head at rest, 39
The snow-white face, the open wound wrought on the smooth young breast
By that Ausonian spear, so spake amid his gathered tears:
“O boy bewept, despite the gifts my happy Fortune bears
Doth she still grudge it thee to see my kingdom glorious,
Or come a victor back again unto thy father’s house?
Not such the promise that I gave on that departing day
