Complete Works of William Morris, page 702
About the ribs, that iron point in baneful wound and deep:
She droopeth bloodless, droop her eyes acold in deadly sleep;
From out her cheeks the colour flees that once therewith were clear.
Then, passing, Acca she bespeaks, her very maiden peer, 820
Her who alone of all the rest might share Camilla’s rede,
A trusted friend: such words to her the dying mouth doth speed:
“Sister, thus far my might hath gone; but now this bitter wound
Maketh an end, and misty dark are grown all things around:
Fly forth, and unto Turnus bear my very latest words;
Let him to fight, and from the town thrust off the Trojan swords —
Farewell, farewell!” —
And with the word the bridle failed her hold,
And unto earth unwilling now she flowed, and waxen cold
Slowly she slipped her body’s bonds; her languid neck she bent,
Laid down the head that death had seized, and left her armament; 830
And with a groan her life flew forth disdainful into night.
Then rose the cry and smote aloft the starry golden height,
And with the Queen so felled to field the fight grew young again,
And thronged and serried falleth on the Teucrian might and main,
The Tuscan Dukes, Evander’s host, the wings of Arcady.
But Opis, Dian’s watch of war, set on the mountain high,
A long while now all unafeard had eyed the battle o’er,
And when far off, amid the cries of maddened men of war,
She saw Camilla win the death by bitter ill award, 839
She groaned, and from her inmost heart such words as these she poured:
“Alas, O maid, thou payest it o’ermuch and bitterly,
That thou unto the Teucrian folk the challenge needs must cry.
Ah, nothing it availed thee, maid, through deserts of the deer
To worship Dian, or our shafts upon thy back to bear.
And yet the Queen hath left thee not alone amidst of shame
In grip of death; nor shalt thou die a death without a name
In people’s ears; nor yet as one all unavenged be told:
For whosoever wronged thy flesh with wounding overbold
Shall pay the penalty well earned.”
Now ‘neath the mountains high,
All clad with shady holm-oaks o’er, a mighty mound doth lie, 850
The tomb of King Dercennus called, Laurentum’s lord of yore;
And thitherward her speedy feet that loveliest Goddess bore,
And there abiding, Arruns spied from off the high-heaped mound
But when the wretch in gleaming arms puffed up with pride she found,
“Why,” quoth she, “dost thou turn away? Here, hither wend thy feet;
Come here and perish; take reward for slain Camilla meet!
But ah, for death of such an one is Dian’s arrow due?”
Then from the Thracian quiver gilt a wingèd shaft she drew,
And bent the horn-wrought bow withal with heart on slaying set:
Far drew she, till the curving horns each with the other met: 860
Alike she strained her hands to shoot; the left hand felt the steel,
The right that drew the string aback her very breast did feel.
Then straightway Arruns heard in one the bow-string how it rung,
And whistle of the wind; and there the shaft within him clung:
His fellows leave him dying there and groaning out his last,
Forgotten in an unknown field, amid the sand downcast;
While to Olympus on the wing straightway is Opis borne.
But now first flees Camilla’s band, their Queen and mistress lorn,
And flee the beaten Rutuli, and fierce Atinas flees;
The Dukes of men in disarray, the broken companies 870
Now turn their faces to the town, and seek a sheltering place,
Nor yet may any turn with spear upon the Teucrian chase,
That beareth death of men in hand, or bar the homeward road:
Cast back on fainting shoulders now the loose bow hangs a load;
The horny hoofs of four-foot things shake down the dusty mead,
The mirky cloud of rolling dust doth ever townward speed;
And mothers beating of their breasts stand on the watch-towers high,
And cast abroad their woman’s wail up to the starry sky.
But they who in their fleeing first break through the open doors,
In mingled tumult on their backs a crowd of foemen pours; 880
Nor do they ‘scape a wretched death: there, on the threshold-stead,
Within their fathers’ walls, amidst the peace of home, they shed
The lives from out their bodies pierced: then some men shut the gate,
Nor durst they open to their friends, or take in them that wait
Praying without; and there indeed is woeful slaughter towards
Of them that fence the wall with swords, and rushers on the swords.
Those shut out ‘neath the very eyes of weeping kith and kin,
Some headlong down the ditches roll, by fleeing rout thrust in;
Some blindly and with loosened rein spur on their steeds to meet
As battering-rams the very gates, the ruthless door-leaves beat 890
And now, in agony of fight, the mothers on the walls,
E’en as they saw Camilla do, (so love of country calls),
With hurrying hands the javelins cast, and in the iron’s stead
Make shift of hardened pale of oak and stake with half-burned head.
Hot-heart they are, afire to die the first their town to save.
Meanwhile to Turnus in the woods sweeps in that cruel wave
Of tidings: trouble measureless doth Acca to him bring, —
The wasting of the Volscian host, Camilla’s murdering,
The onset of the baneful foe with favouring Mars to aid;
The ruin of all things; present fear e’en on the city laid, 900
He, madly wroth, (for even so Jove’s dreadful might deemed good),
Leaveth the hills’ beleaguerment and mirky rugged wood.
Scarce was he out of sight thereof, and nigh his camp to win,
When mid the opened pass and bare Æneas entereth in,
Climbeth the ridge, and slippeth through the thicket’s shadowy night.
So either toward the city fares with all their battle-might,
And no long space of way indeed there was betwixt the twain,
For e’en so soon as far away Æneas saw the plain
Through dusty reek, and saw withal Laurentum’s host afar,
Turnus the fierce Æneas knew in all array of war, 910
And heard the marching footmen tramp, and coming horses neigh.
Then had they fallen to fight forthwith and tried the battle-play,
But rosy Phoebus sank adown amidst Iberian flood
His weary steeds, and brought back Night upon the failing day.
So there they pitch before the town and make their ramparts good.
BOOK XII.
ARGUMENT.
HEREIN ARE ÆNEAS AND TURNUS PLEDGED TO FIGHT THE MATTER OUT IN SINGLE COMBAT; BUT THE LATINS BREAK THE PEACE AND ÆNEAS IS WOUNDED: IN THE END ÆNEAS MEETETH TURNUS INDEED, AND SLAYETH HIM.
When Turnus sees the Latin men all failing from the sword,
Broken by Mars, and that all folk bethink them of his word.
And fall to mark him with their eyes, then fell he burns indeed,
And raises up his heart aloft; e’en as in Punic mead
The smitten lion, hurt in breast by steel from hunters’ ring,
Setteth the battle in array, and joyfully doth fling
The mane from off his brawny neck, and fearless of his mood
Breaks off the clinging robber-spear, and roars from mouth of blood;
E’en so o’er Turnus’ fiery heart the tide of fury wins,
And thus he speaketh to the King, and hasty speech begins: 10
“No hanging back in Turnus is, and no Ænean thrall
Hath aught to do to break his word or plighted troth recall:
I will go meet him: Father, bring the Gods, the peace-troth plight;
Then either I this Dardan thing will send adown to night, —
This rag of Asia, — Latin men a-looking on the play,
And all alone the people’s guilt my sword shall wipe away;
Or let him take us beaten folk, and wed Lavinia then!”
But unto him from quiet soul Latinus spake again:
“Great-hearted youth, by e’en so much as thou in valorous might
Dost more excel, by so much I must counsel me aright, 20
And hang all haps that may betide in those sad scales of mine.
Thine are thy father Daunus’ realms, a many towns are thine,
Won by thine hand: Latinus too his gold and goodwill yields;
But other high-born maids unwed dwell in Laurentine fields
Or Latin land, — nay, suffer me to set all guile apart,
And say a hard thing — do thou take this also to thine heart:
To none of all her wooers of old my daughter may I wed;
This warning word of prophecy all men and Gods have sped.
But by thy kindred blood o’ercome, and by the love of thee,
And by my sad wife’s tears, I broke all bonds and set me free. 30
From son-in-law I rapt his bride, I drew a godless sword.
What mishaps and what wrack of peace have been my due reward
Thou seest, Turnus, and what grief I was the first to bear.
Twice beaten in a woeful fight, scarce is our city here
Held by the hope of Italy: still Tiber-flood rolls by,
Warm with our blood, and ‘neath our bones wide meadows whitening lie.
But whither waver I so oft? what folly shifts my mind?
If I am ready, Turnus dead, peace with these men to bind,
Shall I not rather while thou liv’st cast all the war away?
What shall my kindred Rutuli, what shall Italia say, 40
If I deliver thee to death, (Fate thrust the words aside!)
Thee, who hast wooed me for thy sire, my daughter for thy bride?
Look on the wavering hap of war, pity thy father’s eld,
Now far from thee in sorrow sore by ancient Ardea held.”
But not a whit might all these words the wrath of Turnus bend.
Nay, worser waxed he, sickening more by medicine meant to mend:
And e’en so soon as he might speak, such words were in his mouth:
“Thy trouble for my sake, best lord, e’en for my sake forsooth,
Lay down, I prithee; let me buy a little praise with death.
I too, O father, sow the spear, nor weak hand scattereth 50
The iron seed, with me afield: the blood-springs know my stroke.
Nor here shall be his Goddess-dame with woman’s cloud to cloak
A craven king, and hide herself in empty mirky shade.”
But now the Queen, by this new chance of battle sore afraid,
Fell weeping, as her fiery son she held with dying eyes:
“O Turnus, by these tears, by what of worship for me lies
Anigh thy heart; O, only hope of this my latter tide,
Sole rest from sorrow! thou, in whom all worship doth abide,
All glory of the Latin name, our falling house-wall stay!
Set not thine hand to Teucrian war; this thing alone I pray. 60
Whatever lot abideth thee, O Turnus, mid the fight,
Abideth me, and I with thee will leave the loathed light;
Nor will I, made Æneas’ thrall, behold him made my son.”
Lavinia heard her mother’s words with burning cheeks, whereon
Lay rain of tears, for thereunto exceeding ruddy flush
Had brought the fire that now along her litten face did rush:
As when the Indian ivory they wrong with blood-red dye,
Or when mid many lilies white the ruddy roses lie,
E’en such a mingled colour showed upon the maiden’s face.
Sore stirred by love upon the maid he fixed his constant gaze, 70
And, all the more afire for fight, thus to Amata said:
“I prithee, mother, with these tears, such sign of coming dread,
Dog not my feet as forth I wend to Mavors’ bitter play;
For Turnus is not free to thrust the hour of death away.
Go, Idmon, bear the Phrygian lord these very words of mine,
Nought for his pleasure: When the dawn tomorrow first shall shine,
And from her purple wheels aloft shall redden all the sky,
Lead not thy Teucrians to the fight: Teucrians and Rutuli
Shall let their swords be; and we twain, our blood shall quench the strife,
And we upon that field shall woo Lavinia for a wife.” 80
He spake, and to the roofed place now swiftly wending home,
Called for his steeds, and merrily stood there before their foam,
E’en those that Orithyia gave Pilumnus, gift most fair,
Whose whiteness overpassed the snow, whose speed the wingèd air.
The busy horse-boys stand about, and lay upon their breasts
The clapping of their hollow hands, and comb their manèd crests.
But he the mail-coat doth on him well-wrought with golden scale
And latten white; he fits the sword unto his hand’s avail:
His shield therewith, and hornèd helm with ruddy crest o’erlaid:
That sword, the very Might of Fire for father Daunus made, 90
And quenched the white-hot edge thereof amidst the Stygian flood.
Then the strong spear he took in hand that ‘gainst the pillar stood,
Amidmost of the house: that spear his hand won mightily
From Actor of Auruncum erst; he shakes the quivering tree
Loud crying: “Now, O spear of mine, who never heretofore
Hast failed my call, the day draws on: thee the huge Actor bore,
Now Turnus’ right hand wieldeth thee: to aid, that I prevail
To lay the Phrygian gelding low, and strip his rended mail
By might of hand; to foul with dust the ringlets of his hair,
Becrisped with curling-irons hot and drenched with plenteous myrrh!” 100
By such a fury is he driven; from all his countenance
The fiery flashes leap, the flames in his fierce eyeballs dance:
As when a bull in first of fight raiseth a fearful roar,
And teacheth wrath unto his horns and whets them for the war,
And ‘gainst the tree-trunks pusheth them, and thrusts the breezes home,
And with the scattering of the sand preludeth fight to come.
Nor less Æneas, terrible, in Venus’ armour dight,
Now whetteth war; and in his heart stirreth the wrath of fight,
That plighted peace shall lay the war fain is his heart and glad;
His fellows’ minds and bitter fear that makes Iulus sad 110
He solaceth with fate-wise words; then bids his folk to bear
His answer to the Latin king and peace-laws to declare.
But scarce the morrow’s dawn of day had lit the mountain steeps,
And scarce the horses of the Sun drew upward from the deeps,
And from their nostrils raised aloft blew forth the morning clear,
When Trojans and Rutulian men the field of fight prepare,
And measure out a space beneath the mighty city’s wall.
Midmost the hearths they hallow there to common Gods of all,
And grassy altars: other some bear fire, and fountain’s flow,
All linen clad, and vervain leaves are crowning every brow. 120
Forth comes the host of Italy, the men that wield the spear
Pour outward from the crowded gate; the Trojan host is there,
And all the Tyrrhene company in battle-gear diverse,
Nor otherwise in iron clad, than if the War-god fierce
Cried on to arms: and in the midst of war-ranks thousandfold
The dukes are flitting, well beseen in purple dye and gold,
E’en Mnestheus of Assaracus, Asylas huge of force,
Messapus, Neptune’s very son, the tamer of the horse.
But when the sign was given abroad each to his own place won,
And set his spear-shaft in the earth and leaned his shield thereon. 130
Then streamed forth mothers fain to see and elders feeble grown;
The unarmed crowd beset the towers and houses of the town,
And others of the people throng the high-built gates around.
But Juno from the steep that men now call the Alban mound
(Though neither worship, name, nor fame it bore upon that day),
Was looking down upon the lists and either war-array
Of Trojan and Laurentine men, and King Latinus’ wall,
Then upon Turnus’ sister’s ear her words of God did fall:
A goddess she, the queen of mere and sounding river-wave;
Which worship Jupiter the King, the Heaven-Abider gave 140
A hallowed gift to pay her back for ravished maidenhood:
“O Nymph, the glory of the streams, heart well-beloved and good,
Thee only, as thou know’st, I love of all who e’er have come
Into the unkind bed of Jove from out a Latin home,
With goodwill have I granted thee the heavenly house to share;
Therefore, Juturna, know thy grief lest I the blame should bear:
While Fortune would, and while the Fates allowed the Latin folk
A happy day, so long did I thy town and Turnus cloak;
But now I see him hastening on to meet the fated ill:
His doomsday comes, the foeman’s hand shall soon his hour fulfil. 150
I may not look upon the fight, or see the wagered field;
But thou, if any present help thou durst thy brother yield,
Haste, it behoves thee! — happier days on wretches yet may rise.”
Scarce spake she ere Juturna poured the tear-flood from her eyes,
