With bitter love and valour tried and known from time of yore.

  But when the cloud was shaken off and light relit his soul,

  His burning eyeballs toward the town, fierce-hearted, did he roll, 670

  And from the wheels of war looked back unto the mighty town;

  And lo, behold, a wave of flame into a tongue-shape grown

  Licked round a tower, and ‘twixt its floors rolled upward unto heaven:

  A tower that he himself had reared with timbers closely driven,

  And set beneath it rolling-gear, and dight the bridges high.

  “Now, sister, now the Fates prevail! no more for tarrying try.

  Nay, let us follow where the God, where hard Fate calleth me!

  Doomed am I to Æneas’ hand; doomed, howso sore it be,

  To die the death; ah, sister, now thou seest me shamed no more:

  Now let me wear the fury through ere yet my time is o’er.” 680

  He spake, and from the chariot leapt adown upon the mead,

  And left his sister lone in grief amidst the foe to speed,

  Amidst the spears, and breaketh through the midmost press of fight,

  E’en as a headlong stone sweeps down from off the mountain-height,

  Torn by the wind; or drifting rain hath washed it from its hold,

  Or loosed, maybe, it slippeth down because the years grow old:

  Wild o’er the cliffs with mighty leap goes down that world of stone,

  And bounds o’er earth, and woods and herds and men-folk rolleth on

  Amidst its wrack: so Turnus through the broken battle broke

  Unto the very city-walls, where earth was all a-soak 690

  With plenteous blood, and air beset with whistling of the shafts;

  There with his hand he maketh sign, and mighty speech he wafts:

  “Forbear, Rutulians! Latin men, withhold the points of fight!

  Whatever haps, the hap is mine; I, I alone, of right

  Should cleanse you of the broken troth, and doom of sword-edge face.”

  So from the midst all men depart, and leave an empty space;

  But now the Father Æneas hath hearkened Turnus’ name,

  And backward from the walls of war and those high towers he came.

  He casts away all tarrying, sets every deed aside,

  And thundering in his battle-gear rejoicing doth he stride: 700

  As Athos great, as Eryx great, great as when roaring goes

  Amid the quaking oaken woods and glory lights the snows,

  And Father Apennine uprears his head amidst the skies.

  Then Trojan and Rutulian men turn thither all their eyes,

  And all the folk of Italy, and they that hold the wall,

  And they that drive against its feet the battering engines’ fall

  All men do off their armour then. Amazed Latinus stands

  To see two mighty heroes, born in such wide-sundered lands.

  Meet thus to try what deed of doom in meeting swords may be.

  But they, when empty space is cleared amid the open lea, 710

  Set each on each in speedy wise, and with their war-spears hurled

  Amid the clash of shield and brass break into Mavors’ world;

  Then groaneth earth; then comes the hail of sword-strokes thick and fast,

  And in one blended tangle now are luck and valour cast:

  As when on mighty Sila’s side, or on Taburnus height,

  Two bulls with pushing horny brows are mingled in the fight:

  The frighted herdsmen draw aback, and all the beasts are dumb

  For utter fear; the heifers too misdoubt them what shall come,

  Who shall be master of the grove and leader of the flock;

  But each on each they mingle wounds with fearful might of shock, 720

  And gore and push home fencing horns, and with abundant blood

  Bathe neck and shoulder, till the noise goes bellowing through the wood;

  E’en so Æneas out of Troy, and he, the Daunian man,

  Smite shield on shield; and mighty clash through all the heavens there ran.

  ’Tis Jupiter who holds the scales ‘twixt even-poisèd tongue;

  There in the balance needfully their sundered fates he hung,

  Which one the battle-pain shall doom, in which the death shall lie.

  Now Turnus deems him safe, and forth with sword upreared on high,

  He springs, and all his body strains, and rises to the stroke,

  And smites: the Trojans cry aloud, and eager Latin folk, 730

  And both hosts hang ‘twixt hope and fear: but lo, the treacherous sword

  Breaks in the middle of the blow and leaves its fiery lord: —

  And if the flight shall fail him now! — Swift as the East he flees

  When in his right hand weaponless an unknown hilt he sees.

  They say, that when all eager-hot he clomb his yokèd car

  In first of fight, that then he left his father’s blade of war,

  And caught in hand his charioteer Metiscus’ battle-glaive;

  And that was well while Trojan fleers backs to the smiting gave,

  But when they meet Vulcanian arms, the very God’s device,

  Then shivereth all the mortal blade e’en as the foolish ice; 740

  And there upon the yellow sand the glittering splinters lie.

  So diversely about the field doth wildered Turnus fly,

  And here and there in winding ways he doubleth up and down,

  For thick all round about the lists was drawn the Teucrian crown:

  By wide marsh here, by high walls there, his fleeing was begirt.

  Nor less Æneas, howsoe’er, hampered by arrow-hurt,

  His knees might hinder him at whiles and fail him as he ran,

  Yet foot for foot all eagerly followed the hurrying man;

  As when a hound hath caught a hart hemmed by the river’s ring,

  Or hedged about by empty fear of crimson-feathered string, 750

  And swift of foot and baying loud goes following up the flight;

  But he, all fearful of the snare and of the flood-bank’s height,

  Doubles and turns a thousand ways, while open-mouthed and staunch

  The Umbrian keen sticks hard at heel, and now, now hath his haunch,

  Snapping his jaws as though he gripped, and, mocked, but biteth air.

  Then verily the cry arose; the bank, the spreading mere,

  Rang back about, and tumult huge ran shattering through the sky.

  But Turnus as he fled cried out on all his Rutuli,

  And, calling each man by his name, craved his familiar blade.

  Meanwhile Æneas threateneth death if any come to aid, 760

  And swift destruction: and their souls with fearful threats doth fill

  Of city ruined root and branch; and, halting, followeth still.

  Five rings of flight their running fills, and back the like they wend:

  Nought light nor gamesome is the prize for which their feet contend,

  For there they strive in running-game for Turnus’ life and blood.

  By hap hard by an olive wild of bitter leaves there stood,

  Hallowed to Faunus, while agone a most well-worshipped tree,

  Whereon to that Laurentian God the sailors saved from sea

  Would set their gifts, and hang therefrom their garments vowed at need.

  But now the Teucrian men of late had lopped with little heed 770

  That holy stem, that they might make the lists of battle clear:

  And there Æneas’ war-spear stood; his might had driven it there,

  And held it now, set hard and fast in stubborn root and stout:

  The Dardan son bent o’er it now to pluck the weapon out,

  That he might follow him with shot whom running might not take.

  But Turnus, wildered with his fear, cried out aloud and spake:

  “O Faunus, pity me, I pray! and thou, O kindest Earth,

  Hold thou the steel for me, who still have worshipped well thy worth,

  Which ever those Ænean folk with battle would profane!”

  He spake, and called the God to aid with vows not made in vain; 780

  For o’er the tough tree tarrying long, struggling with utter might,

  No whit Æneas could undo the gripping woody bite.

  But while he struggleth hot and hard, and hangeth o’er the spear,

  Again the Daunian Goddess, clad in shape of charioteer

  Metiscus, Turnus’ trusty sword unto his hand doth speed.

  But Venus, wrathful that the Nymph might dare so bold a deed,

  Came nigh, and from the deep-set root the shaft of battle drew.

  So they, high-hearted, stored with hope and battle-gear anew,

  One trusting in his sword, and one fierce with his spear on high,

  Stand face to face, the glorious game of panting Mars to try. 790

  Meanwhile the King of Heaven the great thus unto Juno saith,

  As from a ruddy cloud she looked upon the game of death:

  “What then shall end it, O my wife? what deed is left thine hand?

  That Heaven shall gain Æneas yet, a Godhead of the land,

  That Fate shall bear him to the stars thou know’st and hast allowed:

  What dost thou then, or hoping what hang’st thou in chilly cloud?

  What! was it right that mortal wound a God’s own flesh should wrong?

  Right to give Turnus — but for thee how was Juturna strong? —

  The sword he lost? or vanquished men, to give their might increase?

  I prithee yield unto my prayers, and from thy troubling cease. 800

  Let not thine hushed grief eat thine heart, or bitter words of care

  So often from thy sweetest mouth the soul within me wear.

  The goal is reached: thou hast availed o’er earth and sea to drive

  The Trojan men; to strike the spark of wicked war alive;

  To foul their house, and woe and grief mid wedding-feast to bear,

  And now I bid thee hold thine hand.”

  Thuswise said Jupiter,

  And with a downcast countenance spake that Satumian Queen:

  “Well have I known, great Jupiter, all that thy will hath been,

  And Turnus and the worldly land loth have I left alone,

  Else nowise should’st thou see me bear, sole on this airy throne, 810

  Things meet and unmeet: flame-begirt the war-ranks would I gain,

  And drag the host of Trojans on to battle and their bane.

  Juturna! — yes, I pitied her, and bade her help to bear

  Unto her brother; good, methought, for life great things to dare;

  But nought I bade her to the shaft or bending of the bow,

  This swear I by the ruthless well, the Stygian overflow,

  The only holy thing there is that weighs on Godhead’s oath.

  And now indeed I yield the place, and leave the fight I loathe.

  But one thing yet I ask of thee, held in no fateful yoke;

  For Latium’s sake I pray therefore, and glory of thy folk: 820

  When they at last — so be it now! — pledge peace mid bridal kind,

  When they at last join law to law, and loving treaty bind,

  Let them not change their ancient name, those earth-born Latin men,

  Nor turn them into Trojan folk, or call them Teucrians then:

  Let not that manfolk shift their tongue, or cast their garb aside;

  Let Latium and the Alban kings through many an age abide,

  And cherish thou the Roman stem with worth of Italy:

  Troy-town is dead: Troy and its name for ever let them die!”

  The Fashioner of men and things spake, smiling in her face:

  “Yea, Jove’s own sister; second branch forsooth, of Saturn’s race! 830

  Such are the mighty floods of wrath thou rollestin thy breast.

  But this thine anger born for nought, I prithee let it rest:

  I give thine asking; conquered now I yield me, and am glad:

  The Ausonian men shall keep the tongue and ways their fathers had,

  And as their name is shall it be: only in body blent

  Amidst them shall the Teucrians sink; from me shall rites be sent,

  And holy things, and they shall be all Latins of one tongue.

  Hence shalt thou see a blended race from blood Ausonian sprung,

  Whose godliness shall outgo men, outgo the Gods above;

  Nor any folk of all the world so well thy worth shall love.” 840

  So gladdened Juno’s heart was turned, and yea-saying she bowed,

  And so departed from the sky and left her watching-cloud.

  Another thing the Father now within him turneth o’er,

  What wise Juturna he shall part from her lost brother’s war:

  Two horrors are there that are called the Dreadful Ones by name,

  Whom with Megæra of the Pit at one birth and the same

  Untimely Night brought forth of yore, and round about them twined

  Like coils of serpents, giving them great wings to hold the wind:

  About Jove’s throne, and close anigh the Stern King’s threshold-stead,

  Do these attend, in sick-heart men to whet the mortal dread, 850

  Whenso the King-God fashions forth fell death and dire disease,

  Or smites the guilty cities doomed with battle miseries.

  Now one of these sent Jupiter swift from the heavenly place,

  And bade her for a sign of doom to cross Juturna’s face.

  So borne upon a whirl of wind to earth the swift one flies,

  E’en as an arrow from the string is driven amid the skies,

  Which headed with the venom fell a Parthian man hath shot, —

  Parthian, Cydonian, it may be, — the hurt that healeth not;

  Its hidden whirring sweepeth through the drifting misty flow:

  So fared the Daughter of the Night, and sought the earth below. 860

  But when she saw the Ilian hosts and Turnus’ battle-rank,

  Then sudden into puny shape her body huge she shrank,

  A fowl that sits on sepulchres, and desert roofs alone

  In the dead night, and through the mirk singeth her ceaseless moan;

  In such a shape this bane of men met Turnus’ face in field,

  And, screeching, hovered to and fro, and flapped upon his shield:

  Strange heaviness his body seized, consuming him with dread,

  His hair stood up, and in his jaws his voice lay hushed and dead.

  But when afar Juturna knew the Dread One’s whirring wings,

  The hapless sister tears her hair and loose its tresses flings, 870

  Fouling her face with tearing nails, her breast with beat of hand.

  “How may my help, O Turnus, now beside my brother stand?

  How may I harden me ‘gainst this? by what craft shall I stay

  Thy light of life? how cast myself in such a monster’s way?

  Now, now I leave the battle-field; fright not the filled with fear,

  O birds of ill! full well I know your flapping wings in air,

  And baneful sound. Thy mastering will I know it holdeth good,

  O Jove the great! — was this the gift thou gav’st for maidenhood?

  Why give me everlasting life, and death-doom take away?

  O, but for that my sorrows sore now surely might I slay, 880

  And wend beside my brother now amid the nether Night.

  Am I undying? ah, can aught of all my good delight

  Without thee, O my brother lost! O Earth, gape wide and well,

  And let a Goddess sink adown into the deeps of hell!”

  So much she said, and wrapped her round with mantle dusky-grey,

  And, groaning sore, she hid herself within the watery way.

  But forth Æneas goes, and high his spear he brandisheth,

  A mighty tree, and from his heart grown fell a word he saith:

  “And wherewith wilt thou tarry me? hangs Turnus back again?

  No foot-strife but the armèd hand must doom betwixt us twain. 890

  Yea, turn thyself to every shape, and, gathering everything

  Wherewith thine heart, thy craft is strong, go soaring on the wing,

  And chase the stars; or deep adown in hollow earth lie stored.”

  But Turnus shakes his head and saith: “’Tis not thy bitter word

  That frights me, fierce one; but the Gods, but Jove my foeman grown.”

  No more he said, but, looking round, espied a weighty stone,

  An ancient mighty rock indeed, that lay upon the lea,

  Set for a landmark, judge and end of acre-strife to be,

  Which scarce twice six of chosen men upon their backs might raise,

  Of bodies such as earth brings forth amid the latter days: 900

  But this in hurrying hand he caught, and rising to the cast,

  He hurled it forth against the foe, and followed on it fast;

  Yet while he raised the mighty stone, and flung it to its fall.

  Knew nought that he was running there, or that he moved at all:

  Totter his knees, his chilly blood freezes with deadly frost,

  And e’en the hero-gathered stone, through desert distance tossed,

  O’ercame not all the space betwixt, nor home its blow might bring:

  E’en as in dreaming-tide of night, when sleep, the heavy thing,

  Weighs on the eyes, and all for nought we seem so helpless-fain

  Of eager speed, and faint and fail amidmost of the strain; 910

  The tongue avails not; all our limbs of their familiar skill

  Are cheated; neither voice nor words may follow from our will:

  So Turnus, by whatever might he strives to win a way,

  The Dread One bans his hope; strange thoughts about his heart-strings play;

  He stareth on his Rutuli, and on the Latin town

  Lingering for dread, trembling to meet the spear this instant thrown:

  No road he hath to flee, no might against the foe to bear;

  Nowhither may he see his car, or sister charioteer.

  Æneas, as he lingereth there, shaketh the fateful shaft,

  And, following up its fate with eyes, afar the steel doth waft 920

 

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