One man, and in your camp inclos'd, you shun!

Shall then a single sword such slaughter boast, And pa.s.s unpunish'd from a num'rous host?

Forsaking honor, and renouncing fame, Your G.o.ds, your country, and your king you shame!"

This just reproach their virtue does excite: They stand, they join, they thicken to the fight.

Now Turnus doubts, and yet disdains to yield, But with slow paces measures back the field, And inches to the walls, where Tiber's tide, Washing the camp, defends the weaker side.

The more he loses, they advance the more, And tread in ev'ry step he trod before.

They shout: they bear him back; and, whom by might They cannot conquer, they oppress with weight.

As, compa.s.s'd with a wood of spears around, The lordly lion still maintains his ground; Grins horrible, retires, and turns again; Threats his distended paws, and shakes his mane; He loses while in vain he presses on, Nor will his courage let him dare to run: So Turnus fares, and, unresolved of flight, Moves tardy back, and just recedes from fight.

Yet twice, inrag'd, the combat he renews, Twice breaks, and twice his broken foes pursues.

But now they swarm, and, with fresh troops supplied, Come rolling on, and rush from ev'ry side: Nor Juno, who sustain'd his arms before, Dares with new strength suffice th' exhausted store; For Jove, with sour commands, sent Iris down, To force th' invader from the frighted town.

With labor spent, no longer can he wield The heavy fanchion, or sustain the shield, O'erwhelm'd with darts, which from afar they fling: The weapons round his hollow temples ring; His golden helm gives way, with stony blows Batter'd, and flat, and beaten to his brows.

His crest is rash'd away; his ample shield Is falsified, and round with jav'lins fill'd.

The foe, now faint, the Trojans overwhelm; And Mnestheus lays hard load upon his helm.

Sick sweat succeeds; he drops at ev'ry pore; With driving dust his cheeks are pasted o'er; Shorter and shorter ev'ry gasp he takes; And vain efforts and hurtless blows he makes.

Plung'd in the flood, and made the waters fly.

The yellow G.o.d the welcome burthen bore, And wip'd the sweat, and wash'd away the gore; Then gently wafts him to the farther coast, And sends him safe to cheer his anxious host.

BOOK X

The gates of heav'n unfold: Jove summons all The G.o.ds to council in the common hall.

Sublimely seated, he surveys from far The fields, the camp, the fortune of the war, And all th' inferior world. From first to last, The sov'reign senate in degrees are plac'd.

Then thus th' almighty sire began: "Ye G.o.ds, Natives or denizens of blest abodes, From whence these murmurs, and this change of mind, This backward fate from what was first design'd?

Why this protracted war, when my commands p.r.o.nounc'd a peace, and gave the Latian lands?

What fear or hope on either part divides Our heav'ns, and arms our powers on diff'rent sides?

A lawful time of war at length will come, (Nor need your haste antic.i.p.ate the doom), When Carthage shall contend the world with Rome, Shall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains, And, like a flood, come pouring on the plains.

Then is your time for faction and debate, For partial favor, and permitted hate.

Let now your immature dissension cease; Sit quiet, and compose your souls to peace."

Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge; But lovely Venus thus replies at large: "O pow'r immense, eternal energy, (For to what else protection can we fly?) Seest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare In fields, unpunish'd, and insult my care?

How lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train, In shining arms, triumphant on the plain?

Ev'n in their lines and trenches they contend, And scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend: The town is fill'd with slaughter, and o'erfloats, With a red deluge, their increasing moats.

Aeneas, ignorant, and far from thence, Has left a camp expos'd, without defense.

This endless outrage shall they still sustain?

Shall Troy renew'd be forc'd and fir'd again?

A second siege my banish'd issue fears, And a new Diomede in arms appears.

One more audacious mortal will be found; And I, thy daughter, wait another wound.

Yet, if with fates averse, without thy leave, The Latian lands my progeny receive, Bear they the pains of violated law, And thy protection from their aid withdraw.

But, if the G.o.ds their sure success foretell; If those of heav'n consent with those of h.e.l.l, To promise Italy; who dare debate The pow'r of Jove, or fix another fate?

What should I tell of tempests on the main, Of Aeolus usurping Neptune's reign?

Of Iris sent, with Baccha.n.a.lian heat T' inspire the matrons, and destroy the fleet?

Now Juno to the Stygian sky descends, Solicits h.e.l.l for aid, and arms the fiends.

That new example wanted yet above: An act that well became the wife of Jove!

Alecto, rais'd by her, with rage inflames The peaceful bosoms of the Latian dames.

Imperial sway no more exalts my mind; (Such hopes I had indeed, while Heav'n was kind;) Now let my happier foes possess my place, Whom Jove prefers before the Trojan race; And conquer they, whom you with conquest grace.

Since you can spare, from all your wide command, No spot of earth, no hospitable land, Which may my wand'ring fugitives receive; (Since haughty Juno will not give you leave;) Then, father, (if I still may use that name,) By ruin'd Troy, yet smoking from the flame, I beg you, let Ascanius, by my care, Be freed from danger, and dismiss'd the war: Inglorious let him live, without a crown.

The father may be cast on coasts unknown, Struggling with fate; but let me save the son.

Mine is Cythera, mine the Cyprian tow'rs: In those recesses, and those sacred bow'rs, Obscurely let him rest; his right resign To promis'd empire, and his Julian line.

Then Carthage may th' Ausonian towns destroy, Nor fear the race of a rejected boy.

What profits it my son to scape the fire, Arm'd with his G.o.ds, and loaded with his sire; To pa.s.s the perils of the seas and wind; Evade the Greeks, and leave the war behind; To reach th' Italian sh.o.r.es; if, after all, Our second Pergamus is doom'd to fall?

Much better had he curb'd his high desires, And hover'd o'er his ill-extinguish'd fires.

To Simois' banks the fugitives restore, And give them back to war, and all the woes before."

Deep indignation swell'd Saturnia's heart: "And must I own," she said, "my secret smart- What with more decence were in silence kept, And, but for this unjust reproach, had slept?

Did G.o.d or man your fav'rite son advise, With war unhop'd the Latians to surprise?

By fate, you boast, and by the G.o.ds' decree, He left his native land for Italy!

Confess the truth; by mad Ca.s.sandra, more Than Heav'n inspir'd, he sought a foreign sh.o.r.e!

Did I persuade to trust his second Troy To the raw conduct of a beardless boy, With walls unfinish'd, which himself forsakes, And thro' the waves a wand'ring voyage takes?

When have I urg'd him meanly to demand The Tuscan aid, and arm a quiet land?

Did I or Iris give this mad advice, Or made the fool himself the fatal choice?

You think it hard, the Latians should destroy With swords your Trojans, and with fires your Troy!

Hard and unjust indeed, for men to draw Their native air, nor take a foreign law!

That Turnus is permitted still to live, To whom his birth a G.o.d and G.o.ddess give!

But yet is just and lawful for your line To drive their fields, and force with fraud to join; Realms, not your own, among your clans divide, And from the bridegroom tear the promis'd bride; Pet.i.tion, while you public arms prepare; Pretend a peace, and yet provoke a war!

'T was giv'n to you, your darling son to shroud, To draw the dastard from the fighting crowd, And, for a man, obtend an empty cloud.

From flaming fleets you turn'd the fire away, And chang'd the ships to daughters of the sea.

But is my crime- the Queen of Heav'n offends, If she presume to save her suff'ring friends!

Your son, not knowing what his foes decree, You say, is absent: absent let him be.

Yours is Cythera, yours the Cyprian tow'rs, The soft recesses, and the sacred bow'rs.

Why do you then these needless arms prepare, And thus provoke a people p.r.o.ne to war?

Did I with fire the Trojan town deface, Or hinder from return your exil'd race?

Was I the cause of mischief, or the man Whose lawless l.u.s.t the fatal war began?

Think on whose faith th' adult'rous youth relied; Who promis'd, who procur'd, the Spartan bride?

When all th' united states of Greece combin'd, To purge the world of the perfidious kind, Then was your time to fear the Trojan fate: Your quarrels and complaints are now too late."

Thus Juno. Murmurs rise, with mix'd applause, Just as they favor or dislike the cause.

So winds, when yet unfledg'd in woods they lie, In whispers first their tender voices try, Then issue on the main with bellowing rage, And storms to trembling mariners presage.

Then thus to both replied th' imperial G.o.d, Who shakes heav'n's axles with his awful nod.

(When he begins, the silent senate stand With rev'rence, list'ning to the dread command: The clouds dispel; the winds their breath restrain; And the hush'd waves lie flatted on the main.) "Celestials, your attentive ears incline!

Since," said the G.o.d, "the Trojans must not join In wish'd alliance with the Latian line; Since endless jarrings and immortal hate Tend but to discompose our happy state; The war henceforward be resign'd to fate: Each to his proper fortune stand or fall; Equal and unconcern'd I look on all.

Rutulians, Trojans, are the same to me; And both shall draw the lots their fates decree.

Let these a.s.sault, if Fortune be their friend; And, if she favors those, let those defend: The Fates will find their way." The Thund'rer said, And shook the sacred honors of his head, Attesting Styx, th' inviolable flood, And the black regions of his brother G.o.d.

Trembled the poles of heav'n, and earth confess'd the nod.

This end the sessions had: the senate rise, And to his palace wait their sov'reign thro' the skies.

Meantime, intent upon their siege, the foes Within their walls the Trojan host inclose: They wound, they kill, they watch at ev'ry gate; Renew the fires, and urge their happy fate.

Th' Aeneans wish in vain their wanted chief, Hopeless of flight, more hopeless of relief.

Thin on the tow'rs they stand; and ev'n those few A feeble, fainting, and dejected crew.

Yet in the face of danger some there stood: The two bold brothers of Sarpedon's blood, Asius and Acmon; both th' a.s.saraci; Young Haemon, and tho' young, resolv'd to die.

With these were Clarus and Thymoetes join'd; Tibris and Castor, both of Lycian kind.

From Acmon's hands a rolling stone there came, So large, it half deserv'd a mountain's name: Strong-sinew'd was the youth, and big of bone; His brother Mnestheus could not more have done, Or the great father of th' intrepid son.