On Lycas and Antaeus next he ran, Two chiefs of Turnus, and who led his van.

They fled for fear; with these, he chas'd along Camers the yellow-lock'd, and Numa strong; Both great in arms, and both were fair and young.

Camers was son to Volscens lately slain, In wealth surpa.s.sing all the Latian train, And in Amycla fix'd his silent easy reign.

And, as Aegaeon, when with heav'n he strove, Stood opposite in arms to mighty Jove; Mov'd all his hundred hands, provok'd the war, Defied the forky lightning from afar; At fifty mouths his flaming breath expires, And flash for flash returns, and fires for fires; In his right hand as many swords he wields, And takes the thunder on as many shields: With strength like his, the Trojan hero stood; And soon the fields with falling corps were strow'd, When once his fauchion found the taste of blood.

With fury scarce to be conceiv'd, he flew Against Niphaeus, whom four coursers drew.

They, when they see the fiery chief advance, And pushing at their chests his pointed lance, Wheel'd with so swift a motion, mad with fear, They threw their master headlong from the chair.

They stare, they start, nor stop their course, before They bear the bounding chariot to the sh.o.r.e.

Now Lucagus and Liger scour the plains, With two white steeds; but Liger holds the reins, And Lucagus the lofty seat maintains: Bold brethren both. The former wav'd in air His flaming sword: Aeneas couch'd his spear, Unus'd to threats, and more unus'd to fear.

Then Liger thus: "Thy confidence is vain To scape from hence, as from the Trojan plain: Nor these the steeds which Diomede bestrode, Nor this the chariot where Achilles rode; Nor Venus' veil is here, near Neptune's shield; Thy fatal hour is come, and this the field."

Thus Liger vainly vaunts: the Trojan peer Return'd his answer with his flying spear.

As Lucagus, to lash his horses, bends, p.r.o.ne to the wheels, and his left foot protends, Prepar'd for fight; the fatal dart arrives, And thro' the borders of his buckler drives; Pa.s.s'd thro' and pierc'd his groin: the deadly wound, Cast from his chariot, roll'd him on the ground.

Whom thus the chief upbraids with scornful spite: "Blame not the slowness of your steeds in flight; Vain shadows did not force their swift retreat; But you yourself forsake your empty seat."

He said, and seiz'd at once the loosen'd rein; For Liger lay already on the plain, By the same shock: then, stretching out his hands, The recreant thus his wretched life demands: "Now, by thyself, O more than mortal man!

By her and him from whom thy breath began, Who form'd thee thus divine, I beg thee, spare This forfeit life, and hear thy suppliant's pray'r."

Thus much he spoke, and more he would have said; But the stern hero turn'd aside his head, And cut him short: "I hear another man; You talk'd not thus before the fight began.

Now take your turn; and, as a brother should, Attend your brother to the Stygian flood."

Then thro' his breast his fatal sword he sent, And the soul issued at the gaping vent.

As storms the skies, and torrents tear the ground, Thus rag'd the prince, and scatter'd deaths around.

At length Ascanius and the Trojan train Broke from the camp, so long besieg'd in vain.

Meantime the King of G.o.ds and Mortal Man Held conference with his queen, and thus began: "My sister G.o.ddess, and well-pleasing wife, Still think you Venus' aid supports the strife- Sustains her Trojans- or themselves, alone, With inborn valor force their fortune on?

How fierce in fight, with courage undecay'd!

Judge if such warriors want immortal aid."

To whom the G.o.ddess with the charming eyes, Soft in her tone, submissively replies: "Why, O my sov'reign lord, whose frown I fear, And cannot, unconcern'd, your anger bear; Why urge you thus my grief? when, if I still (As once I was) were mistress of your will, From your almighty pow'r your pleasing wife Might gain the grace of length'ning Turnus' life, Securely s.n.a.t.c.h him from the fatal fight, And give him to his aged father's sight.

Now let him perish, since you hold it good, And glut the Trojans with his pious blood.

Yet from our lineage he derives his name, And, in the fourth degree, from G.o.d Pilumnus came; Yet he devoutly pays you rites divine, And offers daily incense at your shrine."

Then shortly thus the sov'reign G.o.d replied: "Since in my pow'r and goodness you confide, If for a little s.p.a.ce, a lengthen'd span, You beg reprieve for this expiring man, I grant you leave to take your Turnus hence From instant fate, and can so far dispense.

But, if some secret meaning lies beneath, To save the short-liv'd youth from destin'd death, Or if a farther thought you entertain, To change the fates; you feed your hopes in vain."

To whom the G.o.ddess thus, with weeping eyes: "And what if that request, your tongue denies, Your heart should grant; and not a short reprieve, But length of certain life, to Turnus give?

Now speedy death attends the guiltless youth, If my presaging soul divines with truth; Which, O! I wish, might err thro' causeless fears, And you (for you have pow'r) prolong his years!"

Thus having said, involv'd in clouds, she flies, And drives a storm before her thro' the skies.

Swift she descends, alighting on the plain, Where the fierce foes a dubious fight maintain.

Of air condens'd a specter soon she made; And, what Aeneas was, such seem'd the shade.

Adorn'd with Dardan arms, the phantom bore His head aloft; a plumy crest he wore; This hand appear'd a shining sword to wield, And that sustain'd an imitated shield.

With manly mien he stalk'd along the ground, Nor wanted voice belied, nor vaunting sound.

(Thus haunting ghosts appear to waking sight, Or dreadful visions in our dreams by night.) The specter seems the Daunian chief to dare, And flourishes his empty sword in air.

At this, advancing, Turnus hurl'd his spear: The phantom wheel'd, and seem'd to fly for fear.

Deluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled, And with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed.

"Whether, O coward?" (thus he calls aloud, Nor found he spoke to wind, and chas'd a cloud,) "Why thus forsake your bride! Receive from me The fated land you sought so long by sea."

He said, and, brandishing at once his blade, With eager pace pursued the flying shade.

By chance a ship was fasten'd to the sh.o.r.e, Which from old Clusium King Osinius bore: The plank was ready laid for safe ascent; For shelter there the trembling shadow bent, And skipp't and skulk'd, and under hatches went.

Exulting Turnus, with regardless haste, Ascends the plank, and to the galley pa.s.s'd.

Scarce had he reach'd the prow: Saturnia's hand The haulsers cuts, and shoots the ship from land.

With wind in p.o.o.p, the vessel plows the sea, And measures back with speed her former way.

Meantime Aeneas seeks his absent foe, And sends his slaughter'd troops to shades below.

The guileful phantom now forsook the shroud, And flew sublime, and vanish'd in a cloud.

Too late young Turnus the delusion found, Far on the sea, still making from the ground.

Then, thankless for a life redeem'd by shame, With sense of honor stung, and forfeit fame, Fearful besides of what in fight had pa.s.s'd, His hands and haggard eyes to heav'n he cast; "O Jove!" he cried, "for what offense have Deserv'd to bear this endless infamy?

Whence am I forc'd, and whether am I borne?

How, and with what reproach, shall I return?

Shall ever I behold the Latian plain, Or see Laurentum's lofty tow'rs again?

What will they say of their deserting chief The war was mine: I fly from their relief; I led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave; And ev'n from hence their dying groans receive.

Here, overmatch'd in fight, in heaps they lie; There, scatter'd o'er the fields, ign.o.bly fly.

Gape wide, O earth, and draw me down alive!

Or, O ye pitying winds, a wretch relieve!

On sands or shelves the splitting vessel drive; Or set me shipwrack'd on some desart sh.o.r.e, Where no Rutulian eyes may see me more, Unknown to friends, or foes, or conscious Fame, Lest she should follow, and my flight proclaim."

Thus Turnus rav'd, and various fates revolv'd: The choice was doubtful, but the death resolv'd.

And now the sword, and now the sea took place, That to revenge, and this to purge disgrace.

Sometimes he thought to swim the stormy main, By stretch of arms the distant sh.o.r.e to gain.

Thrice he the sword a.s.say'd, and thrice the flood; But Juno, mov'd with pity, both withstood.

And thrice repress'd his rage; strong gales supplied, And push'd the vessel o'er the swelling tide.

At length she lands him on his native sh.o.r.es, And to his father's longing arms restores.

Meantime, by Jove's impulse, Mezentius arm'd, Succeeding Turnus, with his ardor warm'd His fainting friends, reproach'd their shameful flight, Repell'd the victors, and renew'd the fight.

Against their king the Tuscan troops conspire; Such is their hate, and such their fierce desire Of wish'd revenge: on him, and him alone, All hands employ'd, and all their darts are thrown.

He, like a solid rock by seas inclos'd, To raging winds and roaring waves oppos'd, From his proud summit looking down, disdains Their empty menace, and unmov'd remains.

Beneath his feet fell haughty Hebrus dead, Then Latagus, and Palmus as he fled.

At Latagus a weighty stone he flung: His face was flatted, and his helmet rung.

But Palmus from behind receives his wound; Hamstring'd he falls, and grovels on the ground: His crest and armor, from his body torn, Thy shoulders, Lausus, and thy head adorn.

Evas and Mimas, both of Troy, he slew.

Mimas his birth from fair Theano drew, Born on that fatal night, when, big with fire, The queen produc'd young Paris to his sire: But Paris in the Phrygian fields was slain, Unthinking Mimas on the Latian plain.

And, as a savage boar, on mountains bred, With forest mast and fatt'ning marshes fed, When once he sees himself in toils inclos'd, By huntsmen and their eager hounds oppos'd- He whets his tusks, and turns, and dares the war; Th' invaders dart their jav'lins from afar: All keep aloof, and safely shout around; But none presumes to give a nearer wound: He frets and froths, erects his bristled hide, And shakes a grove of lances from his side: Not otherwise the troops, with hate inspir'd, And just revenge against the tyrant fir'd, Their darts with clamor at a distance drive, And only keep the languish'd war alive.

From Coritus came Acron to the fight, Who left his spouse betroth'd, and unconsummate night.

Mezentius sees him thro' the squadrons ride, Proud of the purple favors of his bride.

Then, as a hungry lion, who beholds A gamesome goat, who frisks about the folds, Or beamy stag, that grazes on the plain- He runs, he roars, he shakes his rising mane, He grins, and opens wide his greedy jaws; The prey lies panting underneath his paws: He fills his famish'd maw; his mouth runs o'er With unchew'd morsels, while he churns the gore: So proud Mezentius rushes on his foes, And first unhappy Acron overthrows: Stretch'd at his length, he spurns the swarthy ground; The lance, besmear'd with blood, lies broken in the wound.

Then with disdain the haughty victor view'd Orodes flying, nor the wretch pursued, Nor thought the dastard's back deserv'd a wound, But, running, gain'd th' advantage of the ground: Then turning short, he met him face to face, To give his victor the better grace.

Orodes falls, in equal fight oppress'd: Mezentius fix'd his foot upon his breast, And rested lance; and thus aloud he cries: "Lo! here the champion of my rebels lies!"

The fields around with Io Paean! ring; And peals of shouts applaud the conqu'ring king.

At this the vanquish'd, with his dying breath, Thus faintly spoke, and prophesied in death: "Nor thou, proud man, unpunish'd shalt remain: Like death attends thee on this fatal plain."

Then, sourly smiling, thus the king replied: "For what belongs to me, let Jove provide; But die thou first, whatever chance ensue."

He said, and from the wound the weapon drew.

A hov'ring mist came swimming o'er his sight, And seal'd his eyes in everlasting night.

By Caedicus, Alcathous was slain; Sacrator laid Hydaspes on the plain; Orses the strong to greater strength must yield; He, with Parthenius, were by Rapo kill'd.

Then brave Messapus Ericetes slew, Who from Lycaon's blood his lineage drew.

But from his headstrong horse his fate he found, Who threw his master, as he made a bound: The chief, alighting, stuck him to the ground; Then Clonius, hand to hand, on foot a.s.sails: The Trojan sinks, and Neptune's son prevails.

Agis the Lycian, stepping forth with pride, To single fight the boldest foe defied; Whom Tuscan Valerus by force o'ercame, And not belied his mighty father's fame.

Salius to death the great Antronius sent: But the same fate the victor underwent, Slain by Nealces' hand, well-skill'd to throw The flying dart, and draw the far-deceiving bow.

Thus equal deaths are dealt with equal chance; By turns they quit their ground, by turns advance: Victors and vanquish'd, in the various field, Nor wholly overcome, nor wholly yield.