Aeneid

th' Arcadian band, unused to fight on foot,

in full retreat, the Latins following close—

who also for the roughness of the ground

were all unmounted: he (the last resource

of men in straits) to wild entreaty turned

and taunts, enkindling their faint hearts anew:

“Whither, my men! O, by your own brave deeds,

O, by our lord Evander's happy wars,

the proud hopes I had to make my name

a rival glory,—think not ye can fly!

Your swords alone can carve ye the safe way

straight through your foes. Where yonder warrior-throng

is fiercest, thickest, there and only there

your Country's honor calls for men like you,

and for your captain Pallas. Nay, no gods

against us fight; we are but mortal men

pressed by a mortal foe. Not more than ours

the number of their lives or swords. Behold,

the barrier of yonder spreading sea

emprisons us, and for a craven flight

yon lands are all too small. Ha! Shall we steer

across the sea to Troy?” He said, and sprang

full in the centre of his gathered foes.

First in his path was Lagus, thither led

by evil stars; whom, as he tried to lift

a heavy stone, the shaft of Pallas pierced

where ribs and spine divide: backward he drew

the clinging spear; But Hisbo from above

surprised him not, though meaning it; for while

(In anger blind for friend unpitying slain)

at Pallas' face he flew:—he, standing firm,

plunged deep into that swelling breast the sword.

Then Sthenius he slew; and next Anchemolus

of Rhoetus' ancient line, who dared defile

his step-dame's bridal bed. And also ye,

fair Thymber and Larides, Daucus' twins,

fell on that Rutule field; so like were ye,

your own kin scarce discerned, and parents proud

smiled at the dear deceit; but now in death

cruel unlikeness Pallas wrought; thy head

fell, hapless Thymber, by Evander's sword;

and thy right hand, Larides, shorn away,

seemed feeling for its Iord; the fingers cold

clutched, trembling, at the sword. Now all the troop

of Arcady, their chief's great action seen,

and by his warning roused, made at their foes,

spurred on by grief and shame. Next Pallas pierced

the flying Rhoetus in his car; this gained

for Ilus respite and delay, for him

the stout spear aimed at; but its flight was stopped

by Rhoetus, as in swift retreat he rode,

by the two high-born brothers close pursued,

Teuthras and Tyres: from his car he rolled,

making deep furrows with his lifeless heels

along the Rutule plain. Oft when the winds

of summer, long awaited, rise and blow,

a shepherd fires the forest, and the blaze

devours the dense grove, while o'er the fields,

in that one moment, swift and sudden spread

grim Vulcan's serried flames; from some high seat

on distant hill, the shepherd peering down

sees, glad at heart, his own victorious fires:

so now fierce valor spreads, uniting all

in one confederate rage, 'neath Pallas' eyes.

But the fierce warrior Halaesus next

led on the charge, behind his skilful shield

close-crouching. Ladon and Demodocus

and Pheres he struck down; his glittering blade

cut Strymon's hand, which to his neck was raised,

sheer off; with one great stone he crushed the brows

of Thoas, scattering wide the broken skull,

bones, brains, and gore. Halaesus' prophet-sire,

foreseeing doom, had hid him in dark groves;

but when the old man's fading eyes declined

in death, the hand of Fate reached forth and doomed

the young life to Evander's sword; him now

Pallas assailed, first offering this prayer:

“O Father Tiber, give my poising shaft

through stout Halaesus' heart its lucky way!

The spoil and trophy of the hero slain

on thine own oak shall hang.” The god received

the vow, and while Halaesus held his shield

over Imaon, his ill-fated breast

lay naked to th' Arcadian's hungry spear.

But Lausus, seeing such a hero slain,

bade his troop have no fear, for he himself

was no small strength in war; and first he slew

Abas, who fought hard, and had ever seemed

himself the sticking-point and tug of war.

Down went Arcadia's warriors, and slain

etruscans fell, with many a Trojan brave

the Greek had spared. Troop charges upon troop

well-matched in might, with chiefs of like renown;

the last rank crowds the first;—so fierce the press

scarce hand or sword can stir. Here Pallas stands,

and pushes back the foe; before him looms

Lausus, his youthful peer, conspicuous both

in beauty; but no star will them restore

to home and native land. Yet would the King

of high Olympus suffer not the pair