Aeneid

reaped down the nearest foes, and through their line

clove furious path and broad; the valiant blade

through oft-repeated bloodshed groped its way,

proud Turnus, unto thee! His heart beholds

Pallas and Sire Evander, their kind board

in welcome spread, their friendly league of peace

proffered and sealed with him, the stranger-guest.

So Sulmo's sons, four warriors, and four

of Ufens sprung, he took alive—to slay

as victims to the shades, and pour a stream

of captives' blood upon a flaming pyre.

Next from afar his hostile shaft he threw

at Mago, who with wary motion bowed

beneath the quivering weapon, as it sped

clean over him; then at Aeneas' knees

he crouched and clung with supplicating cry:

“O, by thy father's spirit, by thy hope

in young Iulus, I implore thee, spare

for son and father's sake this life of mine.

A lofty house have I, where safely hid

are stores of graven silver and good weight

of wrought and unwrought gold. The fate of war

hangs not on me; nor can one little life

thy victory decide.” In answer spoke

Aeneas: “Hoard the silver and the gold

for thy own sons. Such bartering in war

finished with Turnus, when fair Pallas fell.

Thus bids Anchises' shade, Iulus—thus!”

He spoke: and, grasping with his mighty left

the helmet of the vainly suppliant foe,

bent back the throat and drove hilt-deep his sword.

A little space removed, Haemonides,

priest of Phoebus and pale Trivia, stood,

whose ribboned brows a sacred fillet bound:

in shining vesture he, and glittering arms.

Him too the Trojan met, repelled, and towered

above the fallen form, o'ermantling it

in mortal shade; Serestus bore away

those famous arms a trophy vowed to thee,

Gradivus, Iord of war! Soon to fresh fight

came Caeculus, a child of Vulcan's line,

and Umbro on the Marsic mountains bred:

these met the Trojan's wrath. His sword shore off

Anxur's left hand, and the whole orbed shield

dropped earthward at the stroke: though Anxur's tongue

had boasted mighty things, as if great words

would make him strong, and lifting his proud heart

as high as heaven, had hoped perchance to see

gray hairs and length of days. Then Tarquitus

strode forth, exulting in his burnished arms

(Him Dryope, the nymph, to Faunus bore),

and dared oppose Aeneas' rage. But he

drew back his lance and, charging, crushed at once

corselet and ponderous shield; then off he struck

the supplicating head, which seemed in vain

preparing speech; while o'er the reeking corpse

the victor stood, and thrusting it away

spoke thus with wrathful soul: “Now lie thou there,

thou fearsome sight! No noble mother's hand

shall hide thee in the ground, or give those limbs

to their ancestral tomb. Thou shalt be left

to birds of ravin; or go drifting far

along yon river to engulfing seas,

where starving fishes on those wounds shall feed.”

Antceus next and Lucas he pursues,

though all in Turnus' van; and Numa bold

and Camers tawny-tressed, the son and heir

of Volscens the stout-hearted, whose domain

surpassed the richest of Ausonia's lords,

when over hushed Amyclae he was king.

Like old Aegaeon of the hundred arms,

the hundred-handed, from whose mouths and breasts

blazed fifty fiery blasts, as he made war

with fifty sounding shields and fifty swords

against Jove's thunder;—so Aeneas raged

victorious o'er the field, when once his steel

warmed to its work. But lo, he turns him now

where come Niphaeus' bold-advancing wheels

and coursers four, who, when at furious speed

they faced his giant stride and dreadful cry,

upreared in panic, and reversing spilled

their captain to the ground, and bore away

the chariot to the river's distant shore.

Meanwhile, with two white coursers to their car,

the brothers Lucagus and Liger drove

into the heart of battle: Liger kept

with skilful hand the manage of the steeds;

bold Lucagus swung wide his naked sword.

Aeneas, by their wrathful brows defied,

brooked not the sight, but to the onset flew,

huge-looming, with adverse and threatening spear.

Cried Liger, “Not Achilles' chariot, ours!

Nor team of Diomed on Phrygia's plain!

The last of life and strife shall be thy meed

upon this very ground.” Such raving word

flowed loud from Liger's lip: not with a word

the Trojan hero answered him, but flung

his whirling spear; and even as Lucagus

leaned o'er the horses, goading them with steel,

and, left foot forward, gathered all his strength