Aeneid

the Trojan's anger; and of Lausus' days

the loom of Fate spun forth the last thin thread;

for now Aeneas thrust his potent blade

deep through the stripling's breast and out of sight;

through the light shield it passed—a frail defence

to threaten with!—and through the tunic fine

his mother's hand had wrought with softest gold:

blood filled his bosom, and on path of air

down to the shades the mournful soul withdrew,

its body quitting. As Anchises' son

beheld the agonizing lips and brow

so wondrous white in death, he groaned aloud

in pity, and reached o'er him his right hand,

touched to the heart such likeness to behold

of his own filial love. “Unhappy boy!

What reward worthy of heroic deeds

can I award thee now? Wear still those arms

so proudly worn! And I will send thee home

(Perhaps thou carest!) to the kindred shades

and ashes of thy sires. But let it be

some solace in thy pitiable doom

that none but great Aeneas wrought thy fall.”

Then to the stripling's tardy followers

he sternly called, and lifted from the earth

with his own hand the fallen foe: dark blood

defiled those princely tresses braided fair.

Meanwhile Mezentius by the Tiber's wave

with water staunched his wound, and propped his weight

against a tree; upon its limbs above

his brazen helmet hung, and on the sward

his ponderous arms lay resting. Round him watched

his chosen braves. He, gasping and in pain,

clutched at his neck and let his flowing beard

loose on his bosom fall; he questions oft

of Lausus, and sends many a messenger

to bid him back, and bear him the command

of his sore-grieving sire. But lo! his peers

bore the dead Lausus back upon his shield,

and wept to see so strong a hero quelled

by stroke so strong. From long way off the sire,

with soul prophetic of its woe, perceived

what meant their wail and cry. On his gray hairs

the dust he flung, and, stretching both his hands

to heaven, he cast himself the corpse along.

“O son,” he cried, “was life to me so sweet,

that I to save myself surrendered o'er

my own begotten to a foeman's steel?

Saved by these gashes shall thy father be,

and living by thy death? O wretched me,

how foul an end have I! Now is my wound

deep! deep! 't was I, dear son, have stained

thy name with infamy—to exile driven

from sceptre and hereditary throne

by general curse. Would that myself had borne

my country's vengeance and my nation's hate!

Would my own guilty life my debt had paid—

yea, by a thousand deaths! But, see, I live!

Not yet from human kind and light of day

have I departed. But depart I will.”

So saying, he raised him on his crippled thigh,

and though by reason of the grievous wound

his forces ebbed, yet with unshaken mien

he bade them lead his war-horse forth, his pride,

his solace, which from every war

victorious bore him home. The master then

to the brave beast, which seemed to know his pain,

spoke thus: “My Rhoebus, we have passed our days

long time together, if long time there be

for mortal creatures. Either on this day

thou shalt his bloody spoils in triumph bear

and that Aeneas' head,—and so shalt be

avenger of my Lausus' woe; or else,

if I be vanquished, thou shalt sink and fall

beside me. For, my bravest, thou wouldst spurn

a stranger's will, and Teucrian lords to bear.”

He spoke and, mounting to his back, disposed

his limbs the wonted way and filled both hands

with pointed javelins; a helm of brass

with shaggy horse-hair crest gleamed o'er his brow.

Swift to the front he rode: a mingled flood

surged in his heart of sorrow, wrath, and shame;

and thrice with loud voice on his foe he called.

Aeneas heard and made exulting vow:

“Now may the Father of the gods on high,

and great Apollo hear! Begin the fray!”

He said, and moved forth with a threatening spear.

The other cried: “Hast robbed me of my son,

and now, implacable, wouldst fright me more?

That way, that only, was it in thy power

to cast me down. No fear of death I feel.

Nor from thy gods themselves would I refrain.

Give o'er! For fated and resolved to die

I come thy way: but; bring thee as I pass

these offerings.” With this he whirled a spear

against his foe, and after it drove deep

another and another, riding swift

in wide gyration round him. But the shield,

the golden boss, broke not. Three times he rode

in leftward circles, hurling spear on spear

against th' unmoved Aeneas: and three times