Aeneid

the open gates were followed by the foe,

routed and overwhelmed. They could not fly

a miserable death, but were struck down

in their own ancient city, or expired

before the peaceful shrines of hearth and home.

Then some one barred the gates. They dared not now

give their own people entrance, and were deaf

to all entreaty. Woeful deaths ensued,

both of the armed defenders of the gate,

and of the foe in arms. The desperate band,

barred from the city in the face and eyes

of their own weeping parents, either dropped

with headlong and inevitable plunge

into the moat below; or, frantic, blind,

battered with beams against the stubborn door

and columns strong. Above in conflict wild

even the women (who for faithful love

of home and country schooled them to be brave

Camilla's way) rained weapons from the walls,

and used oak-staves and truncheons shaped in flame,

as if, well-armed in steel, each bosom bold

would fain in such defence be first to die.

Meanwhile th' unpitying messenger had flown

to Turnus in the wood; the warrior heard

from Acca of the wide confusion spread,

the Volscian troop destroyed, Camilla slain,

the furious foe increasing, and, with Mars

to help him, grasping all, till in that hour

far as the city-gates the panic reigned.

Then he in desperate rage (Jove's cruel power

decreed it) from the ambushed hills withdrew

and pathless wild. He scarce had passed beyond

to the bare plain, when forth Aeneas marched

along the wide ravine, climbed up the ridge,

and from the dark, deceiving grove stood clear.

Then swiftly each with following ranks of war

moved to the city-wall, nor wide the space

that measured 'twixt the twain. Aeneas saw

the plain with dust o'erclouded, and the lines

of the Laurentian host extending far;

Turnus, as clearly, saw the war array

of dread Aeneas, and his ear perceived

loud tramp of mail-clad men and snorting steeds.

Soon had they sped to dreadful shock of arms,

hazard of war to try; but Phoebus now,

glowing rose-red, had dipped his wearied wheel

deep in Iberian seas, and brought back night

above the fading day. So near the town

both pitch their camps and make their ramparts strong.

When Turnus marks how much the Latins quail

in adverse war, how on himself they call

to keep his pledge, and with indignant eyes

gaze all his way, fierce rage implacable

swells his high heart. As when on Libyan plain

a lion, gashed along his tawny breast

by the huntsman's grievous thrust, awakens him

unto his last grim fight, and gloriously

shaking the great thews of his maned neck,

shrinks not, but crushes the despoiler's spear

with blood-sprent, roaring mouth,—not less than so

burns the wild soul of Turnus and his ire.

Thus to the King he spoke with stormful brow:

“The war lags not for Turnus' sake. No cause

constrains the Teucrian cowards and their King

to eat their words and what they pledged refuse.

On his own terms I come. Bring forward, sire,

the sacrifice, and seal the pact I swear:

either to deepest hell this hand shall fling

yon Trojan runaway—the Latins all

may sit at ease and see!—and my sole sword

efface the general shame; or let him claim

the conquest, and Lavinia be his bride.”

To him Latinus with unruffled mind

thus made reply: “O youth surpassing brave!

The more thy sanguinary valor burns

beyond its wont, the more with toilsome care

I ponder with just fear what chance may fall,

weighing it well. Thy father Daunus' throne,

and many a city by thy sword subdued,

are still thy own. Latinus also boasts

much golden treasure and a liberal hand.

Other unwedded maids of noble stem

in Latium and Laurentine land are found.

Permit me, then, to tell thee without guile

things hard to utter; let them deeply fill

thy listening soul. My sacred duty 'twas

to plight my daughter's hand to nonesoe'er

of all her earlier wooers—so declared

the gods and oracles; but overcome

by love of thee, by thy dear, kindred blood,

and by the sad eyes of my mournful Queen,

I shattered every bond; I snatched away

the plighted maiden from her destined lord,

and took up impious arms. What evil case

upon that deed ensued, what hapless wars,

thou knowest, since thyself dost chiefly bear

the cruel burden. In wide-ranging fight

twice-conquered, our own city scarce upholds

the hope of Italy. Yon Tiber's wave

still runs warm with my people's blood; the plains