Aeneid

against the city-wall, in swift advance

of all his line, confounding Latium so

with slaughter and surprise. His roving glance,

seeking for Turnus through the scattered lines

this way and that, beholds in distant view

the city yet unscathed and calmly free

from the wide-raging fight. Then on his soul

rushed the swift vision of a mightier war.

Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus brave,

his chosen chiefs, he summons to his side,

and stands upon a hillock, whither throng

the Teucrian legions, each man holding fast

his shield and spear. He, towering high,

thus from the rampart to his people calls:

“Perform my bidding swiftly: Jove's own hand

sustains our power. Be ye not slack, because

the thing I do is sudden. For this day

I will pluck out th' offending root of war,—

yon city where Latinus reigns. Unless

it bear our yoke and heed a conqueror's will,

will lay low in dust its blazing towers.

Must I wait Turnus' pleasure, till he deign

to meet my stroke, and have a mind once more,

though vanquished, to show fight? My countrymen,

see yonder stronghold of their impious war!

Bring flames; avenge the broken oath with fire!”

Scarce had he said, when with consenting souls,

they speed them to the walls in dense array,

forming a wedge. Ladders now leap in air,

and sudden-blazing fires. In various war

some troops run charging at the city-gates,

and slay the guards; some fling the whirling spear

and darken heaven with arrows. In their van,

his right hand lifted to the wails and towers,

Aeneas, calling on the gods to hear,

loudly upbraids Latinus that once more

conflict is thrust upon him; that once more

Italians are his foes and violate

their second pledge of peace. So blazes forth

dissension 'twixt the frighted citizens:

some would give o'er the city and fling wide

its portals to the Trojan, or drag forth

the King himself to parley; others fly

to arms, and at the rampart make a stand.

'T is thus some shepherd from a caverned crag

stirs up the nested bees with plenteous fume

of bitter smoke; they, posting to and fro,

fly desperate round the waxen citadel,

and whet their buzzing fury; through their halls

the stench and blackness rolls; within the caves

noise and confusion ring; the fatal cloud

pours forth incessant on the vacant air.

But now a new adversity befell

the weary Latins, which with common woe

shook the whole city to its heart. The Queen,

when at her hearth she saw the close assault

of enemies, the walls beset, and fire

spreading from roof to roof, but no defence

from the Rutulian arms, nor front of war

with Turnus leading,—she, poor soul, believed

her youthful champion in the conflict slain;

and, mad with sudden sorrow, shrieked aloud

against herself, the guilty chief and cause

of all this ill; and, babbling her wild woe

in endless words, she rent her purple pall,

and with her own hand from the rafter swung

a noose for her foul death. The tidings dire

among the moaning wives of Latium spread,

and young Lavinia's frantic fingers tore

her rose-red cheek and hyacinthine hair.

Then all her company of women shrieked

in anguish, and the wailing echoed far

along the royal seat; from whence the tale

of sorrow through the peopled city flew;

hearts sank; Latinus rent his robes, appalled

to see his consort's doom, his falling throne;

and heaped foul dust upon his hoary hair.

Meanwhile the warrior Turnus far afield

pursued a scattered few; but less his speed,

for less and less his worn steeds worked his will;

and now wind-wafted to his straining ear

a nameless horror came, a dull, wild roar,

the city's tumult and distressful cry.

“Alack,” he cried, “what stirs in yonder walls

such anguish? Or why rings from side to side

such wailing through the city?” Asking so,

he tightened frantic grasp upon the rein.

To him his sister, counterfeiting still

the charioteer Metiscus, while she swayed

rein, steeds, and chariot, this answer made:

“Hither, my Turnus, let our arms pursue

the sons of Troy. Here lies the nearest way

to speedy triumph. There be other swords

to keep yon city safe. Aeneas now

storms against Italy in active war;

we also on this Trojan host may hurl

grim havoc. Nor shalt thou the strife give o'er

in glory second, nor in tale of slain.”

Turnus replied, “O sister, Iong ago

I knew thee what thou wert, when guilefully