Aeneid

the left side, and they fight with crooked swords.

Nor shalt thou, Oebalus, depart unsung,

whom minstrels say the nymph Sebethis bore

to Telon, who in Capri was a king

when old and gray; but that disdaining son

quitted so small a seat, and conquering sway

among Sarrastian folk and those wide plains

watered by Sarnus' wave, became a king

over Celenna, Rufrae, Batulum,

and where among her apple-orchards rise

Abella's walls. All these, as Teutons use,

hurl a light javelin; for helm they wear

stripped cork-tree bark; the crescent of their shields

is gleaming bronze, and gleaming bronze the sword.

Next Ufens, mountain-bred, from Nersae came

to join the war; of goodly fame was he

for prosperous arms: his Aequian people show

no gentle mien, but scour the woods for prey,

or, ever-armed, across the stubborn glebe

compel the plough; though their chief pride and joy

are rapine, violence, and plundered store.

Next after these, his brows and helmet bound

with noble olive, from Marruvium came

a priest, brave Umbro, ordered to the field

by King Archippus: o'er the viper's brood,

and venomed river-serpents he had power

to scatter slumber with wide-waving hands

and wizard-songs. His potent arts could soothe

their coiling rage and heal the mortal sting:

but 'gainst a Trojan sword no drug had he,

nor could his drowsy spells his flesh repair,

nor gathered simples from the Marsic hills.

Thee soon in wailing woods Anguitia mourned,

thee, Fucinus, the lake of crystal wave,

thee, many a mountain-tarn!

Next, Virbius in martial beauty rode,

son of Hippolytus, whose mother, proud

Aricia, sent him in his flower of fame

out of Egeria's hills and cloudy groves

where lies Diana's gracious, gifted fane.

For legend whispers that Hippolytus,

by step-dame's plot undone, his life-blood gave

to sate his vengeful father, and was rent

in sunder by wild horses; but the grave

to air of heaven and prospect of the stars

restored him;—for Diana's love and care

poured out upon him Paeon's healing balm.

But Jove, almighty Sire, brooked not to see

a mortal out of death and dark reclimb

to light of life, and with a thunderbolt

hurled to the Stygian river Phoebus' son,

who dared such good elixir to compound.

But pitying Trivia hid Hippolytus

in her most secret cave, and gave in ward

to the wise nymph Egeria in her grove;

where he lived on inglorious and alone,

ranging the woods of Italy, and bore

the name of Virbius. 'T is for this cause

the hallowed woods to Trivia's temple vowed

forbid loud-footed horses, such as spilled

stripling and chariot on the fatal shore,

scared by the monsters peering from the sea.

Yet did the son o'er that tumultuous plain

his battle-chariot guide and plunging team.

Lo, Turnus strides conspicuous in the van,

full armed, of mighty frame, his lordly head

high o'er his peers emerging! His tall helm

with flowing triple crest for ensign bears

Chimaera, whose terrific lips outpour

volcanic fires; where'er the menace moves

of her infernal flames and wrathful frown,

there wildest flows the purple flood of war.

On his smooth shield deep graven in the gold

is horned Io—wondrous the device!—

a shaggy heifer-shape the maiden shows;

Argus is watching her, while Inachus

pours forth his river from the pictured urn.

A storm of tramping troops, to Turnus sworn,

throngs all the widespread plain with serried shields:

warriors of Argos, and Auruncan bands,

Sicani, Rutuli, Sacranian hosts,

Labicum's painted shields; all who till

thy woodland vales, O Tiber! or the shore

Numicius hallows; all whose ploughs upturn

Rutulia's hills, or that Circaean range

where Jove of Anxur guards, and forests green

make fair Feronia glad; where lie the fens

of Satura, and Ufens' icy wave

through lowland valleys seeks his seaward way.

Last came Camilla, of the Volscians bred,

leading her mail-clad, radiant chivalry;

a warrior-virgin, of Minerva's craft

of web and distaff, fit for woman's toil,

no follower she; but bared her virgin breast

to meet the brunt of battle, and her speed

left even the winds behind; for she would skim

an untouched harvest ere the sickle fell,

nor graze the quivering wheat-tops as she ran;

or o'er the mid-sea billows' swollen surge

so swiftly race, she wet not in the wave