Aeneid

But, lo! Mezentius his spear laid by,

and whirled three times about his head the thong

of his loud sling: the leaden bullet clove

the youth's mid-forehead, and his towering form

fell prostrate its full length along the ground.

'T was then Ascanius first shot forth in war

the arrow swift from which all creatures wild

were wont to fly in fear: and he struck down

with artful aim Numanus, sturdy foe,

called Remulus, who lately was espoused

to Turnus' younger sister. He had stalked

before the van, and made vociferous noise

of truths and falsehoods foul and base, his heart

puffed up with new-found greatness. Up and down

he strode, and swelled his folly with loud words:

“No shame have ye this second time to stay

cooped close within a rampart's craven siege,

O Phrygians twice-vanquished? Is a wall

your sole defence from death? Are such the men

who ask our maids in marriage? Say what god,

what doting madness, rather, drove ye here

to Italy? This way ye will not find

the sons of Atreus nor the trickster tongue

of voluble Ulysses. Sturdy stock

are we; our softest new-born babes we dip

in chilling rivers, till they bear right well

the current's bitter cold. Our slender lads

hunt night and day and rove the woods at large,

or for their merriment break stubborn steeds,

or bend the horn-tipped bow. Our manly prime

in willing labor lives, and is inured

to poverty and scantness; we subdue

our lands with rake and mattock, or in war

bid strong-walled cities tremble. Our whole life

is spent in use of iron; and we goad

the flanks of bullocks with a javelin's end.

Nor doth old age, arriving late, impair

our brawny vigor, nor corrupt the soul

to frail decay. But over silvered brows

we bind the helmet. Our unfailing joy

is rapine, and to pile the plunder high.

But ye! your gowns-are saffron needlework

or Tyrian purple; ye love shameful ease,

or dancing revelry. Your tunics fiow

long-sleeved, and ye have soft caps ribbon-bound.

Aye, Phrygian girls are ye, not Phrygian men!

Hence to your hill of Dindymus! Go hear

the twy-mouthed piping ye have loved so long.

The timbrel, hark! the Berecynthian flute

calls you away, and Ida's goddess calls.

Leave arms to men, true men! and quit the sword!”

Of such loud insolence and words of shame

Ascanius brooked no more, but laid a shaft

athwart his bowstring, and with arms stretched wide

took aim, first offering suppliant vow to Jove:

“Almighty Jupiter, thy favor show

to my bold deed! So to thy shrine I bear

gifts year by year, and to thine altars lead

a bull with gilded brows, snow-white, and tall

as his own dam, what time his youth begins

to lower his horns and fling the sand in air.”

The Father heard, and from a cloudless sky

thundered to leftward, while the deadly bow

resounded and the arrow's fearful song

hissed from the string; it struck unswervingly

the head of Remulus and clove its way

deep in the hollows of his brow. “Begone!

Proud mocker at the brave! Lo, this reply

twice-vanquished Phrygians to Rutulia send.”

Ascanius said no more. The Teucrians

with deep-voiced shout of joy applaud, and lift

their exultation starward. Then from heaven

the flowing-haired Apollo bent his gaze

upon Ausonia's host, and cloud-enthroned

looked downward o'er the city, speaking thus

to fair Iulus in his victory:

“Hail to thy maiden prowess, boy! This way

the starward path to dwelling-place divine.

O sired of gods and sire of gods to come,

all future storms of war by Fate ordained

shall into peace and lawful calm subside

beneath the offspring of Assaracus.

No Trojan destinies thy glory bound.”

So saying, from his far, ethereal seat

he hied him down, and, cleaving the quick winds

drew near Ascanius. He wore the guise

of aged Butes, who erewhile had borne

Anchises, armor and kept trusty guard

before his threshold, but attended now

Ascanius, by commandment of his sire.

Clad in this graybeard's every aspect, moved

apollo forth,—his very voice and hue,

his hoary locks and grimly sounding shield, —

and to the flushed Iulus spoke this word:

“Child of Aeneas, be content that now

Numanus unavenged thine arrows feels.

Such dawn of glory great Apollo's will

concedes, nor envies thee the fatal shaft

so like his own. But, tender youth, refrain

hereafter from this war!” So said divine