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So let Latonia's double offspring hear,
And double-fronted Janus, what I swear:
I touch the sacred altars, touch the flames,
And all those pow'rs attest, and all their names:
Whatever chance befall on either side,
No term of time this union shall divide :
No force, no fortune, shall my vows unbind,
Or shake the steadfast tenor of my mind;
Not tho' the circling seas should break their
bound,

O'erflow the shores, or sap the solid ground; Not tho' the lamps of heav'n their spheres forsake,

Hurl'd down, and hissing in the nether lake:
E'en as this royal sceptre (for he bore
A sceptre in his hand) shall never more
Shoot out in branches, or renew the birth-
An orphan now, cut from the mother-earth
By the keen axe, dishonour'd of its hair,
And cas'd in brass for Latian kings to bear."

When thus in public view the peace was tied With solemn vows, and sworn on either side, All dues perform'd which holy rites require, The victim beasts, are slain before the fire, The trembling entrails from their bodies torn, And to the fatten'd flames in chargers borne.

Already the Rutulians deem'd their man O'ermatch'd in arms, before the fight began. First rising fears are whisper'd thro' the crowd; Then, gath'ring round, they murmur more aloud. Now, side to side, they measure with their eyes The champions' bulk, their sinews, and their size:

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View all the Trojan host, th' Arcadian band,
And Tuscan army; count them as they stand :
Undaunted to the battle if we go,

Scarce ev'ry second man will share a foe.
Turnus, 't is true, in this unequal strife,
Shall lose, with honour, his devoted life,
Or change it rather for immortal fame,
Succeeding to the gods, from whence he came :
But you, a servile and inglorious band,
For foreign lords shall sow your native land
Those fruitful fields, your fighting fathers gain'd,
Which have so long their lazy sons sustain'd."
With words like these, she carried her de-
sign.

A rising murmur runs along the line.
Then e'en the city troops, and Latians, tir'd
With tedious war, seem with new souls in-
spir'd:

Their champion's fate with pity they lament,
And of the league, so lately sworn, repent.
Nor fails the goddess to foment the rage
With lying wonders, and a false presage;
But adds a sign, which, present to their eyes,
Inspires new courage, and a glad surprise.
For, sudden, in the fiery tracts above,
Appears in pomp th' imperial bird of Jove:
A plump of fowl he spies, that swim the lakes,
And o'er their heads his sounding pinions

shakes;

Then, stooping on the fairest of the train,
In his strong talons truss'd a silver swan.
Th' Italians wonder at th' unusual sight:
But, while he lags, and labours in his flight,
Behold, the dastard fowl return anew,
And with united force the foe pursue:
Clam'rous around the royal hawk they fly,
And, thick'ning in a cloud, o'ershade the sky.
They cuff, they scratch, they cross his airy

course;

Nor can th' encumber'd bird sustain their force; But, vex'd, not vanquish'd, drops the pond'rous prey,

And, lighten'd of his burden, wings his way.
Th' Ausonian bands with shouts salute the
sight,

Eager of action, and demand the fight.
Then king Tolumnius, vers'd in augurs' arts,
Cries out, and thus his boasted skill imparts:
"At length 't is granted, what I long desir'd:
This, this is what my frequent vows requir'd.
Ye gods! I take your omen and obey.-
Advance, my friends, and charge! I lead the
way.

These are the foreign foes, whose impious band,

Like that rapacious bird, infest our land:
But soon, like him, they shall be forc'd to sea
By strength united, and forego the prey.

29

Your timely succour to your country bring;
Hasten to rescue, and redeem your king.'
He said: and pressing onward through the
crew,

Pois'd in his lifted arm, his lance he threw.
The winged weapon, whistling in the wind,
Came driving on, nor miss'd the mark design'd.
At once the cornal rattled in the skies:
At once tumultuous shouts and clamours rise.
Nine brothers in a goodly band there stood,
Born of Arcadian, mix'd with Tuscan blood,
Gylippus' sons: the fatal jav'lin flew,
Aim'd at the midmost of the friendly crew.
A passage through the jointed arms it found,
Just where the belt was to the body bound,
And struck the gentle youth extended on the
ground.

Then, fir'd with pious rage, the gen'rous train
Run madly forward to revenge the slain.
And some with eager haste their jav'lins throw;
And some with sword in hand assault the foe.

The rest, with swords on high, run headlong to the war.

The wish'd insult the Latine troops embrace,
And meet their ardour in the middle space.
The Tuscans, Trojans, and Arcadian line,
With equal courage obviate their design.
Peace leaves the violated fields; and hate
Both armies urges to their mutual fate,
With impious haste their altars are o'erturn'd,
The sacrifice half broil'd, and half unburn'd.
Thick storms of steel from either army fly,
And clouds of clashing darts obscure the sky:
Brands from the fire are missive weapons made,
With chargers, bowls, and all the priestly trade.
Latinus, frighted, hastens from the fray,
And bears his unregarded gods away.

These on their horses vault; those yoke the No human hand, or hostile god, was found,
To boast the triumph of so base a wound.

car;

Messapus, eager to confound the peace, Spurr'd his hot courser through the fighting press,

At king Aulestes, by his purple known
A Tuscan prince, and by his regal crown;
And, with a shock encount'ring, bore him
down.

Backward he fell; and, as his fate design'd,
The ruins of an altar were behind:
There pitching on his shoulders and his head,
Amid the scatt'ring fires he lay supinely spread.
The beamy spear, descending from above,
His cuirass pierc'd, and through his body drove.
Then, with a scornful smile, the victor cries
"The gods have found a fitter sacrifice."
Greedy of spoils, th' Italians strip the dead
Of his rich armour, and uncrown his head.
Priest Cornæus arm'd his better hand,
From his own altar, with a blazing brand;

4

And, as Ebusus with a thund'ring pace
Advanc'd to battle, dash'd it on his face:
His bristly beard shines out with sudden fires;
The crack'ling crop a noisome scent expires.
Following the blow, he seiz'd his curling crown
With his left hand; his other cast him down.
The prostrate body with his knees he press❜d,
And plung'd his holy poniard in his breast.

While Podolirius, with his sword, pursued
The shepherd Alsus through the flying crowd,
Swiftly he turns, and aims a deadly blow
Full on the front of his unwary foe.
The broad axe enters with a crashing sound,
And cleaves the chin with one continu'd wound:
Warm blood, and mingled brains, besmear his
arms around

An iron sleep his stupid eyes oppress'd
And seiz'd their heavy lids in endless rest,
But good Æneas rush'd amid the bands:
Bare was his head, and naked were his hands,
In sign of truce: then thus he cries aloud:
"What sudden rage, what new desire of blood,
Inflames your alter'd minds? O Trojans ! cease
From impious arms, nor violate the peace.
By human sanctions, and by laws divine,
The terms are all agreed; the war is mine.
Dismiss your fears, and let the fight ensue;
This hand alone shall right the gods and you,
Our injur'd altars, and their broken vow,
To this avenging sword the faithless Turnus
owe."

Thus while he spoke, unmindful of defence,
A winged arrow struck the pious prince.
But, whether from some human hand it came,
Or hostile god, is left unknown by fame:

When Turnus saw the Trojan quit the plain,
His chiefs dismay'd, his troops a fainting train,
Th' unhop'd event his heighten'd soul inspires:
At once his arms and coursers he requires;
Then, with a leap, his lofty chariot gains,
And with a ready hand assumes the reins.
He drives impetuous, and, where'er he goes,
He leaves behind a lane of slaughter'd foes.
These his lance reaches; over those he rolls
His rapid car, and crushes out their souls.
In vain the vanquish'd fly: the victor sends
The dead men's weapons at their living friends.

Thus on the banks of Hebrus' freezing flood,
The god of battles, in his angry mood,
Clashing his sword against his brazen shield,
Lets loose the reins, and scours along the field;
Before the wind his fiery coursers fly:
Groans the sad earth, resounds the rattling sky.
Wrath, Terror, Treason, and Despair,

(Dire faces, and deform'd) surround the car-
Friends of the god, and followers of the war.

With fury not unlike, nor less disdain, Exulting Turnus flies along the plain; His smoking horses at their utmost speed, He lashes on; and urges o'er the dead. Their fetlocks run with blood, and when they bound,

The gore and gath'ring dust are dash'd around.
Thamyris and Pholus, masters of the war,
He kill'd at hand, but Sthenelus afar :
From far the sons of Imbrasus he slew,
Glaucus and Lades, of the Lycian crew-
Both taught to fight on foot, in battle join'd,
Or mount the courser that outstrips the wind.
Meantime Eumedes, vaunting in the field,
New fir'd the Trojans, and their foes repell'd.
This son of Dolon bore his grandsire's name,
But emulated more his father's fame-
His guileful father, sent a nightly spy,
The Grecian camp and order to descry-
Hard enterprise! and well he might require
Achilles' car and horses, for his hire :
But, met upon the scout, th' Etolian prince
In death bestow'd a juster recompense.

Fierce Turnus view'd the Trojan from afar And launch'd his jav'lin from his lofty car, Then lightly leaping down, pursu'd the blow, And, pressing with his foot his prostrate foe, Wrench'd from his feeble hold the shining sword,

And plung'd it in the bosom of its lord. "Possess," said he," the fruit of all thy pains, And measure at thy length, our Latian plains, Thus are my foes rewarded by my hand: Thus may they build their town, and thus enjoy the land!".

Then Dares, Butes, Sybaris he slew, Whom o'er his neck the flound'ring courser threw.

As when loud Boreas, with his blust'ring train,
Stoops from above, incumbent on the main,
Where'er he flies, he drives the rack before,
And rolls the billows on the Egean shore:
So, where resistless Turnus takes his course,
The scatter'd squadrons bend before his force.
His crest of horse's hair is blown behind
By adverse air, and rustles in the wind.

This haughty Phegeus saw with high disdain, And, as the chariot roll'd along the plain, Light from the ground he leap'd, and seiz❜d the rein.

Thus hung in air, he still retain'd his hold,
The coursers frighted, and their course controll'd.
The lance of Turnus reach'd him as he hung,
And pierc'd his plated arms, but pass'd along,
And only rais'd the skin. He turn'd, and held
Against his threat'ning foe his ample shield,
Then call'd for aid: but, while he cried in vain,
The chariot bore him backward on the plain.

He lies revers'd: the victor king descends,
And strikes so justly where his helmet ends,
He lops the head. The Latian fields are drunk
With streams that issue from the bleeding trunk.
While he triumphs, and while the Trojans
yield,

The wounded prince is forc'd to leave the field:
Strong Mnestheus, and Achates, often tried,
And young Ascanius, weeping by his side,
Conduct him to his tent. Scarce can he rear
His limbs from earth, supported on his spear.
Resolv'u in mind, regardless of the smart,
He tugs with both his hands, and breaks the
dart.

The steel remains. No readier way he found To draw the weapon, than t' enlarge the wound, Eager of fight, impatient of delay,

He begs; and his unwilling friends obey.

Iapis was at hand to prove his art, Whose blooming youth so fir'd Apollo's heart, That, for his love, he proffer'd to bestow His tuneful harp, and his unerring bow. The pious youth, more studious how to save His aged sire, now sinking to the grave, Preferr'd the pow'r of plants and silent praise Of healing arts, before Phœbean bays. Propp'd on his lance, the pensive hero stood, And heard and saw, unmov'd, the mourning crowd.

The fam'd physician tucks his robes around
With ready hands, and hastens to the wound.
With gentle touches he performs his part,
This way and that, soliciting the dart,
And exercises all his heav'nly art.
All soft'ning simples, known of sov'reign use,
He presses out, and pours their noble juice.
These first infus'd, to lenify the pain-
He tugs with pincers, but he tugs in vain.
Then to the patron of his art he pray'd:
The patron of his art refus'd his aid.

Meantime the war approaches to the tents: Th' alarm grows hotter, and the noise aug

ments:

The driving dust proclaims the danger near; And first their friends, and then their foes appear:

Their friends retreat, their foes pursue the rear,
The camp is fill'd with terror and affright:
The hissing shafts within the trench alight:
An undistinguish'd noise ascends the sky-
The shouts of those who kill, and groans of
those who die.

But now the goddess-mother, mov'd with grief,

And pierc'd with pity, hastens her relief.
A branch of healing dittany she brought,
Which in the Cretan fields with care she
sought-

(Rough is the stem, which woolly leaves surround: The leaves with flow'rs, the flow'rs with purple crown'd)

Well known to wounded goats; a sure relief To draw the pointed steel, and ease the grief. This Venus brings, in clouds involv'd, and brews

Th' extracted liquor with ambrosian dews,
And od'rous penacee. Unseen she stands,
Temp'ring the mixture with her heav'nly hands,
And pours it in a bowl, already crown'd
With juice of med'c'nal herbs prepar❜d to bathe
the wound.

With him the Latins view'd the cover'd plains;
And the chill blood ran backward in their veins.
Juturna saw th' advancing troops appear,
And heard the hostile sound, and fled for fear,
Æneas leads; and draws a sweeping train,
Clos'd in their ranks, and pouring on the plain
As, when a whirlwind, rushing to the shore
From the mid ocean, drives the waves before ;
The painful hind with heavy heart foresees
The flatted fields, and slaughter of the trees;
With such impetuous rage the prince appears,
Before his doubled front; nor less destruction
bears.

The leech, unknowing of superior art Which aids the cure, with this foments the part;

And in a moment ceas'd the raging smart.
Stanch'd is the blood, and in the bottom stands:
The steel, but scarcely touch'd with tender
hands,
Moves up,
and follows of its own accord;
And health and vigour are at once restor❜d.
Iäpis first perceiv'd the closing wound;
And first the footsteps of a god he found.
"Arms! arms!" he cries: "the sword and
shield prepare,

And send the willing chief renew'd to war,
This is no mortal work, no cure of mine,
Nor art's effect, but done by hands divine.
Some god our gen'ral to the battle sends ;
Some god preserves his life for greater ends."

The hero arms in haste: his hands infold
His thighs with cuishes of refulgent gold:
Inflam'd to fight and rushing to the field,
That hand sustaining the celestial shield,
This gripes the lance, and with such vigour
shakes,

That to the rest the beamy weapon quakes.
Then with a close embrace he strain'd his son,
And, kissing through his helmet thus begun :
"My son! from my example learn to war,
In camps to suffer, and in fields to dare:
But happier chance than mine attend thy care!
This day my hand thy tender age shall shield,
And crown with honours of the conquer'd field:
Thou, when thy riper years shall send thee forth
To toils of war, be mindful of my worth:
Assert thy birthright; and in arms be known
For Hector's nephew and Eneas' son."

He said; and, striding, issued on the plain. Anteus and Mnestheus, and a num❜rous train, Attend his steps: the rest their weapons take, And crowding to the field the camp forsake.

A cloud of blinding dust is rais'd around; Labours beneath their feet the trembling ground. Nor Turnus, posted on a hill, from far Beheld the progress of the moving war:

And now both armies shock in open field;
Osiris is by strong Thymbræus kill'd.
Archetius, Ufens, Epulon, are slain
(All fam'd in arms, and of the Latian train)
By Gyas', Mnestheus', and Achates' band.
The fatal augur falls, by whose command
The truce was broken, and whose lance, ambru'd
With Trojan blood, th' unhappy fight renew'd.
Loud shouts and clamours rend the liquid sky;
And o'er the fields the frighted Latins fly.
The prince disdains the dastards to pursue,
Nor moves to meet in arms the fighting few.
Turnus alone, amid the dusky plain,
He seeks, and to the combat calls in vain.
Juturna heard, and, seiz'd with mortal fear,
Forc'd from the beam her brother's chariot-

eer; Assumes his shape, his armour, and his mien, And, like Metiscus, in his seat is seen.

As the black swallow near the palace plies;
O'er empty courts, and under arches, flies;
Now hawks aloft, now skims along the flood,
To furnish her loquacious nest with food:
So drives the rapid goddess o'er the plains;
The smoking horses run with loosen'd reins.
She steers a various course among the foes:
Now here, now there, her conqu❜ring brother
shows;

Now with a straight, now with a wheeling flight.
She turns and bends, but shuns the single fight.
Æneas, fir'd with fury, breaks the crowd,
And seeks his foe, and calls by name aloud:
He runs within a narrower ring, and tries
To stop the chariot, but the chariot flies.
If he but gain a glimpse, Juturna fears,
And far away the Daunian hero bears.

What should he do? Nor arts nor arms

avail;

And various cares in vain his mind assail. The great Messapus, thund'ring through the field,

In his left hand two pointed jav'lins held : Encount'ring on the prince, one dart he drew, And with unerring aim, and utmost vigour,

threw.

Æneas saw it come, and, stooping low Beneath his buckler, shunn'd the threat'ning blow.

The weapon hiss'd above his head, and tore
The waving plume, which on his helm he wore,
Forc'd by this hostile act, and fir'd with spite,
That flying Turnus still declin'd the fight,
The prince, whose piety had long repell'd
His inborn ardour now invades the field;
Invokes the pow'rs of violated peace,
Their rites and injur'd altars to redress;
Then to his rage, abandoning the rein,
With blood and slaughter'd bodies fills the
plain.
[play,
What god can tell, what numbers can dis-
The various labours of that fatal day?
What chiefs and champions fell on either side,
In combat slain, or by what deaths they
died?

Whom Turnus, whom the Trojan hero kill'd?
Who shar'd the fame and fortune of the field?
Jove! couldst thou view, and not avert thy
sight,

Two jarring nations join'd in cruel fight,
Whom leagues of lasting love so shortly shall
unite?

vent.

Peaceful Mencetes after these he kill'd,
Who long had shunn'd the dangers of the field:
On Lerna's lake a silent life he led,

Or as two neighb'ring torrents fall from high,
Rapid they run: the foamy waters fry;
They roll to sea with unresisted force,
And down the rocks precipitate their course:
Not with less rage the rival heroes take
Their diff'rent ways; nor less destruction make.
With spears afar, with swords at hand, they
strike;

And zeal of slaughter fires their souls alike;
Like them, their dauntless men maintain the
field:

And with his nets and angle earn'd his bread.
Nor pompous cares, nor palaces, he knew,
But wisely from the infectious world withdrew.
Poor was his house: his father's painful hand
Discharg'd his rent, and plough'd another's land.

As flames among the lofty woods are thrown
On different sides, and both by winds are blown;
The laurels crackle in the sputt'ring fire;
The frighted sylvans from their shades retire;

And hearts are pierc'd, unknowing how to yield: They blow for blow return, and wound for wound;

Eneas first, Rutulian Sucro found,
Whose valour made the Trojans quit their
ground;

Betwixt his ribs the jav❜lin drove so just,
It reach'd his heart, nor needs a second thrust.
Now Turnus, at two blows, two brethren slew;
First from his horse fierce Amycus he threw:
Then, leaping on the ground, on foot assail'd
Diores, and in equal fight prevail'd.
Their lifeless trunks he leaves upon the place
Their heads, distilling gore, his chariot grace.

Three cold on earth the Trojan hero threw,
Whom without respite at one charge he slew:
Cethegus, Tanais, Talus, fell oppress'd,
And sad Onythes, added to the rest-
Of Theban blood, whom Peridia bore.
Turnus two brothers from the Lycian shore,
And from Apollo's fane to battle sent,
O'erthrew nor Phoebus could their fate pre- In high Lyrnessus, and in Troy, he held

But who can pass the bounds prefix'd by Fate?

Two palaces, and was from each expell'd:
Of all the mighty man, the last remains
A little spot of foreign earth contains.
And now both hosts their broken troops unite
In equal ranks, and mix in mortal fight.
Serestus and undaunted Mnestheus join
The Trojan, Tuscan, and Arcadian line;
Sea-born Messapus, with Atinas, heads
The Latin squadrons, and to battle leads.
They strike; they push; they throng the scanty

And heaps of bodies raise the level ground.
Murranus, boasting of his blood, that springs
From a long royal race of Latian kings,
Is by the Trojan from his chariot thrown;
Crush'd with the weight of an unwieldy stone:
Betwixt the wheels he fell; the wheels, that bore
His living load, his dying body tore.

His starting steeds, to shun the glitt'ring sword,
Paw down his trampled limbs, forgetful of their
lord.

Fierce Hyllus threaten'd high, and, face to
face,
Affronted Turnus in the middle space:
The prince encounter'd him in full career,
And at his temples aim'd the deadly spear:
So fatally the flying weapon sped,

That through his brazen helmet pierc'd his
head.

Nor, Cisseus, couldst thou 'scape from Turnus'
hand,

In vain the strongest of th' Arcadian band:
Nor to Cupentus could his gods afford
Availing aid against th' Ænean sword,
Which to his naked heart pursu'd the course;
Nor could his plated shield sustain the force.
Iõlus fell, whom not the Grecian pow'rs,
Nor great subverter of the Trojan tow'rs,
Were doom'd to kill, while heav'n prolong'd his
date :

space,

Resolv'd on death, impatient of disgrace;
And, where one falls, another fills his place.

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