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Of air condens'd, a spectre soon she made;
And, what Eneas was, such seem'd the shade.
Adorn'd with Dardan arms, the phantom bore
His head aloft; a plumy crest he wore;
This hand appear'd a shining sword to wield,
And that sustain'd an imitated shield.
With manly mien he stalk'd along the ground,
Nor wanted voice belied, nor vaunted sound.
(Thus haunting ghosts appear, to waking sight,
Or dreadful visions in our dreams by night.)
The spectre seems the Daunian chief to dare,
And flourishes his empty sword in air.
At this, advancing, Turnus hurl'd his spear:
The phantom wheel'd, and seem'd to fly for

Deluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled, And with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed. "Whither, O coward?" (thus he calls aloud, Nor found he spoke to wind,and chas'd a cloud,) "6 Why thus forsake your bride? Receive from


The fated land you sought so long by sea."
He said, and brandishing at once his blade,
With eager pace pursu'd the flying shade.
By chance, a ship was fasten'd to the shore,
Which from old Clusium king Osinius bore:
The plank was ready laid for safe ascent;
For shelter there the trembling shadow bent,
And skipp'd, and skulk'd, and under hatches


Exulting Turnus, with regardless haste, Ascends the plank, and to the galley pass'd. Scarce had he reach'd the prow, Saturnia's hand

The halsers cuts, and shoots the ship from land.
With wind in poop, the vessel ploughs the sea,
And measures back with speed her former way.
Meantime Æneas seeks his absent foe,
And sends his slaughter'd troops to shades be-

The guileful phantom now forsook the shroud, And flew sublime, and vanish'd in a cloud. Too late young Turnus the delusion found, Far on the sea, still making from the ground.

Then thankless for a life redeem'd by shame,
With sense of honour stung, and forfeit fame,
Fearful besides of what in fight had pass'd,
His hands and haggard eyes to heav'n he cast.
"O Jove!" he cried-" for what offence have I
Deserv'd to bear this endless infamy?
Whence am I forc'd, and whither am I borne ?
How, and with what reproach shall I return?
Shall ever I behold the Latian plain,
Or see Laurentum's lofty tow'rs again?
What will they say of their deserting chief?
The war was mine: I fly from their relief!
I led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave;
And e'en from hence their dying groans receive:
Here, over-match'd in fight, in heaps they lie,
There, scatter'd o'er the fields, ignobly fly.
Gape wide, O earth, and draw me down alive!
Or, oh! ye pitying winds, a wretch relieve!
On sands or shelves, the splitting vessel drive;
Or set me shipwreck'd on some desert shore,
Where no Rutulian eyes may see me more-
Unknown to friends, or foes, or conscious fame,
Lest she should follow, and my flight proclaim."

Thus Turnus rav'd, and various fates revolv'd:

The choice was doubtful, but the death resolv'd. And now the sword, and now the sea, took place

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But Palmus from behind receives his wound:
Hamstring'd he falls, and grovels on the ground:
His crest and armour from his body torn,
Thy shoulders, Lausus, and thy head, adorn.
Evas and Mimas, both of Troy, he slew.
Mimas his birth from fair Pheano drew-
Born on that fatal night, when, big with fire,
The queen produc'd young Paris to his sire.
But Paris in the Phrygian fields was slain,
Unthinking Mimas on the Latian plain.

And as a savage boar, on mountains bred,
With forest mast and fatt'ning marshes fed,
When once he sees himself in toils enclos'd,
By huntsmen and their eager hounds oppos'd,
He whets his tusks, and turns, and dares the

Th' invaders dart their jav'lins from afar :
All keep aloof, and safely shout around;
But none presumes to give a nearer wound :
He frets and froths, erects his bristled hide,
And shakes a grove of lances from his side:
Not otherwise the troops, with hate inspir'd,
And just revenge against the tyrant fir'd,
Their darts with clamour at a distance drive,
And only keep the languish'd war alive.

From Corythus came Acron to the fight, Who left his spouse betroth'd, and unconsummate night.

Mezentius sees him through the squadron ride,
Proud of the purple favours of his bride.
Then as a hungry lion, who beholds
A gamesome goat who frisks about the folds,
Or beamy stag that grazes on the plain-
He runs, he roars, he shakes his rising mane,
He grins, and opens wide his greedy jaws :
The prey lies panting underneath his
He fills his famish'd maw; his mouth runs o'er
With unchew'd morsels, while he churns the

So proud Mezentius rushes on nis foes,
And first unhappy Acron overthrows;
Stretch'd at his length, he spurns the swarthy
[the wound.
The lance, besmear'd with blood, lies broken in
Then, with disdain, the haughty victor view'd
Orodes flying, nor the wretch pursu’d,
Nor thought the dastard's back deserv'd a
But, running, gain'd th' advantage of the
Then turning short, he met him face to face,
To give his victory the better grace.
Orodes falls, in equal fight oppress'd:
Mezentius fix'd his foot upon his breast,
And rested lance; and thus aloud he cries:
"Lo! here the champion of my rebels lies!"
The fields around with "Iö Pean!" ring;
And peals of shouts applaud the conqu'ring


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A hov'ring mist came swimming o'er his sight, And seal'd his eyes in everlasting night.

By Cædicus, Alcathous was slain : Sacrator laid Hydaspes on the plain : Orses the strong to greater strength must yield: He, with Parthenius, were by Rapo kill'd. Then brave Messapus Ericetes slew, Who from Lycaon's blood his lineage drew. But from his headstrong horse his fate he found, Who threw his master, as he made a bound: The chief, alighting, struck him to the ground; Then Clonius, hand to hand, on foot assails: The Trojan sinks, and Neptune's son prevails.

Agis the Lycian, stepping forth with pride, To single fight the boldest foe defied; Whom Tuscan Valerus by force o'ercame, And not belied his mighty father's fame. Salius to death the great Authronius sent But the same fate the victor underwent, Slain by Nealces' hand, well skill'd to throw The flying dart, and draw the far-deceiving bow. Thus equal deaths are dealt with equal chance: By turns they quit their ground, by turns ad


Victors and vanquish'd in the various field,
Nor wholly overcome, nor wholly yield.
The gods from heav'n survey the fatal strife,
And mourn the miseries of human life.
Above the rest, two goddesses appear
Concern'd for each: here Venus, Juno there.
Amidst the crowd, infernal Ate shakes
Her scourge aloft, and crest of hissing snakes.

Once more the proud Mezentius, with disdain, Brandish'd his spear, and rush'd into the plain, Where tow'ring in the midmost rank he stood, Like tall Orion stalking o'er the flood,

(When with his brawny breast he cuts the

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His shoulders scarce the topmost billow laves,) Or like a mountain-ash, whose roots are spread, Deep fix'd in earth-in clouds he hides his head.

The Trojan prince beheld him from afar, And dauntless undertook the doubtful war. Collected in his strength, and like a rock Pois'd on his base, Mezentius stood the shock. He stood, and measuring first with careful eyes The space his spear could reach, aloud he


66 My strong right hand and sword assist my

(Those only gods Mezentius will invoke,)
His armour, from the Trojan pirate torn,
By my triumphant Lausus shall be worn."
He said; and with his utmost force he threw
The massy spear,
which hissing as it flew,
Reach'd the celestial shield: that stopp'd the


But glancing thence, the yet unbroken force
Took a new bent obliquely, and, betwixt
The side and bowels, fam'd Antoris fix'd.
Antoris had from Argos travelled far,
Alcides' friend, and brother of the war;
Till, tir'd with toils, fair Italy he chose;
And in Evander's palace sought repose.
Now falling by another's wound, his eyes
He cast to heav'n, on Argos thinks, and dies.
The pious Trojan then his jav'lin sent:
The shield gave way: through triple plates it


Eneas, thus o'erwhelm'd on ev'ry side,
The storm of darts, undaunted, did abide ;
And thus to Lausus loud with friendly threat'-
ning cried :

"Why wilt thou rush to certain death, and rage,
In rash attempts, beyond thy tender age,
Betray'd by pious love ?"-Nor, thus forborne
The youth desists, but with insulting scorn
Provokes the ling'ring prince, whose patience

Gave place; and all his breast with fury fir'd.
For now the Fates prepar'd their sharpen'd
shears ;

And lifted high the flaming sword appears,
Which full descending, with a frightful sway,
Through shield and corslet forc'd the impetuous

And buried deep in his fair bosom lay.

The purple streams through the thin armour strove,

And drench'd the embroider'd coat his mother

Of solid brass, of linen triply toll'd,
And three bull-hides, which round the buckler And life at length forsook his heaving heart,
Loath from so sweet a mansion to depart.

All these it pass'd, resistless in the course,
Transpierc'd his thigh, and spent its dying

But when, with blood and paleness all o'er-

The gaping wound gush'd out a crimson flood.
The Trojan, glad with sight of hostile blood,
His falchion drew, to closer fight address'd,
And with new force his fainting foe oppress'd.

His father's peril Lausus view'd with grief:
He sigh'd, he wept, he ran to his relief.
And here heroic youth, 't is here I must
To thy immortal memory be just,
And sing an act so noble and so new,
Posterity will scarce believe 't is true.
Pain'd with the wound, and useless for the fight,
The father sought to save himself by flight:
Encumber'd, slow he dragg'd the spear along,
Which pierc'd his thigh and in his buckler hung.
The pious youth, resolv'd on death, below
The lifted sword, springs forth to face the foe;
Protects his parent, and prevents the blow,
Shouts of applause ran ringing through the field.
To see the son the vanquish'd father shield.
All fir'd with gen'rous indignation, strive,
And, with a storm of darts, to distance drive
The Trojan chief, who, held at bay from far,
On his Vulcanian orb sustain'd the war.

As, when thick hail comes rattling in the

The ploughman, passenger, and lab'ring hind
For shelter to the neighb'ring covert fly,
Or hous'd, or safe in hollow caverns, lie;
But, that o'erblown, when heav'n above them

Return to travail, and renew their toils :

The pious prince beheld young Lausus dead, He griev'd, he wept; (the sight an image brought

Of his own filial love-a sadly pleasing thought;) Then stretch'd his hand to hold him up, and said:

"Poor hapless youth! what praises can be paid
To love so great, to such transcendent store
Of early worth, and sure presage of more!
Accept whate'er Æneas can afford:
Untouch'd thy arms, untaken be thy sword;
And all that pleas'd the living, still remain
Inviolate, and sacred to the slain.
Thy body on thy parents I bestow,
To rest thy soul, at least, if shadows know,
Or have a sense of human things below.
There to thy fellow-ghosts with glory tell
'T was by the great Eneas' hand I fell."
With this his distant friends he beckons near,
Provokes their duty, and prevents their fear;
Himself assists to lift him from the ground,
With clotted locks and blood that well'd from
out the wound.

Meantime, his father, now no father, stood,
And wash'd his wounds, by Tyber's yellow
Oppress'd with anguish, panting, and o'erspent,
His fainting limbs against an oak he leant.
A bough his brazen helmet did sustain,
His heavier arms lay scatter'd on the plain :
A chosen train of youth around him stand:
His drooping head was rested on his hand:

His grisly beard his pensive bosom sought;
And all on Lausus ran his restless thought.
Careful, concern'd, his danger to prevent,
He much inquir'd, and many a message sent
To warn him from the field-alas! in vain!
Behold his mournful followers bear him slain :
O'er his broad shield still gush'd the yawning

And drew a bloody trail along the ground.
Far off he heard their cries, far off divin'd
The dire event with a foreboding mind.
With dust he sprinkled first his hoary head;
Then both his lifted hands to heaven he spread;
Last, the dear corpse embracing, thus he said:
"What joys, alas! could this frail being give,
That I have been so covetous to live?
To see my son, and such a son, resign
His life a ransom for preserving mine?
And am I then preserv'd, and art thou lost?
How much too dear has that redemption cost?
'Tis now my bitter banishment I feel:
This is a wound too deep for time to heal.
My guilt thy growing virtues did defame;
My blackness blotted thy unblemish'd name.
Chas'd from a throne, abandon'd, and exil'd
For foul misdeeds, were punishments too mild:
I ow'd my people these, and, from their hate,
With less resentment could have borne my fate
And yet I live, and yet sustain the sight
Of hated men, and of more hated light-
But will not long." With that he rais'd from

His fainting limbs, that stagger'd with his wound;

Yet, with a mind resolv'd and unappall'd
With pains or perils, for his courser call'd-
Well mouth'd, well-manag'd, whom himself did

With daily care, and mounted with successHis aid in arms, his ornament in peace.

Soothing his courage with a gentle stroke, The steed seem'd sensible while thus he spoke: "O Rhoebus! we have liv'd too long for meIf life and long were terms that could agree. This day thou either shalt bring back the head And bloody trophies of the Trojan deadThis day thou either shalt revenge my wo, For murder'd Lausus, on his cruel foe; Or, if inexorable Fate deny Our conquest, with thy conquer'd master die; For, after such a lord, I rest secure, Thou wilt no foreign reins, or Trojan load, endure." He said and straight th' officious courser kneels,


To take his wonted weight. His hands he fills
With pointed jav'lins; on his head he lac'd
His glittring helm, which terribly was grac'd

With waving horse-hair, nodding from afar; Then spurr'd his thund'ring steed amidst the war. Love, anguish, wrath, and grief, to madness wrought, [thought Despair, and secret shame, and conscious Of inborn worth, his lab'ring soul oppress'd, Roll'd in his eyes, and rag'd within his breast. Then loud he call'd Æneas thrice by name : The loud repeated voice to glad Æneas came. "Great Jove," he said, "and the far-shooting


Inspire thy mind to make thy challenge good!" He spoke no more, but hasten'd, void of fear, And threaten'd with his long protended spear.

To whom Mezentius thus: "Thy vaunts are vain.

My Lausus lies extended on the plain :
He's lost! thy conquest is already won:
The wretched sire is murder'd in the son.
Nor fate I fear, but all the gods defy.
Forbear thy threats: my bus'ness is to die.
But first receive this parting legacy."


He said and straight a whirling dart he sont:
Another after, and another, went
Round in a spacious ring he rides the field,
And vainly plies th' impenetrable shield.
Thrice rode he round, and thrice Æneas wheel'd,
Turn'd as he turn'd: the golden orb withstood
The strokes and bore about an iron wood
Impatient of delay, and weary grown,
Still to defend, and to defend alone,
To wrench the darts which in his buckler light,
Urg'd and o'erlabour'd in unequal fight—
At length resolv'd, he throws, with all his force,
Full at the temples of the warrior horse.
Just were the stroke was aim'd, th' unerring
Made way, and stood transfix'd through either
Seiz'd with unwonted pain, surpris'd with fright,
The wounded steed curvets, and, rais'd upright,
Lights on his feet before; his hoofs behind
Spring up in air aloft, and lash the wind
Down comes the rider headlong from his height;
His horse came after with unwieldy weight,
And, flound'ring forward, pitching on his head,
His lord's encumber'd shoulder overlaid.
From either host, the mingled shouts and cries
Of Trojans and Rutulians rend the skies:
Eneas, hast'ning, wav'd his fatal sword
High o'er his head, with this reproachful word:
66 Now, where are now the taunts, the fierce

Of proud Mezentius, and the lofty strain!"

Struggling, and wildly staring on the skies With scarce recover'd sight, he thus replies: "Why these insulting words, this waste of breath,

To souls undaunted, and secure of death?

'Tis no dishonour for the brave to die;
Nor came I here with hope of victory:
Nor ask I life, nor fought with that design.
As I had us'd my fortune, use thou thine.
My dying son contracted no such band:
The gift is hateful from his murderer's hand.
For this, this only favour let me sue,
If pity can to conquer'd foes be due,
Refuse it not but let my body have
The last retreat of human kind, a grave.
Too well I know the insulting people's hate.
Protect me from their vengeance after fate:
This refuge for my poor remains provide;
And lay my much-lov'd Lausus by my side."
He said, and to the sword his throat applied.
The crimson stream distain'd his arms around,
And the disdainful soul came rushing through
the wound.



Eneas erects a trophy of the spoils of Mezentius, grants a truce for burying the dead, and sends home the body of Pallas with great solemnity. Latinus calls a council, to propose offers of peace to Eneas; which occasions great animosity betwixt Turnus and Drances. In the mean time there is a sharp engagement of the horse; wherein Camilla signalizes herself, is killed, and the Latine troops are entirely defeated.

SCARCE had the rosy morning rais'd her head
Above the waves, and left her wat'ry bed:
The pious chief, whom double cares attend,
For his unburied soldiers and his friend,
Yet first to heav'n perform'd a victor's vows:
He bar'd an ancient oak of all her boughs;
Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac'd,
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac'd.
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked snag in triumph borne,
Was hung on high, and glitter'd from afar,
A trophy sacred to the god of war.
Above his arms, fix'd on the leafless wood,
Appear'd his plumy crest, besmear'd with blood.
His brazen buckler on the left was seen:
Truncheons fshiver'd lances hung between ;
And on the right was plac'd his corslet, bor'd;
And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs enclose the godlike man,
Who, thus, conspicuous in the midst, began:
"Our toils, my friends, are crown'd with sure


The greater part perform'd, achieve the less. Now follow cheerful to the trembling town: Press but an entrance, and presume it won. Fear is no more: for fierce Mezentius lies,

As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.
Turnus shall fall extended on the plain,
And, in this omen, is already slain.
Prepar'd in arms, pursue your happy chance;
That none unwarn'd may plead his ignorance;
And I, at heaven's appointed hour, may find
Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.
Meantime the rites and fun'ral pomps prepare,
Due to your dead companions of the war-
The last respect the living can bestow,
To shield their shadows from contempt below.
That conquer'd earth be theirs, for which they
And which for us with their own blood they
But first the corpse of our unhappy friend
To the sad city of Evander send,
Who, not inglorious in his age's bloom,
Was hurried hence by too severe a doom."
Thus, weeping, while he spoke, he took his

Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay. Acœtes watch'd the corpse, whose youth deserv'd

The father's trust; and now the son he serv'd
With equal faith, but less auspicious care:
Th' attendants of the slain his sorrow share.
A troop of Trojans mix'd with these
And mourning matrons with dishevell'd hair.
Soon as the prince appears, they raise a cry;
All beat their breasts, and echoes rend the sky.
They rear his drooping forehead from the ground:
But, when Æneas view'd the grisly wound
Which Pallas in his manly bosom bore
And the fair flesh distain'd with purple gore;
First, melting into tears, the pious man
Deplor❜d so sad a sight, then thus began:
"Unhappy youth! when fortune gave the rest
my full wishes, she refus'd the best!
She came; but brought not thee along, to bless
My longing eyes, and share in my success:
She grudg'd thy safe return, the triumphs due
To prosp❜rous valour, in the public view.
Not thus I promis'd, when thy father lent
Thy needless succour with a sad consent;
Embrac'd me, parting for th' Etrurian land,
And sent me to possess a large command.
He warn'd, and from his own experience told,
Our foes were warlike, disciplin'd, and bold.
And now, perhaps, in hopes of thy return
Rich odours on his loaded altars burn,
While we, with vain officious pomp, prepare
To send him back his portion of the war,
A bloody breathless body, which can owe
No farther debt, but to the pow'rs below.
The wretched father, ere his race is run,
Shall view the fun'ral honours of his son !
These are my triumphs of the Latian war,
Fruits of my plighted faith and boasted care

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