Classic Poem

FROM THE TENTH BOOK OF VIRGIL'S ÆNEIS, BEGINNING LINE 689 .

Now Jove inflames Mezentius great in arms,
His ardour rouses, and his courage warms;
Fir'd by the God, to Turnus he succeeds;
Beneath his arm the Trojan battle bleeds;
The Tuscan troops invade their common foe,
Alike in hate their kindling bosoms glow
Fierce to destroy, on him alone they pour
Darts following darts, a thick continued show'r:
But he undaunted, all the storm sustains,
And scorns the' united fury of the plains:
As some huge rock high towering 'midst the waves,
Of seas and skies the mingling tumult braves,
On its eternal basis fix'd is found,
Though tempests rage, and oceans foam around.
First by his arm unhappy Hebrus bled,
The issue of fam'd Dolicaon's bed;
Then Latagus submits to fate, his way
Adverse he took, the chief with furious sway
Uprear'd a pondrous rock, the shatter'd brain
Confus'd with blood and gore, o'erspreads the plain.
At flying Palmus next his dart he threw,
The speedy dart o'ertook him as he flew,
Full in the ham, he feels the smarting wound,
Left by the victor grovelling on the ground:
His arms surround his Lausus' manly breast,
The waving plume adorns his shining crest:
Evas and Mimas, both of Trojan seed,
By the same arm were mingled with the dead;
Mimas, companion of the youthful cares
Of Paris, and the equal of his years:
For, big with fancied flames, when Phrygia's queen
Brought forth the cause of woes, but ill foreseen;
To' extend his blooming race, that self-same night
The spouse of Amycus, Theano bright,
That night so fatal to the peace of Troy,
Blest her lov'd husband with a parent's joy:
But Fate to different lands their deaths decreed,
This in his father's town was doom'd to bleed;
Unthinking Mimas, by Mezentius slain,
Now rolls his carcase o'er the Latian plain.
And as a tusky boar, whom dogs invade,
Of Vesulus bred in the piny shade,
Or near Laurentia's lake, with forest mast
His feasts obscene supplied in wild repast;
Rous'd from his savage haunt, a deep retreat,
A length of years his unmolested seat;
When once in toils inclos'd, no flight appears,
Turns sudden, foaming fierce, his bristles rears;
All safe at distance stand, and none is found,
Whose valour dares inflict a nearer wound:
Dreadless meanwhile, to every side he turns,
His teeth he gnashes, and with rage he burns;
The' united vengeance of the field derides,
A forest rattles as he shakes his sides:
So fare the Tuscan troops; with noisy rage,
And shouts, in the mixt tumult they engage;
All from afar their missive weapons throw,
Fearful in equal arms to meet the foe.
Next, Grecian Acron rush'd into the plain,
Who came from Coritus's ancient reign:
Him thirst of fame to warlike dangers led,
The joys untasted of the bridal bed;
From far Mezentius eyed him with delight,
In arms refulgent, as he mix'd in fight;
Full o'er his breast, in gold and purple known,
The tokens of his love conspicuous shone.
Then, as a lion thirsting after blood,
(For him persuades the keen desire of food,)
If, or a frisking goat he chance to view,
Or branching stag, that leads the stately crew;
Rejoices, gaping wide, he makes his way,
Furious, and clings incumbent on the prey,
That helpless pants beneath his horrid paws,
The blood o'erflowing, laves his greedy jaws;
So keen Mezentius rushes on each foe;
Unhappy Acron sinks beneath his blow,
Mad in the pangs of death, he spurns the ground,
The blood distains the broken spear around:
Then fled Orodes shameful from the fight;
The victor scorn'd the' advantage of his flight;
But fir'd with rage, through cleaving ranks he ran,
And face to face oppos'd, and man to man:
Not guileful from behind his spear to throw
A wound unseen, but strikes an adverse blow.
Then with his foot his dying foe he press'd,
Lean'd on his lance, and thus his friends address'd:
" Lo! where Orodes gasps upon the sand;
His death was due to this victorious hand,
Large portion of the war!" Exulting cries
Ascend amain, and ring along the skies.
To whom the vanquish'd, with imperfect sound,
All weak, and faint, and dying of the wound:
" Nor long my ghost shall unreveng'd repine,
Nor long the triumph of my fall be thine;
Thee, equal fates, insulting man, remain;
Thee, Death yet waits, and this the fatal plain."
Him, as he roll'd in death, Mezentius spied,
He smil'd severe, and thus contemptuous cried:
" Die thou the first; as he thinks fit, for me,
The Sire of heav'n and earth, let Jove decree.
He said: and pull'd the weapon from the wound;
The purple life ebb'd out upon the ground:
Death's clay-cold hand shut up the sinking light,
And o'er his closing eyes drew the dark mist of night.
By Caedicus' great arm Alcathous fell;
Sacrator sent Hydaspes down to hell:
Parthenius dies, by Rapo slain in fight;
And Orses vast, of more than mortal might.
Next sunk two warriors, Clonius the divine,
And Ericetes of Lyeaon's line;
The issue of the God, their deaths renown'd,
Whose forked trident rules the deep profound.
His courser, unobedient to the rein,
Great Ericetes tumbled to the plain.
Prone as he lay, swift fled the thirsty dart,
And found the mortal passage to his heart.
Then lights the victor from his lofty steed,
And foot to foot engag'd, made Clonius bleed.
Then Lycian Agis, boastful of his might,
Provok'd the bravest foe to single fight;
Him boldly Tuscan Valerus assail'd,
And in the virtues of his sire prevail'd.
By Salius arm, the swift Antronius bled;
Nealces' javelin struck the victor dead;
Nealces, skill'd the sounding dart to throw,
And wing the treacherous arrow to the foe.
Mars, raging God, and stern! the war confounds;
Equals the victor's shouts, and dying sounds,
Encountering various on the imbattl'd field,
Now fierce they rush, now fierce retreating, yield.
With equal rage, each adverse battle glows,
Nor flight is known to these, nor known to those.
Tisiphone enjoys the direful sight,
Pale, furious, fell! and storms amidst the fight.
The Gods, from Jove's immortal dome, survey
Each army toiling, through the dreadful day;
With tender pity touch'd, lament the pain
That human life is destin'd to sustain.
On either side, two deities are seen;
Jove's awful Consort, and soft beauty's Queen:
The Wife of Jove the conqueror's palm implores,
Soft beauty's Queen her Trojans' loss deplores.
Again, his javelin huge, Mezentius wields;
Again tumultuous he invades the fields:
Large as Orion, when the giant stalks,
A bulk immense! through Nereus' midmost walks;
Secure he cleaves his way; the billows braves,
His sinewy shoulders tow'r above the waves;
Bearing an ash, increas'd in strength with years,
That huge upon the mountain's height appears;
He strides along, each step the earth divides;
In clouds obscure his lofty head resides:
In stature huge, amidst the war's alarms,
Such shone the tyrant in gigantic arms.
Him, as exulting in the ranks he stood,
At distance seen, and rioting in blood,
Æneas hastes to meet; in all his might
He stands collected, and awaits the fight:
First measuring, as he stood in act to throw,
With nice survey, the distance of his foe:
" This arm, this spear," he cry'd, " assert my might;
These are my gods, and these assist in fight:
His armour from the boastful robber won,
Shall tow'r a trophy to my conquering son."
He said; and flings the dart with dreadful force;
The dart drove on unerring from the course;
It reach'd the shield, the shield the blow repell'd:
Nor fell the javelin guiltless on the field;
But piercing 'twixt the side and bowels, tore
The fam'd Anthores, and deep drank the gore:
He, in his lusty years, from Argos sent,
With fam'd Alcides, on his labours went:
Tir'd with his toils, a length of woes o'erpast,
In the Evandrian realm he fix'd at last:
Call'd back again to war, where glory calls,
Unhappy, by a death unmeant, he falls:
To heaven his mournful eyes, the dying throws;
In his last thoughts his native Argos rose.
Straight then, his beaming lance the Trojan threw;
Swift hissing on the wind the weapon flew:
The plates of threefold brass were forc'd to yield;
And three bulls' hides that bound the solid shield:
Deep in his lower groin, an arm so strong,
Drove the sharp point, but brought not death along.
Then joyful as the Trojan hero spied
The spouting blood pour down his wounded side,
Like lightning, from his thigh his sword he drew,
And furious on the' astonish'd warrior flew.
As Lausus saw, full sore he heav'd the sigh;
The ready tear stood trembling in his eye:
His father's danger, touch'd the youthful chief:
With pious haste he ran to his relief.
Nor shalt thou sink unnoted to the tomb,
Unsung thy noble deed, and early doom:
In future times to such a deed will give
Their faith, to future times thy name shall live.
Disabled, trembling for a death so near,
The father slow-receding, drags the spear:
Just in that moment, as suspended high
The flaming sword shone adverse to the sky,
The daring youth rush'd in, and fronts the foe,
And from his father turns the' impending blow.
His friends with joyful shouts reply around;
Through all their echoes all the hills resound;
As wondering they beheld the wounded sire,
Protected by the son, from fight retire.
A dark'ning flight of singing shafts annoy,
From every quarter pour'd, the Prince of Troy:
He stands against the fury of the field,
And rages, cover'd with his mighty shield.
And as when stormy winds encountering loud,
Burst with rude violence the bellowing cloud,
Precipitate to earth, the tempest pours
The vexing hailstones thick in sounding showers:
The delug'd plains then every ploughman flies,
And every hind, and traveller shelter'd lies;
Or, where the rock high overarch'd impends,
Or, where the' river's shelving bank defends;
That, powerful o'er the storm, when bright the ray
Shines forth, they each may exercise the day.
Loud sounds the gather'd storm; o'er all the field
The cloud of war pours thundering on his shield.
Yet still he tried with friendly care to save
The' unhappy youth, unfortunately brave.
" Ah! whither dost thou urge thy fatal course,
In daring deeds! unequal to thy force?
Too pious in thy love, thy love betrays;
Nor such the vigour crowns thy youthful days."
Not thus advis'd, the youth still fronts the foe
Exulting, and provokes the lingering blow:
For now, his martial bosom all on fire,
The Trojan leader's tide of rage swell'd higher;
For now, the Sisters view'd the fatal strife,
And wound up the last threads of Lausus' life:
Deep plung'd the shining falchion in his breast,
Pierc'd his thin armour, and embroider'd vest,
That, rich in ductile gold, his mother wove
With her own hands, the witness of her love.
His breast was fill'd with blood; then, sad and slow
Through air resolv'd, the spirit fled below:
As ghastly pale, the chief the dying spied,
His hands he stretch'd to heav'n, and pitying sigh'd;
His sire Anchises rose an image dear
Sad in his soul, and forc'd the tender tear.
" What praise, O youth! unhappy in thy fate,
What can Æneas yield to worth so great?
Worth, that distinguish'd in thy deed appears,
Ripe in thy youth, and early in thy years:
Thy arms, once pleasing objects of thy care,
Inviolate from hostile spoil I spare;
Thy breathless body on thy friends bestow,
To mitigate thy pensive spirit's woe,
If aught below the separate soul can move,
Solicitous of what is done above;
(Yet in the grave, perhaps, from every care
Releas'd, nor knowledge, nor device is there;)
That, gather'd to thy sires, thy friends may mourn
Thy hapless fall, and dust to dust return:
This be thy solace in the world below,
'Twas I, the great Æneas, struck the blow.
He said; and beck'ning, chides his friends' delay;
And pious to assist, directs the way,
To rear him from the ground, with friendly care;
Dishonour'd foul with blood his comely hair.
The wretched father now, by Tyber shore
Wash'd from his streaming thigh the crimson gore:
Pain'd with his wound, and weary from the fight,
A tree's broad trunk supports his drooping weight:
A bough his helmet beaming far sustains:
His heavier armour rest along the plains.
Panting, and sick, his body downward bends,
And to his breast his length of beard descends:
He leans his careful head upon his hand;
Around him wait a melancholy band:
Much of his Lausus asks, and many sent
To warn him back, a father's kind intent:
How vainly sent! for, breathless, from the field
They bear the youth, extended on his shield;
Loud wailing, mourn'd him slain in early bloom,
Mighty, and by a mighty wound o'ercome.
Far off the sounds of woe the father hears;
He trembles in the foresight of his fears:
With dust the hoary honours of his head
Sad he deforms, and cleaves into the dead.
Then both his hands to Heav'n aloft he spread;
And thus, in fulness of his sorrows, said: —
" Could then this lust of life so warp my mind,
That I could think of leaving thee behind
Whom I begot, unhappy in my stead
To meet the warrior, and for me to bleed?
Now fate severe has struck too deep a blow,
Now first I feel a wretched-exile's woe.
And is it thus I draw this wretched breath,
Sav'd by thy wound, and living by thy death?
I too, my son, with horrid guilt profan'd
Thy sacred virtues, and their lustre stain'd:
Outcast, abandon'd by the care of Heav'n,
From empire, and paternal sceptres driv'n;
My people's hatred, and insulting scorn,
The merit of my crimes I've justly borue:
To thousand deaths this wicked soul could give,
Since now 'tis crime enough that I can live,
Can yet sustain the light, and human race,
Wretch'd as I am: — but short shall be the space.
He said; and as he said, he rear'd from ground
His fainting limbs, yet staggering from the wound:
But whole and undiminish'd still remains
His strength of soul, unbroke with toil and pains.
He calls his steed, successful from each fight,
With whom he march'd, his glory and delight;
With words like these his conscious steed address'd,
That mourn'd, as with his master's ills oppress'd:
" Rhaebus, we long have liv'd in arms combin'd,
(If long the frail possessions of mankind;)
This day thou shalt bring back, to crown our toils,
The Trojan hero's head, and glittering spoils
Torn from the bloody man! with me shalt take
A dear revenge, for murder'd Lausus' sake:
If strength shall fail to ope the destin'd way,
Together fall, and press the Latian clay;
For, after me, I trust thou wilt disdain
A Trojan leader, and an alien rein.
He said: the steed receives his wonted weight,
The tyrant arm'd, and furious for the fight:
His blazing helmet, formidably grac'd
With nodding horse-hair, brightening o'er the crest:
With deathful javelins next he fills his hands;
And spurs his steed, and seeks the fighting bands:
Grief mix'd with madness, shame of former flight,
And love by rage inflam'd to desperate height,
And conscious knowledge of his valour, wrought"
Fierce in his breast, and boil'd in ev'ry thought.
He calls Æneas thrice: Æneas heard
The welcome sound; and thus his pray'r preferr'd:
" May Jove, supreme of Gods, who rules on high!
And he, to whom 'tis giv'n to gild the sky,
Far-shooting King! inspire thee to draw near
Swift to thy fate, and grant thee to my spear."
But he: — " My Lausus ravish'd from my sight,
Me, with vain words, O! cruel, would'st affright;
With age, with watchings, and with labours worn,
Death is below my fear, and God I scorn!
I come resolv'd to die; but, ere I go,
Receive this dart, the present of a foe."
He said: the javelin hiss'd along the skies;
Another after, and another flies;
Thick, and incessant, as he rides the field;
Still all the storm sustains the golden shield
Firm, as Æneas stood: thrice rode he round,
Urging his darts, the compass of the ground:
Thrice wheel'd Æneas: thrice his buckler bears
About, a brazen wood of rising spears:
Press'd in unrighteous fight, with just disdain
To wrench so many darts, and wrench in vain,
Much pondering in his mind the Chief revolv'd
Each rising thought; at last he springs resolv'd;
Full at the warrior steed, the hostile wood
He threw, that pierc'd his brain and drank the blood.
Stung with the pain, the steed up-rear'd on high
His sounding hoofs, and lash'd the yielding sky;
Prone fell the warrior from his lofty height,
His shoulders broad receiv'd the courser's weight.
From host to host the mingling shouts rebound,
Deep echoing all in fire the heav'ns resound;
Unsheath'd his flaming blade, Æneas flies,
And thus address'd the warrior as he lies;
" Say, where is now Mezentius great and bold,
That haughty spirit, fierce and uncontroul'd?"
To whom the Tuscan, with recover'd breath,
As faint he view'd the skies, recall'd from death;
" Dost thou the stroke, insulting man! delay?
Haste! let thy vengeance take its destin'd way:
Death never can disgrace the warrior's fame
Who dies in fight; nor conquest was my aim:
Slain, savage! by thy hand in glorious strife;
Not so my Lausus bargain'd for my life:
Depriv'd of him, sole object of my love,
I seek to die; — for joy is none above.
Yet, piteous of my fate, this grace allow,
If pity to the vanquish'd foe be due,
Suffer my friends my gather'd bones to burn,
And decent lay me in the funeral urn:
Full well I know my people's hate, decreed
Against the living, will pursue the dead;
My breathless body from their fury save,
And grant my Son the partner of my grave.
He said, and stedfast eyed the victor foe:
Then gave his breast undaunted to the blow.
The rushing blood distain'd his arms around;
The soul indignant sought the shades profound.