A shepherd's solitary life he led :

His daughter with the milk of mares he fed ;
The dugs of bears, and every savage beast,
He drew, and through her lip the liquor press'd.
The little Amazon could scarcely go,
He loads her with a quiver and a bow:
And, that she might her staggering steps command,
He with a slender javelin fills her hand:
Her flowing hair no golden fillet bound;
Nor swept her trailing robe the dusty ground.
Instead of these, a tiger's hide o'erspread
Her back and shoulders, fasten'd to her head.
The flying dart she first attempts to fling;
And round her tender temples toss'd the sling:
Then, as her strength with years increas'd, began
To pierce aloft in air the soaring swan;

And from the clouds to fetch the heron and the

crane.

The Tuscan matrons with each other vy'd
To bless their rival sons with such a bride :
But she disdains their love, to share with me
The sylvan shades, and vow'd virginity.
And oh! I wish, contented with my cares
Of savage spoils, she had not sought the wars:
Then had she been of my celestial train ;
And shunn'd the fate that dooms her to be slain.
But since, opposing Heaven's decree, she goes
To find her death among forbidden foes;
Haste with these arms, and take thy steepy flight,
Where, with the gods adverse, the Latins fight:
This bow to thee, this quiver, I bequeath,
This chosen arrow to revenge her death:
By whate'er hand Camilla shall be slain,
Or of the Trojan, or Italian train,

Let him not pass unpunish'd from the plain.
Then, in a hollow cloud, myself will aid,
To bear the breathless body of my maid:
Unspoil'd shall be her arms, and unprophan'd
Her holy limbs with any human hand :

And in a marble tomb laid in her native land."
She said the faithful nymph descends from high
With rapid flight, and cuts the sounding sky:
Black clouds and stormy winds around her body fly.
By this the Trojan and the Tuscan horse,
Drawn up in squadrons, with united force,
Approach the walls; the sprightly coursers bound;
Press forward on their bits, and shift their ground:
Shields, arms, and spears, flash horrible from far;
And the fields glitter with a waving war.
Oppos'd to these, come on with furious force
Messapus, Coras, and the Latian horse:
These in a body plac'd: on either hand
Sustain'd, and clos'd by fair Camilla's band.
Advancing in a line, they couch their spears;
And less and less the middle space appears.
Thick smoke obscures the field: and scarce are seen
The neighing coursers, and the shouting men.
In distance of their darts they stop their course;
Then man to man they rush, and horse to horse.
The face of Heaven their flying javelins hide :
And deaths unseen are dealt on either side.
Tyrrhenas, and Aconteus, void of fear,
By mettled coursers borne in full career,
Meet first oppos'd: and, with a mighty shock,
Their horses' heads against each other knock.
Far from his steed is fierce Aconteus cast:
As with an engine's force, or lightning's blast;
He rolls along in blood, and breathes his last.
The Latin squadrons take a sudden fright; [flight.
And sling their shields behind, to save their backs in

Spurring at speed to their own walls they drew ;
Close in the rear the Tuscan troops pursue,
And urge their flight; Asylas leads the chase;
Till seiz'd with shame they wheel about, and face:
Receive their foes, and raise a threatening cry.
The Tuscans take their turn to fear, and fly.

So swelling surges, with a thundering roar,
Driven on each other's backs, insult the shore;
Bound o'er the rocks, incroach upon the land;
And far upon the beech eject the sand.
Then, backward, with a swing, they take their way;
Repuls'd from upper ground, and seek their mother-
With equal hurry quit th' invaded shore; [sea :
And swallow back the sand and stones they spew'd

before.

Twice were the Tuscans masters of the field,
Twice by the Latins, in their turn repell'd.
Asham'd at length, to the third charge they ran,
Both hosts resolv'd, and mingled man to man :
Now dying groans are heard, the fields are strow'd
With fallen bodies, and are drunk with blood:
Arms, horses, men, on heaps together lie:
Confus'd the fight, and more confus'd the cry.
Orsilochus, who durst not press too near
Strong Remulus, at distance drove his spear;
And struck the steel beneath his horse's ear.
The fiery steed, impatient of the wound,
Curvets, and, springing upward with a bound,
His hopeless lord cast backward on the ground.
Catillus pierc'd Iolas first; then drew
His reeking lance, and at Herminius threw :
The mighty champion of the Tuscan crew.
His neck and throat unarm'd, his head was bare,
But shaded with a length of yellow hair:
Secure, he fought, expos'd on every part,

A spacious mark for swords, and for the flying

dart:

Across the shoulders came the feather'd wound
Transfixt, he fell, and doubled to the ground.
The sands with streaming blood are sanguine dy'd;
And death with honour sought on either side.

Resistless, through the war, Camilla rode:
In danger unappall'd, and pleas'd with blood.
One side was bare for her exerted breast;
One shoulder with her painted quiver prest.
Now from afar her fatal javelins play;
Now with her axe's edge she hews her way;
Diana's arms upon her shoulder sound;
And when, too closely prest, she quits the ground,
From her bent bow she sends a backward wound.
Her maids, in martial pomp, on either side,
Larina, Tulla, fierce Tarpeia ride :
Italians all in peace, their queen's delight:
In war, the bold companions of the fight.

So march'd the Thracian Amazons of old, When Thermodon with bloody billows roll'd; Such troops as these in shining arms were seen, When Theseus met in fight their maiden queen, Such to the field Penthesilea led,

From the fierce virgin when the Grecians fled;
With such, return'd triumphant from the war,
Her maids with cries attend the lofty car:
They clash with manly force their moony shields:
With female shouts resound the Phrygian fields.

Who foremost, and who last, heroic maid,
On the cold carth were by thy courage laid?
Thy spear, of mountain ash, Eumenius first,
With fury driven, from side to side transpierc'd;
A purple stream came spouting from the wound;
Bath'd in his blood he lics, and bites the ground

When, rushing on, she keeps her foes in fight,
He keeps aloof, but keeps her still in sight:
He threats, and trembles, trying every way
Unseen to kill, and safely to betray.

Chloreus, the priest of Cybele, from far,
Glittering in Phrygian arms amidst the war,
Was by the virgin view'd: the steed he press'd
Was proud with trappings, and his brawny chest
With scales of gilded brass was cover'd o'er,
A robe of Tyrian dye the rider wore.
With deadly wounds he gaul'd the distant foe;
Gnossian his shafts, and Lycian was his bow :
A golden helm his front and head surrounds,
A gilded quiver from his shoulder sounds.
Gold, weav'd with linen, on his thighs he wore,
With flowers of needle-work distinguish'd o'er,
With golden buckles bound, and gather'd up before.
Him, the fierce maid beheld, with ardent eyes;
Fond and ambitious of so rich a prize:
Or that the temple might his trophies hold,
Or else to shine herself in Trojan gold:
Blind in her haste, she chases him alone,
And seeks his life, regardless of her own.
This lucky moment the sly traitor chose :
Then, starting from his ambush, up he rose,
And threw, but first to Heaven address'd his vows.
"O patron of Soractes' high abodes,
Phoebus, the ruling power among the gods;
Whom first we serve, whole woods of unctuous pine
Are fell'd for thee, and to thy glory shine;
By thee protected, with our naked soles,

Then turns to her, whom, of her female train,
She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain:
Acca, 'tis past! he swims before my sight,
Inexorable Death; and claims his right.
Bear my last words to Turnus, fly with speed,
And bid him timely to my charge succeed:
Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve:
Farewell; and in this kiss my parting breath
receive."

She said; and sliding sunk upon the plain;
Dying, her open'd hand forsakes the rein;
Short, and more short, she pants: by slow degrees
Her mind the passage from her body frees.
She drops her sword, she nods her plumy crest;
Her drooping head declining or her breast:
In the last sigh her struggling soul expires;
And, murmuring with disdain, to Stygian sounds
retires.

A shout, that struck the golden stars, ensu’d: Despair and rage, and languish'd fight renew'd. The Trojan troops, and Tuscans in a line, Advance to charge; the mixt Arcadians join.

But Cynthia's maid, high seated, from afar Surveys the field, and fortune of the war: Uninov'd a white, till prostrate on the plain, Weltering in blood, she sees Camilla slain; And round her corpse of friends and foes a fighting train.

Then, from the bottom of her breast, she drew A mournful sigh, and these sad words ensue: "Too dear a fine, ah! much-lamented maid,

kindled coals:

Give me, propitious power, to wash away
The stains of this dishonourable day:
Nor spoils, nor triumph, from the fact I claim;
But with my future actions trust my fame,
Let me, by stealth, this female plague overcome,
And from the field return inglorious home."

Apollo heard, and granting half his prayer, Shuffled in winds the rest, and toss'd in empty air.

He gives the death desir'd; his safe return,
By southern tempests, to the seas is borne.
Now, when the javelin whizz'd along the skies,
Both armies on Camilla turn'd their eyes,
Directed by the sound of either host,

Th' unhappy virgin, though concern'd the most,
Was only deaf; so greedy was she bent
On golden spoils, and on her prey intent:
Till in her pap the winged weapon stood
Infix'd; and deeply drunk the purple blood.
Her sad attendants hasten to sustain
Their dying lady drooping on the plain.
Far from their sight the trembling Aruns flies,
With beating heart, and fear confus'd with joys;
Nor dares he farther to pursue his blow,
Or ev'n to hear the sight of his expiring foc.

As when the wolf bas torn a bullock's hide,
At unawares, or ranch'd a shepherd's side:
Conscious of his audacious deed, he flies,

And claps his quivering tail between his thighs;
So, speeding once, the wretch no more attends;
But, spurring forward, herds among his friends.
She wrench'd the javelin with her dying hands;
But, wedg'd within her breast, the weapon stands;
The wood she draws, the steely point remains;
She staggers in her seat with agonizing pains:
A gathering mist o'erclouds her cheerful eyes,
And from her cheeks the rosy colour flies.
VOL. XIX.

Nor aught avail'd, in this unhappy strife,
Diana's sacred arms, to save thy life.
Yet unreveng'd thy goddess will not leave
Her votary's death, nor with vain sorrow grieve.
Branded the wretch, and be his name abhorr'd ;
But after-ages shall thy praise record.
Th' inglorious coward soon shall press the plain;
Thus vows thy queen, and thus the fates ordain."

High o'er the field there stood a hilly mound,
Sacred the place, and spread with oaks around ;
Where, in a marble tomb, Dercennus lay,
A king that once in Latium bore the sway.
The beauteous Opis thither bent her flight,
To mark the traitor Aruns from the height.
Him, in refulgent arms, she soon espy'd,
Swoln with success, and loudly thus she cry'd:

Thy backward steps, vain boaster, are too late Turn, like a man, at length, and meet thy fate. Charg'd with my message to Camilla go; And say I sent thee to the shades below; An honour undeserv'd from Cynthia's bow."

She said: and from her quiver chose with speed The winged shaft, predestin'd for the deed: Then, to the stubborn yew her strength apply'd; Till the far distant horns approach'd on either side. The bow-string touch'd her breast, so strong she Whizzing in air the fatal arrow flew.

[drew;

At once the twanging bow and sounding dart The traitor heard, and felt the point within his heart.

Him, beating with his heels, in pangs of death,
His flying friends to foreign fields bequeath.
The conquering damsel, with expanded wings,
The welcome message to her mistress brings.

Their leader lost, the Volscians quit the field;
And unsustain'd, the chiefs of Turnus yield.
The frighted soldiers, when their captains fly,
More on their speed than on their strength rely.

Confus'd in flight, they bear each other down,
And spur their horses headlong to the town.
Driven by their foes, and to their fears resign'd,
Not once they turn; but take their wounds behind.
These drop the shield, and those the lance forego;
Or on their shoulders bear the slacken'd bow.
The hoofs of horses, with a rattling sound,
Beat short and thick, and shake the rotten ground.
Black clouds of dust come rolling in the sky,
And o'er the darken'd walls and rampires fly.
The trembling matrons, from their lofty stands,
Rend Heaven with female shrieks, and wring their

hands.

All pressing on, pursuers and pursued, Are crush'd in crowds, a mingled multitude. Some happy few escape: the throng too late Rush on for entrance, till they choke the gate. Ev'n in the sight of home, the wretched sire Looks on, and sees his helpless son expire. Then, in a fright, the folding gates they close: But leave their friends excluded with their foes. The vanquish'd cry; the victors loudly shout; 'Tis terrour all within; and slaughter all without. Blind in their fear, they bounce against the wall, Or, to the moats pursu'd, precipitate their fall. The Latian virgins, valiant with despair, Arm'd on the towers, the common danger share: So much of zeal their country's cause inspir'd ; So much Camilla's great example fir'd. Poles, sharpen'd in the flames, from high they With imitated darts, to gall the foe; Their lives, for godlike freedom they bequeath, And crowd each other to be first in death. Meantime to Turnus, ambush'd in the shade, With heavy tidings, came th' unhappy maid. The Volscians overthrown, Camilla kill'd, The foes entirely masters of the field, Like a resistless flood, come rolling on: The cry goes off the plain, and thickens to the Intlam'd with rage, (for so the furies fire [town. The Daunian's breast, and so the fates require,) He leaves the billy pass, the woods in vain Possess'd, and downward issues on the plain: Scarce was he gone, when to the straits, now freed

[throw,

From secret foes, the Trojan troops succeed.
Through the black forest, and the ferny brake,
Unknowingly secure, their way they take.
From the rough mountains to the plain descend,
And there, in order drawn, their line extend.
Both armies, now, in open fields are seen:
Nor far the distance of the space between.
Both to the city bend: neas sees,
Through smoking fields, his hastening enemies.
And Turnus views the Trojans in array,
And hears th' approaching horses proudly neigh.
Soon had their hosts in bloody battle join'd;
But westward to the sea the Sun declin'd.
Intrench'd before the town, both armies lie:
While night, with sable wings, involves the sky.

THE TWELFTH BOOK OF THE ENE IS.

THE ARGUMENT.

TURNUS challenges Eneas to a single combat articles are agreed on, but broken by the Rutuli

who wound Æneas: he is miraculously cured by Venus, forces Turnus to a duel, and concludes the poem with his death.

WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,
Their armies broken, and their courage quell'd;
Himself become the mark of public spite,
His honour question'd for the promis'd fight:
The more he was with vulgar hate opprest,
The more his fury boil'd within his breast:
He rous'd his vigour for the late debate;
And rais'd his haughty soul, to meet his fate.

As when the swains the Libyan lion chase,
He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace:
But if the pointed javelin pierce his side,
The lordly beast returns with double pride:
He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain;
His sides he lashes, and erects his mane:
So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire,
Through his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire.

Trembling with rage, around the court he ran;
At length approach'd the king, and thus began:
"No more excuses or delays: I stand
In arms prepar'd to combat, hand to hand,
This base deserter of his native land.
The Trojan by his word, is bound to take
The same conditions which himself did make,
Renew the truce, the solemn rites prepare,
And to my single virtue trust the war.
The Latians, unconcern'd, shall see the fight;
This arm, unaided, shall assert your right:
Then, if my prostrate body press the plain,
To him the crown and beauteous bride remain."
To whom the king sedately thus reply'd:
"Brave youth, the more your valour has been
try'd,

The more becomes it us, with due respect,
To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect.
You want not wealth, or a successive throne,
Or cities, which your arms have made your own;
My town and treasures are at your command;
And stor❜d with blooming beauties is my land:
Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees,
Unmarry'd, fair, of noble families.
Now let me speak, and you with patience hear,
Things which perhaps may grate a lover's ear:
But sound advice, proceeding from a heart
Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art.

The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown,
No prince, Italjan born, should heir my throne:
Oft have our angurs, in prediction skill'd,
And oft our priests, a foreign son reveal'd.
Yet, won by worth, that cannot be withstood,
Brib'd by my kindness to my kindred blood,
Urg'd by my wife, who would not be deny'd,
I promis'd my Lavinia for you, bride;
Her from her plighted lord by force I took;
All ties of treaties and of honour broke :
On your account I wag'd an impious war,
With what success 'tis needless to declare;
I and my subjects feel; and you have had

your share.

If Turnus' death a lasting peace can give,
Why should not I procure it whilst you live?
Should I to doubtful arms your youth betray,
What would my kinsmen, the Rutulians, say?
And should you fall in fight, (which Heaven de-
fend)

How curse the cause, which hasten'd to his end,
The daughter's lover, and the father's friend!
Weigh in your mind the various chance of war,
Pity your parent's age and ease his care."

Such balmy words he pour'd, but all in vain;
The proffer'd medicine but provok'd the pain.
The wrathful youth, disdaining the relief,
With intermitting sobs, thus vents his grief:
"Thy care, O best of fathers, which you take
For my concerns, at my desire forsake.
Permit me not to languish out my days;
But make the best exchange of life for praise.
This arm, this lance, can well dispute the prize;
And the blood follows, where the weapon flies:
His goddess mother is not near, to shrowd
The flying coward with an empty cloud."

But now the queen, who fear'd for Turnus' life, And loath'd the hard conditions of the strife, Held him by force; and, dying in his death, In these sad accents gave her sorrow breath: "O Turnus, I adjure thee by these tears; And whate'er price Amata's honour bears Within thy breast, since thou art all my hope, My sickly mind's repose, my sinking age's prop; Since on the safety of thy life alone Depends Latinus, and the Latian throne: Refuse me not this one, this only prayer, To wave the combat, and pursue the war. Whatever chance attends this fatal strife, Think it concludes in thine Amata's life: I cannot live a slave; or see my throne Usurp'd by strangers, or a Trojan son."

At this a flood of tears Lavinia shed;
A crimson blush her beautcous face o'erspread,
Varying her cheeks by turns with white and red.
The driving colours, never at a stay,

Run here and there, and flush, and fade away.
Delightful change! thus Indian ivory shows,
Which with the bordering paint of purple glows;
Or lilies damask'd by the neighbouring rose.
The lover gaz'd, and, burning with desire,
The more he look'd, the more he fed the fire:
Revenge, and jealous rage, and secret spite,
Roll in his breast, and rouse him to the fight.
Then fixing on the queen his ardent eyes,
Firm to his first intent, he thus replies:
"O, mother, do not, by your tears, prepare
Such boding omens, and prejudge the war.
Resolv'd on fight, I am no longer free
To shun my death, if Heaven my death decree."
Then, turning to the herald, thus pursues;
"Go, greet the Trojan with ungrateful news.
Denounce from me, that when to morrow's light
Shall gild the heavens, he need not urge the fight:
The Trojan and Rutulian troops no more
Shall dye, with mutual blood, the Latian shore:
Our single swords the quarrel shall decide,
And to the vietor be the beauteous bride."

He said, and striding on, with speedy pace
He sought his coursers of the Thracian race.
At his approach, they toss their heads on high;
And, proudly neighing, promise victory.
The sires of these Orithia sent from far,
To grace Pilumnus, when he went to war.

The drifts of Thracian snows were scarce so white, Nor northern winds in fleetness match'd their flight.

Officious grooms stand ready by his side;
And some with combs their flowing manes divide;
And others stroke their chests, and gently sooth
their pride.

He sheath'd his limbs in arms; a temper'd mass
Of golden metal those, and mountain brass.
Then to his head his glittering helm he try'd;
And girt his faithful falchion by his side.
In his Etnean forge, the god of fire
That falchion labour'd for the hero's sire:
Immortal keenness on the blade bestow'd,
And plung'd it hissing in the Stygian flood.
Propp'd on a pillar, which the cieling bore,
Was plac'd the lance Auruncan Actor wore:
Which with such force he brandish'd in his hand,
The tough ash trembled like an osier wand.
Then cry'd, "O ponderous spoil of Actor slain,
And never yet by Turnus tost in vain,
Fail not, this day, thy wonted force: but go,
Sent by this hand, to pierce the Trojan foe:
Give me to tear his corslet from his breast,
And from that eunuch head, to rend the crest :
Dragg'd in the dust, his frizzled hair to soil,
Hot from the vexing ir'n, and smear'd with fra-
grant oil."

Thus while he raves, from his wide nostrils flies A fiery steam, and sparkles from his eyes. So fares the bull in his lov'd female's sight; Proudly he bellows, and preludes the fight: He tries his going horns against a tree; And meditates his absent enemy: He pushes at the winds, he digs the strand With his black hoofs, and spurns the yellow sand. Nor less the Trojan, in his Lemnian arms, To future fight his manly courage warms: He whets his fury, and with joy prepares To terminate at once the lingering wars. To cheer his chiefs, and tender son, relates What Heaven had promis'd, and expounds the Then to the Latian king he sends, to cease [fates. The rage of arms, and ratify the peace.

The morn, ensuing from the mountain's height,
Had scarcely spread the skies with rosy light;
Th' ethereal coursers, bounding from the sea,
From out their flaming nostrils breath'd the day:
When now the Trojan and Rutulian guard,
In friendly labour join'd, the list prepar'd.
Beneath the walls, they measure out the space;
Then sacred altars rear, on sods of grass;
Where, with religious rites, their common gods
they place.

In purest white the priests their heads attire,
And living waters bear, and holy fire:
And o'er their linen hoods, and shaded hair,
Long twisted wreaths of sacred vervain wear.

In order issuing from the town appears
The Iatia legion, arm'd with pointed spears;
And from the fields, advancing on a line,
The Trojan and the Tuscan forces join;
Their various arms afford a pleasing sight: [fight.
A peaceful train they seem, in peace prepar'd for
Betwixt the ranks the proud commanders ride,
Glittering with gold, and vests in purple dy`d.
Here Mnestheus, author of the Memian line,
And there Messa pus born of seed divine.
The sign is given, and round the listed space
Each man in order fills his proper place.