第73章
If e'er my pious father, for my sake, Did grateful off'rings on thy altars make, Or I increas'd them with my sylvan toils, And hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils, Give me to scatter these." Then from his ear He pois'd, and aim'd, and launch'd the trembling spear.
The deadly weapon, hissing from the grove, Impetuous on the back of Sulmo drove;Pierc'd his thin armor, drank his vital blood, And in his body left the broken He staggers round; his eyeballs roll in death, And with short sobs he gasps away his breath.
All stand amaz'd- a second jav'lin flies With equal strength, and quivers thro' the skies.
This thro' thy temples, Tagus, forc'd the way, And in the brainpan warmly buried lay.
Fierce Volscens foams with rage, and, gazing round, Descried not him who gave the fatal wound, Nor knew to fix revenge: "But thou," he cries, "Shalt pay for both," and at the pris'ner flies With his drawn sword.Then, struck with deep despair, That cruel sight the lover could not bear;But from his covert rush'd in open view, And sent his voice before him as he flew:
"Me! me!" he cried- "turn all your swords alone On me- the fact confess'd, the fault my own.
He neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth:
Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth!
His only crime (if friendship can offend)Is too much love to his unhappy friend."
Too late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides, Driv'n with full force, had pierc'd his tender sides.
Down fell the beauteous youth: the yawning wound Gush'd out a purple stream, and stain'd the ground.
His snowy neck reclines upon his breast, Like a fair flow'r by the keen share oppress'd;Like a white poppy sinking on the plain, Whose heavy head is overcharg'd with rain.
Despair, and rage, and vengeance justly vow'd, Drove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd.
Volscens he seeks; on him alone he bends:
Borne back and bor'd by his surrounding friends, Onward he press'd, and kept him still in sight;Then whirl'd aloft his sword with all his might:
Th' unerring steel descended while he spoke, Piered his wide mouth, and thro' his weazon broke.
Dying, he slew; and, stagg'ring on the plain, With swimming eyes he sought his lover slain;Then quiet on his bleeding bosom fell, Content, in death, to be reveng'd so well.
O happy friends! for, if my verse can give Immortal life, your fame shall ever live, Fix'd as the Capitol's foundation lies, And spread, where'er the Roman eagle flies!
The conqu'ring party first divide the prey, Then their slain leader to the camp convey.
With wonder, as they went, the troops were fill'd, To see such numbers whom so few had kill'd.
Serranus, Rhamnes, and the rest, they found:
Vast crowds the dying and the dead surround;And the yet reeking blood o'erflows the ground.
All knew the helmet which Messapus lost, But mourn'd a purchase that so dear had cost.
Now rose the ruddy morn from Tithon's bed, And with the dawn of day the skies o'erspread;Nor long the sun his daily course withheld, But added colors to the world reveal'd:
When early Turnus, wak'ning with the light, All clad in armor, calls his troops to fight.
His martial men with fierce harangue he fir'd, And his own ardor in their souls inspir'd.
This done- to give new terror to his foes, The heads of Nisus and his friend he shows, Rais'd high on pointed spears- a ghastly sight:
Loud peals of shouts ensue, and barbarous delight.
Meantime the Trojans run, where danger calls;They line their trenches, and they man their walls.
In front extended to the left they stood;Safe was the right, surrounded by the flood.
But, casting from their tow'rs a frightful view, They saw the faces, which too well they knew, Tho' then disguis'd in death, and smear'd all o'er With filth obscene, and dropping putrid gore.
Soon hasty fame thro' the sad city bears The mournful message to the mother's ears.
An icy cold benumbs her limbs; she shakes;Her cheeks the blood, her hand the web forsakes.
She runs the rampires round amidst the war, Nor fears the flying darts; she rends her hair, And fills with loud laments the liquid air.
"Thus, then, my lov'd Euryalus appears!
Thus looks the prop my declining years!
Was't on this face my famish'd eyes I fed?
Ah! how unlike the living is the dead!
And could'st thou leave me, cruel, thus alone?
Not one kind kiss from a departing son!
No look, no last adieu before he went, In an ill-boding hour to slaughter sent!
Cold on the ground, and pressing foreign clay, To Latian dogs and fowls he lies a prey!
Nor was I near to close his dying eyes, To wash his wounds, to weep his obsequies, To call about his corpse his crying friends, Or spread the mantle (made for other ends)On his dear body, which I wove with care, Nor did my daily pains or nightly labor spare.
Where shall I find his corpse? what earth sustains His trunk dismember'd, and his cold remains?
For this, alas! I left my needful ease, Expos'd my life to winds and winter seas!
If any pity touch Rutulian hearts, Here empty all your quivers, all your darts;Or, if they fail, thou, Jove, conclude my woe, And send me thunderstruck to shades below!"Her shrieks and clamors pierce the Trojans' ears, Unman their courage, and augment their fears;Nor young Ascanius could the sight sustain, Nor old Ilioneus his tears restrain, But Actor and Idaeus jointly sent, To bear the madding mother to her tent.
And now the trumpets terribly, from far, With rattling clangor, rouse the sleepy war.
The soldiers' shouts succeed the brazen sounds;And heav'n, from pole to pole, the noise rebounds.
The Volscians bear their shields upon their head, And, rushing forward, form a moving shed.
These fill the ditch; those pull the bulwarks down:
Some raise the ladders; others scale the town.
But, where void spaces on the walls appear, Or thin defense, they pour their forces there.
With poles and missive weapons, from afar, The Trojans keep aloof the rising war.