When Jove, dread lord of southern blast,
His watery volleys flings broadcast,
And opes the springs of rain.
Descended of Alcanor’s strain
(Iæra bore them, nymph divine:
Their stature matched the hill-side pine
Or e’en the hills’ own height),
Throw wide the gate they held in charge,
And trusting but to spear and targe
The foe’s advance invite.
Themselves within the gateway stand,
Fronting the towers on either hand,
Magnificent in steel array,
And toss their plumes on high:
So two fair oaks that proudly grow
On banks of Athesis or Po
Their unshorn heads aloft display
And tower into the sky.
With eager joy the Rutules see
The gates thrown wide, the entrance free,
And pour by hundreds in:
Full soon Aquicolus the fair,
Stout Quercens, Hæmon, fiery Tmare,
To flight with all their followers turn,
Or with their heels the threshold spurn
But now they thought to win:
Fierce and more fierce the combat glows;
In gathering ranks the Trojans close,
Nor further onset wait,
But foot to foot defy their foes,
And press beyond the gate.
Other parts he launches war
And mars the foe’s array,
Comes word that, flushed with blood new-shed,
The sons of Troy forget their dread,
And wide their gates display.
Fell rage inspiring all his mind,
The unfinished work he leaves behind,
And rushes to the gates amain
To cope with that presumptuous twain.
First on Antiphates he bore,
Whom chance had planted in the fore,
The great Sarpedon’s spurious seed,
Born of a dame of Theban breed.
The cornel hurtles through the skies;
Straight to the stomach’s pit it flies,
And lodges ’neath the bosom’s core,
While the dark cavern wells with gore.
Then Merops, Erymas the brave,
And young Aphidnus find a grave,
And Bitias, as with eyes aglow
And bursting rage he fronts his foe:
No dart was thrown: a puny dart
Had scarcely reached that giant heart;
No, ’twas a huge falaric spear,
Thundering in levin-like career,
That left the victor’s hand:
Not two bull-hides, nor corslet mail,
Though plaited twice with golden scale,
The onset might withstand.
The vast frame tumbles on the field;
Groans the jarred earth, loud clangs the shield.
’Tis thus descends in later day
The granite pile in Baiæ’s bay,
Compact of many a block:
E’en thus, in mighty downfall sped,
It sinks into the oozy bed
With vast reverberant shock:
Up mounts the sand from depths profound:
Lone Prochyta perceives the sound
Thrill deep through cave and rock,
And Arime, by Jove’s behest
Firm fixed on Typhon’s monster breast.
Fresh vigour to the Latian hearts,
While on the Trojan band
Dark fear he sends and coward flight:
The Italians claim the proffered fight,
And fury nerves each hand.
When Pandarus saw his brother slain
And knew the tide had ebbed again,
He sets his shoulders to the gate
And backward rolls the enormous weight,
Leaving in miserable rout
Full many a hapless friend shut out,
While others through the entrance pour,
And, saved from carnage, breathe once more.
Fond fool! amidst the noise and din
He saw not Turnus rushing in,
But closed him in the embattled hold,
A tiger in a helpless fold.
From those fierce eyes new terrors blaze;
His arms around him clash:
The red plume on his helmet plays,
And from his shield reflected rays
Like living lightning flash.
At once the trembling Trojans know
The dreaded presence of their foe:
But Pandarus onward flies:
In his proud breast his brother’s fate
Awakes the flames of rage and hate,
And thus in scorn he cries:
‘Not this Amata’s promised dower,
Your royal dome, your bridal bower,
Nor Ardea’s native town enthralls
Her Turnus in her friendly walls:
A hostile camp around you see,
Shut in without the power to flee.
Then Turnus with untroubled mien:
‘Begin, and let your strength be seen:
Soon shall you tell in Priam’s ear
You found a new Achilles here.’
Strong Pandarus launches on the wind
A knotted spear, unpeeled its rind,
With mighty effort flung:
Saturnia caught it as it came
And turned it from its destined aim:
Fixed in the gate it hung.
‘Not thus shall err my trusty brand,
Sped by a surer, stronger hand:’
Then, rising tiptoe as he speaks,
Turnus uplifts the falchion keen:
With force resistless sweeping down
It crashes on the warrior’s crown,
And ample brows and beardless cheeks
Are severed clear and clean.
At once the mighty ruin sounds;
The firm earth trembles and rebounds;
His armour, splashed with blood and brain,
His giant members load the plain:
On either shoulder, cleft in twain,
The ghastly head is seen.
The Trojans fly in wild dismay:
O, then had Turnus thought
To force the fastenings of the gates
And call within his valiant mates,
The nation and the war that day
Alike to end had brought!
But rage and blind desire to slay
Still drive him on the recreant prey.
First Phalaris beneath him dies,
And Gyges, hamstrung as he flies:
Forth from the slain he plucks each spear,
And hurls them on the fliers’ rear,
While Juno nerves him for the strife,
And breathes within diviner life.
Then lays he Halys on the field
And Phegeus, cloven through his shield:
Alcander, Halius, Prytanis,
And young Noëmon, all
Are slaughtered, ere their foe they wis,
And tumbled from the wall:
And Lynceus, who in vain essayed
The strife, and called his friends
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