With her Lavinia, maiden chaste,
Her lovely eyes to earth abased,
Fair author of the war.
Beneath the dome the matrons crowd,
And bid the incense smoke,
And thus with lamentation loud
The guardian power invoke:
‘Tritonian maiden, name of fear,
Controller of the fray,
O break the Phrygian pirate’s spear!
Himself in dust, protectress dear,
Beneath our rampart lay!’
Impatient Turnus, all ablaze,
His manly limbs for fight arrays.
Now mailed with chainwork round his breast,
His legs in golden cuishes dressed,
His head still bare to view,
He flashed in armour’s golden pride,
His sword loose hanging from his side,
As down the height he flew;
With fervid heat his spirits glow,
And eager hope forestalls the foe.
As when, his halter snapped, the steed
Darts forth, rejoicing to be freed,
And ranges o’er the open mead,
Keen life in every limb:
Now hies he to the pastured mares,
Now to the well-known river fares,
Where oft he wont to swim:
He tosses high his head, and neighs:
His mane o’er neck and shoulder plays.
With Volscian troops his coming waits.
Queen as she was, with graceful speed
She lighted instant from her steed:
Her train the like observance pay,
While, standing, she begins her say:
‘Turnus, if valiant lips may boast
What valiant hands can do,
Myself will front the Trojan host
And Tyrrhene horseman crew:
Let me the field’s first peril brave:
Bide you at home, the town to save.’
With wondering eyes the chief surveyed
The terrible yet lovely maid:
Then thus: ‘What thanks can speech command,
Fair glory of the Italian land?
But now, since praise must needs despair
To match your worth, my labour share.
Æneas—so my scouts explore—
Has sent his cavalry before
To gallop to the town:
He with his footmen armed for fight
Along the mountain’s wooded height
At leisure marches down.
In that dark passage I prepare
The invading Trojan to ensnare,
That men in arms on each side set
May clasp him as in hunter’s net.
You marshal your embattled force
To grapple with the Tuscan horse;
Messapus shall attend your side,
And Latium’s troop the charge divide,
And brave Tiburtus’ missioned host;
Yourself assume the leader’s post.’
This said, with like address he plies
Messapus and his tried allies;
Then quickly on his errand hies.
There is a valley, dusk and blind,
For martial stratagem designed:
Its narrow walls with foliage black,
And strait and scant the pathway’s track.
Above there lies a table-land
High on the far hill-top,
Where warlike deeds might well be planned,
Or would men combat hand to hand,
Or on the ridge in shelter stand
And rocky fragments drop.
The well-known way the warrior takes,
And in the wood his ambush makes.
To Opis at her side,
Her huntress-comrade, chaste and fair,
In mournful accents cried:
‘There goes Camilla to the fight,
In those our arms all vainly dight,
Beloved beyond the rest;
For not of yesterday there came
This passion, with a sudden flame
To touch Diana’s breast.
When Metabus, for tyrant wrong
Driven from the realm he scourged so long,
Privernum’s ancient walls forsook,
His infant girl in arms he took
His banishment to share;
Casmilla was her mother styled;
He changed the sound, and gave his child
Camilla’s name to bear.
He with his precious load in haste
Was making for the mountain waste,
By arrow-flights and javelins chased
And thronging Volscian powers:
Lo, as he hurries, Amasene,
Brimming and foaming, roars between,
Swollen high with new-fallen showers.
Fain would he plunge and swim to shore,
But paused, for love of her he bore:
Long conning each expedient o’er,
A course he sees at last:
A spear he bore of solid oak,
Knotty and seasoned by the smoke:
To its mid shaft his child he bound,
With cork-tree bark encompassed round,
And made her firm and fast:
The spear in his broad hand he shakes,
And thus to Heaven petition makes:
“Latonian queen of greenwood shade,
To thee I vow this infant maid:
Thy dart she grasps in suppliant guise
Thus early, as from death she flies:
Extend, I pray, thy guardian care,
And guide her through the dubious air.”
Thus having prayed, the oaken beam
With backdrawn arm he threw:
Loud roared the billows: o’er the stream
Camilla hurtling flew.
Now as pursuit grows yet more near,
He plunges in the foaming tide,
And standing on the further side
Recovers with a conqueror’s pride
The maiden and the spear.
No peaceful home, no city gave
Its shelter to the wanderer’s head;
Too stern his mould such aid to crave:
On mountain and in lonely cave
A shepherd’s life he led.
’Mid tangled brakes and wild beasts’ lairs
He reared his child on milk of mares,
To her young lips applied the teat,
And thence drew out the beverage sweet.
Soon as on earth she first could stand,
With pointed dart he armed her hand,
And from her infant shoulder hung
A quiver and a bow.
For coif and robe that sweeps the ground
A tiger’s spoils are o’er her wound.
E’en then her tiny lance she flung,
Or round her head the tough hide swung,
And with her bullet deftly slung
Brought crane or cygnet low.
Full many a Tyrrhene dame has tried
To gain her for her offspring’s bride:
Content with Dian, in the wood
Unstained she keeps her maidenhood.
Ah! had she war’s contagion fled,
Nor with the multitude been led
The Trojans to molest!
My true companion she had been,
The chosen favourite of her queen,
In that free service blest.
Now, since the fatal hour is
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