My other deeds shall guard my name,
And keep the doer fresh in fame;
This fury let me once bring low,
Home unrenowned I gladly go.’
Apollo granted half his prayer:
The rest was scattered into air.
With unexpected wound to slay
The foe he dreads—so much he may:
In safety to return, and see
His stately home—that may not be:
E’en as ’twas breathed, the wild winds caught
The uttered prayer, and turned to nought.
Flew the fell spear, each Volscian eye
On the doomed queen was bent:
She hears no rushing sound, nor sees
The javelin sweeping down the breeze,
Till ’neath her naked breast it stood,
And drinking deep the unsullied blood
At length its fury spent.
Up run her comrades, one and all,
And stay their mistress ere she fall.
But daunted far beyond the rest,
Fear mixed with triumph in his breast,
False Arruns takes to flight:
A second time he dares not try
The steel that served him, nor defy
The maid to further fight.
As flies a caitiff wolf for fear
From shepherd slain or mighty steer,
Or ere the avenger’s darts draw near,
To pathless mountain-steep,
And, conscious of his guilt unseen,
Claps his lithe tail his legs between,
And dives in forest deep;
So Arruns steals confused away,
And flying plunges ’mid the fray.
In vain she strives with dying hands
To wrench away the blade:
Fixed in her ribs the weapon stands,
Closed by the wound it made.
Bloodless and faint, she gasps for breath;
Her heavy eyes sink down in death;
Her cheek’s bright colours fade.
Then thus expiring she addressed
Her truest comrade and her best,
Acca, who wont alone to share
The burden of Camilla’s care:
‘Dear Acca, I have fought the fight;
But now this cruel wound
My spirit overmasters quite,
And all grows dark around.
Go: my last charge to Turnus tell,
To haste with succour, and repel
The Trojans from the town—farewell.’
She spoke, and speaking, dropped her rein,
Perforce descending to the plain.
Then by degrees she slips away
From all that heavy load of clay:
Her languid neck, her drowsy head
She droops to earth, of vigour sped:
She lets her martial weapons go:
The indignant soul flies down below.
Loud clamours to the skies arose;
With fiercer heat the combat glows,
The Volscian princess slain;
On, on they push, the Teucrian power,
The Tyrrhene chiefs, their nation’s flower,
The Arcad horseman train.
Fair Opis, sits on mountain-fell
The scene of blood to view:
Soon as Camilla she espied
O’erborne in battle’s raging tide,
From her deep bosom, as she sighed,
These piteous words she drew:
‘Too stern requital, hapless maid,
For that your error have you paid,
That venturous daring, which essayed
To brave the Trojan power:
Your woodland life, to Dian sworn,
Those heavenly arms in combat borne,
Alas! they left you all forlorn
In need’s extremest hour.
Yet not unhonoured in your end
She lets you lie, your queen and friend,
Nor unavenged shall you descend
A name to after time:
For he whose arm has stretched in death
That sacred form, his forfeit breath
Shall compensate his crime.’
‘Neath the high hill a barrow stood,
Dercennus’ tomb, o’ergrown with wood
(A monarch he of elder blood
Who ruled Laurentum’s land):
The Goddess, lighting with a bound,
Paused here, and from the lofty mound
The guilty Arruns scanned.
She saw him insolent and gay,
And ‘Why,’ she cries, ‘so far astray?
This way, doomed caitiff, come this way!
Shall vengeance vainly call?
Here, take Camilla’s guerdon due:
Alas the day, when such as you
By Dian’s arrows fall!’
Thus having said, the maid of Thrace
An arrow from the golden case
Draws out, and fits for flight:
Then at full stretch the bow she bends,
Till now she joins the horn’s two ends,
And touches with her left the blade
Of the keen shaft transversely laid,
Her bosom with the right.
That instant Arruns heard the sound,
And in his heart the weapon found.
Him gasping out his life with pain
His comrades on the dusty plain
Unheeded leave to die;
Triumphant Opis soars again
Back to the Olympian sky.
Camilla’s light-armed horseman train:
The Rutules and Atinas fly;
Lorn bands and chiefs astray
For safety to the city hie
In rout and disarray.
The deathful onset of the foe
None further dares sustain:
Each slings behind his unstrung bow,
And horse-hoof beat in quick retreat
Recurrent shakes the plain.
Townward there rolls a dusty cloud;
The matrons catch the sight
From their high station, shriek aloud,
And on their becoms smite.
Who gain the open portals first
Are whelmed beneath a following burst
Of foemen in their rear:
No ’scaping from their piteous fate:
E’en at the entry of the gate,
’Mid those dear homes they left so late,
They feel the fatal spear.
The wildered townsmen close the gates,
Nor yield admittance to their mates,
For all they beg and pray:
E’en foemen might that carnage weep,
Where these in arms the pass would keep
And those would force the way.
Sad fathers from the strong redoubt
Look forth, and see their sons shut out:
Some down the moat’s steep sides amain
In helpless ruin crash:
Some with blind haste and loosened rein
’Gainst door and doorpost dash.
Nay, e’en the dames on rampart high,
Camilla’s
| Previous chapter/page | Back | Home | Email this | Search | Discuss | Bookmark | Next chapter/page |