A buzzing dull and blind
Thrills the deep cave: the smoke upsoars,
And mingles with the wind.
The Latian realm o’ertook:
Each faint heart reeled beneath the blow,
And the whole city shook.
When from the towers the queen looked down
And saw the foe draw nigh,
The scaling- ladders climb the town,
The firebrands roofward fly,
At once she deemed her favourite slain:
Keen anguish smites her wildered brain:
With many a curse her head she heaps,
Sole cause of all that Latium weeps,
And wailing oft and raving tears
The gay purpureal robes she wears:
Then fastens from a beam on high
A noose, in ghastly wise to die.
When Latium’s maids and matrons hear
That news of wonderment and fear,
Lavinia first her bright hair rends
And wounds her rose-red cheeks:
Around her rave her mourning friends;
The courts repeat their shrieks.
From house to house wide spreads the tale:
The scant remains of valour fail.
Bowed to the earth with woe on woe,
His consort dead, his town brought low,
The hapless king his raiment tears,
And soils with dust his silver hairs,
While oft himself he blames,
Who gave not to his crown an heir,
A bridegroom to his daughter fair,
Nor owned Æneas’ claims.
Drives straggling foes before his car,
Slower and yet slower his coursers’ stride,
And less and less their master’s pride.
Lo! on the gale from distance sped
Come sounds of strange bewildering dread;
The gathering hum, confused and drear,
Of the lost city strikes his ear.
‘Alas! what sounds are these that rise,
The voice of grief and pain?
What tumult shakes the town?’ he cries,
And wildly draws his rein.
His dauntless sister, as she plies
The chariot in Metiscus’ guise,
Turned round and thus began:
‘Nay, Turnus, urge we still our steeds
’Gainst the spent foe, where victory leads:
Latium has sons to serve her needs,
Her leaguered towers to man.
Æneas on the Italians falls,
And follows vengeance as she calls:
Such too be Turnus’ aim;
Send death among his Teucrian train;
Not less your muster-roll of slain,
Nor less your share of fame.’
‘Sister, I knew you,’ Turnus spoke,
‘When first by craft the truce you broke,
And plunged in battle’s tide,
And now in vain you cheat mine eye:
But say, who sent you from the sky
This cruel woe to bide?
From heaven you came—for what? to see
Your brother’s dying agony?
What can I else? what hope of life
Holds Fortune forth, in such a strife?
But now Murranus I beheld,
The mighty by the mighty quelled;
He fell, invoking as he fell
The recreant friend he loved too well.
See Ufens prostrate on his face
Averts his eyes from my disgrace,
While Troy rejoices in her prey,
His armour and his breathless clay!
And must I drain the dregs of shame
And leave the town to sink in flame,
Nor, prompt to combat and to die,
Make Drances yet retract his lie?
What! own defeat? let Latian eyes
See Turnus, Turnus as he flies?
Is death indeed so sore?
O hear me, Manes, of your grace,
Since heavenly powers have hid their face!
Pure and unsoiled by caitiff blame,
I join your company, nor shame
My mighty sires of yore.’
Comes Saces up on foaming steed:
His bleeding face a shaft had gored,
And Turnus thus his voice implored:
‘Turnus, save you no hope is ours:
O think of your own race!
Like thundercloud Æneas lowers,
Threatening to raze and sack our towers,
And firebrands mount apace.
On you is turned each Latian eye;
Latinus doubts to whom
His tottering fortune to ally,
Whom choose his daughter’s groom.
The queen, your firmest friend, is dead,
By her own hand to darkness sped:
Messapus at the gates alone
And brave Atinas hold their own;
Around them throngs the hostile band;
Steel harvests bristle all the land:
You unconcerned your chariot ply
Through fields the battle’s tide leaves dry.
O’erwhelmed by surging thoughts of ill
Turnus in mute amaze stood still:
Fierce boils in every vein
Indignant shame and passion blind,
The tempest of the lover’s mind,
The soldier’s high disdain.
Soon as apart the shadows roll
And light once more illumes his soul,
Backward his kindling eyes he threw
And grasped the town in one wide view.
Lo! tongues of flame to heaven aspire:
The turret’s floors are wrapped in fire,
The tower he made to vex the foe
With bridge above and wheels below.
‘The Fates, the Fates must have their way:
O sister! cease to breed delay;
Where Heaven and cruel Fortune call,
There let me follow to my fall.
I stand to meet my foe, to bear
The pangs of death, how keen soe’er:
Disgraced you shall not see me more:
Let frenzy fill the space before.’
He said, and vaulting from his car
Plunged headlong through the opposing war,
His sister in her sorrow left,
And fierce and fast the squadrons cleft.
Look how from mountain summit borne
By wind or furious rain down-torn
Or gentler lapse of ages worn
Comes down a thundering stone;
Headlong it falls with impulse strong,
The unpitying rock, and whirls along
Woods, cattle, swains o’erthrown:
So bounding onward, scattering all,
Comes Turnus to the city-wall,
Where pools of bloodshed soak the ground
And the shrill gales with javelins sound;
Then signals with his upraised hand
And lifts the voice of high command:
‘Rutules,
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