The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Virgil
Book online «The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ». Author Virgil
Androgeos fell among us, with his band,
Who thought us Grecians newly come to land.
âFrom whence,â said he, âmy friends, this long delay?
You loiter, while the spoils are borne away:
Our ships are laden with the Trojan store;
And you, like truants, come too late ashore.â
He said, but soon corrected his mistake,
Found, by the doubtful answers which we make:
Amazâd, he would have shunnâd thâ unequal fight;
But we, more numârous, intercept his flight.
As when some peasant, in a bushy brake,
Has with unwary footing pressâd a snake;
He starts aside, astonishâd, when he spies
His rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes;
So from our arms surprisâd Androgeos flies.
In vain; for him and his we compassâd round,
Possessâd with fear, unknowing of the ground,
And of their lives an easy conquest found.
Thus Fortune on our first endeavor smilâd.
Coroebus then, with youthful hopes beguilâd,
Swoln with success, and a daring mind,
This new invention fatally designâd.
âMy friends,â said he, âsince Fortune shows the way,
âTis fit we should thâ auspicious guide obey.
For what has she these Grecian arms bestowâd,
But their destruction, and the Trojansâ good?
Then change we shields, and their devices bear:
Let fraud supply the want of force in war.
They find us arms.â This said, himself he dressâd
In dead Androgeosâ spoils, his upper vest,
His painted buckler, and his plumy crest.
Thus Ripheus, Dymas, all the Trojan train,
Lay down their own attire, and strip the slain.
Mixâd with the Greeks, we go with ill presage,
Flatterâd with hopes to glut our greedy rage;
Unknown, assaulting whom we blindly meet,
And strew with Grecian carcasses the street.
Thus while their straggling parties we defeat,
Some to the shore and safer ships retreat;
And some, oppressâd with more ignoble fear,
Remount the hollow horse, and pant in secret there.
âBut, ah! what use of valour can be made,
When heavânâs propitious powârs refuse their aid!
Behold the royal prophetess, the fair
Cassandra, draggâd by her dishevelâd hair,
Whom not Minervaâs shrine, nor sacred bands,
In safety could protect from sacrilegious hands:
On heavân she cast her eyes, she sighâd, she cried,
âTwas all she couldâ âher tender arms were tied.
So sad a sight Coroebus could not bear;
But, firâd with rage, distracted with despair,
Amid the barbârous ravishers he flew:
Our leaderâs rash example we pursue.
But storms of stones, from the proud templeâs height,
Pour down, and on our batterâd helms alight:
We from our friends receivâd this fatal blow,
Who thought us Grecians, as we seemâd in show.
They aim at the mistaken crests, from high;
And ours beneath the pondârous ruin lie.
Then, movâd with anger and disdain, to see
Their troops dispersâd, the royal virgin free,
The Grecians rally, and their powârs unite,
With fury charge us, and renew the fight.
The brother kings with Ajax join their force,
And the whole squadron of Thessalian horse.
âThus, when the rival winds their quarrel try,
Contending for the kingdom of the sky,
South, east, and west, on airy coursers borne;
The whirlwind gathers, and the woods are torn:
Then Nereus strikes the deep; the billows rise,
And, mixâd with ooze and sand, pollute the skies.
The troops we squanderâd first again appear
From several quarters, and enclose the rear.
They first observe, and to the rest betray,
Our diffârent speech; our borrowâd arms survey.
Oppressâd with odds, we fall; Coroebus first,
At Pallasâ altar, by Peneleus piercâd.
Then Ripheus followâd, in thâ unequal fight;
Just of his word, observant of the right:
Heavân thought not so. Dymas their fate attends,
With Hypanis, mistaken by their friends.
Nor, Pantheus, thee, thy mitre, nor the bands
Of awful Phoebus, savâd from impious hands.
Ye Trojan flames, your testimony bear,
What I performâd, and what I sufferâd there;
No sword avoiding in the fatal strife,
Exposâd to death, and prodigal of life;
Witness, ye heavens! I live not by my fault:
I strove to have deservâd the death I sought.
But, when I could not fight, and would have died,
Borne off to distance by the growing tide,
Old Iphitus and I were hurried thence,
With Pelias wounded, and without defence.
New clamours from thâ invested palace ring:
We run to die, or disengage the king.
So hot thâ assault, so high the tumult rose,
While ours defend, and while the Greeks oppose
As all the Dardan and Argolic race
Had been contracted in that narrow space;
Or as all Ilium else were void of fear,
And tumult, war, and slaughter, only there.
Their targets in a tortoise cast, the foes,
Secure advancing, to the turrets rose:
Some mount the scaling ladders; some, more bold,
Swerve upwards, and by posts and pillars hold;
Their left hand gripes their bucklers in thâ ascent,
While with their right they seize the battlement.
From their demolishâd towârs the Trojans throw
Huge heaps of stones, that, falling, crush the foe;
And heavy beams and rafters from the sides
(Such arms their last necessity provides)
And gilded roofs, come tumbling from on high,
The marks of state and ancient royalty.
The guards below, fixâd in the pass, attend
The charge undaunted, and the gate defend.
Renewâd in courage with recoverâd breath,
A second time we ran to tempt our death,
To clear the palace from the foe, succeed
The weary living, and revenge the dead.
âA postern door, yet unobservâd and free,
Joinâd by the length of a blind gallery,
To the kingâs closet led: a way well known
To Hectorâs wife, while Priam held the throne,
Throâ which she brought Astyanax, unseen,
To cheer his grandsire and his grandsireâs queen.
Throâ this we pass, and mount the towâr, from whence
With unavailing arms the Trojans make defence.
From this the trembling king had oft descried
The Grecian camp, and saw their navy ride.
Beams from its lofty height with swords we hew,
Then, wrenching with our hands, thâ assault renew;
And, where the rafters on the columns meet,
We push them headlong with our arms and feet.
The lightning flies not swifter than the fall,
Nor thunder louder than the ruinâd wall:
Down goes the top at once; the Greeks beneath
Are piecemeal torn, or pounded into death.
Yet more succeed, and more to death are sent;
We cease not from above, nor they below relent.
Before the gate stood Pyrrhus, threatâning loud,
With glittâring arms conspicuous in the crowd.
So shines, renewâd in youth, the crested snake,
Who slept the winter in a thorny brake,
And, casting off his slough when spring returns,
Now looks aloft, and with new glory burns;
Restorâd with poisonous herbs, his ardent sides
Reflect the sun; and raisâd on spires he rides;
High oâer the grass, hissing he rolls along,
And brandishes by fits his forky tongue.
Proud Periphas, and fierce Automedon,
His fatherâs
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