The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Virgil
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His charioteer, intrenchâd betwixt the wheels
And his lovâd horses; last invades their lord;
Full on his neck he drives the fatal sword:
The gasping head flies off; a purple flood
Flows from the trunk, that welters in the blood,
Which, by the spurning heels dispersâd around,
The bed besprinkles and bedews the ground.
Lamus the bold, and Lamyrus the strong,
He slew, and then Serranus fair and young.
From dice and wine the youth retirâd to rest,
And puffâd the fumy god from out his breast:
Evân then he dreamt of drink and lucky playâ â
More lucky, had it lasted till the day.
The famishâd lion thus, with hunger bold,
Oâerleaps the fences of the nightly fold,
And tears the peaceful flocks: with silent awe
Trembling they lie, and pant beneath his paw.
Nor with less rage Euryalus employs
The wrathful sword, or fewer foes destroys;
But on thâ ignoble crowd his fury flew;
He Fadus, Hebesus, and Rhoetus slew.
Oppressâd with heavy sleep the former fell,
But Rhoetus wakeful, and observing all:
Behind a spacious jar he slinkâd for fear;
The fatal iron found and reachâd him there;
For, as he rose, it piercâd his naked side,
And, reeking, thence returnâd in crimson dyed.
The wound pours out a stream of wine and blood;
The purple soul comes floating in the flood.
Now, where Messapus quarterâd, they arrive.
The fires were fainting there, and just alive;
The warrior-horses, tied in order, fed.
Nisus observâd the discipline, and said:
âOur eager thirst of blood may both betray;
And see the scatterâd streaks of dawning day,
Foe to nocturnal thefts. No more, my friend;
Here let our glutted execution end.
A lane throâ slaughterâd bodies we have made.â
The bold Euryalus, thoâ loth, obeyâd.
Of arms, and arras, and of plate, they find
A precious load; but these they leave behind.
Yet, fond of gaudy spoils, the boy would stay
To make the rich caparison his prey,
Which on the steed of conquerâd Rhamnes lay.
Nor did his eyes less longingly behold
The girdle-belt, with nails of burnishâd gold.
This present Caedicus the rich bestowâd
On Remulus, when friendship first they vowâd,
And, absent, joinâd in hospitable ties:
He, dying, to his heir bequeathâd the prize;
Till, by the conquâring Ardean troops oppressâd,
He fell; and they the glorious gift possessâd.
These glittâring spoils (now made the victorâs gain)
He to his body suits, but suits in vain:
Messapusâ helm he finds among the rest,
And laces on, and wears the waving crest.
Proud of their conquest, prouder of their prey,
They leave the camp, and take the ready way.
But far they had not passâd, before they spied
Three hundred horse, with Volscens for their guide.
The queen a legion to King Turnus sent;
But the swift horse the slower foot prevent,
And now, advancing, sought the leaderâs tent.
They saw the pair; for, throâ the doubtful shade,
His shining helm Euryalus betrayâd,
On which the moon with full reflection playâd.
âââTis not for naught,â cried Volscens from the crowd,
âThese men go there;â then raisâd his voice aloud:
âStand! stand! why thus in arms? And whither bent?
From whence, to whom, and on what errand sent?â
Silent they scud away, and haste their flight
To neighbâring woods, and trust themselves to night.
The speedy horse all passages belay,
And spur their smoking steeds to cross their way,
And watch each entrance of the winding wood.
Black was the forest: thick with beech it stood,
Horrid with fern, and intricate with thorn;
Few paths of human feet, or tracks of beasts, were worn.
The darkness of the shades, his heavy prey,
And fear, misled the younger from his way.
But Nisus hit the turns with happier haste,
And, thoughtless of his friend, the forest passâd,
And Alban plains, from Albaâs name so callâd,
Where King Latinus then his oxen stallâd;
Till, turning at the length, he stood his ground,
And missâd his friend, and cast his eyes around:
âAh wretch!â he cried, âwhere have I left behind
Thâ unhappy youth? where shall I hope to find?
Or what way take?â Again he ventures back,
And treads the mazes of his former track.
He winds the wood, and, listâning, hears the noise
Of tramping coursers, and the ridersâ voice.
The sound approachâd; and suddenly he viewâd
The foes inclosing, and his friend pursued,
Forelaid and taken, while he strove in vain
The shelter of the friendly shades to gain.
What should he next attempt? what arms employ,
What fruitless force, to free the captive boy?
Or desperate should he rush and lose his life,
With odds oppressâd, in such unequal strife?
Resolvâd at length, his pointed spear he shook;
And, casting on the moon a mournful look:
âGuardian of groves, and goddess of the night,
Fair queen,â he said, âdirect my dart aright.
If eâer my pious father, for my sake,
Did grateful offârings on thy altars make,
Or I increasâd them with my sylvan toils,
And hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils,
Give me to scatter these.â Then from his ear
He poisâd, and aimâd, and launchâd the trembling spear.
The deadly weapon, hissing from the grove,
Impetuous on the back of Sulmo drove;
Piercâd his thin armour, drank his vital blood,
And in his body left the broken wood.
He staggers round; his eyeballs roll in death,
And with short sobs he gasps away his breath.
All stand amazâdâ âa second javâlin flies
With equal strength, and quivers throâ the skies.
This throâ thy temples, Tagus, forcâd the way,
And in the brainpan warmly buried lay.
Fierce Volscens foams with rage, and, gazing round,
Descried not him who gave the fatal wound,
Nor knew to fix revenge: âBut thou,â he cries,
âShalt pay for both,â and at the prisâner flies
With his drawn sword. Then, struck with deep despair,
That cruel sight the lover could not bear;
But from his covert rushâd in open view,
And sent his voice before him as he flew:
âMe! me!â he criedâ ââturn all your swords alone
On meâ âthe fact confessâd, the fault my own.
He neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth:
Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth!
His only crime (if friendship can offend)
Is too much love to his unhappy friend.â
Too late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides,
Drivân with full force, had piercâd his tender sides.
Down fell the beauteous youth: the yawning wound
Gushâd out a purple stream, and stainâd the ground.
His snowy neck reclines upon his breast,
Like a fair flowâr by the keen share oppressâd;
Like a white poppy sinking on the plain,
Whose heavy head is overchargâd with rain.
Despair, and rage, and vengeance justly vowâd,
Drove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd.
Volscens he seeks; on him alone he bends:
Borne back and
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