The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Virgil
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This is the way to heavân: the powârs divine
From this beginning date the Julian line.
To thee, to them, and their victorious heirs,
The conquerâd war is due, and the vast world is theirs.
Troy is too narrow for thy name.â He said,
And plunging downward shot his radiant head;
Dispellâd the breathing air, that broke his flight:
Shorn of his beams, a man to mortal sight.
Old Butesâ form he took, Anchisesâ squire,
Now left, to rule Ascanius, by his sire:
His wrinkled visage, and his hoary hairs,
His mien, his habit, and his arms, he wears,
And thus salutes the boy, too forward for his years:
âSuffice it thee, thy fatherâs worthy son,
The warlike prize thou hast already won.
The god of archers gives thy youth a part
Of his own praise, nor envies equal art.
Now tempt the war no more.â He said, and flew
Obscure in air, and vanishâd from their view.
The Trojans, by his arms, their patron know,
And hear the twanging of his heavânly bow.
Then duteous force they use, and Phoebusâ name,
To keep from fight the youth too fond of fame.
Undaunted, they themselves no danger shun;
From wall to wall the shouts and clamours run.
They bend their bows; they whirl their slings around;
Heaps of spent arrows fall, and strew the ground;
And helms, and shields, and rattling arms resound.
The combat thickens, like the storm that flies
From westward, when the showâry Kids arise;
Or pattâring hail comes pouring on the main,
When Jupiter descends in hardenâd rain,
Or bellowing clouds burst with a stormy sound,
And with an armed winter strew the ground.
Pandârus and Bitias, thunderbolts of war,
Whom Hiera to bold Alcanor bare
On Idaâs top, two youths of height and size
Like firs that on their mother mountain rise,
Presuming on their force, the gates unbar,
And of their own accord invite the war.
With fates averse, against their kingâs command,
Armâd, on the right and on the left they stand,
And flank the passage: shining steel they wear,
And waving crests above their heads appear.
Thus two tall oaks, that Padusâ banks adorn,
Lift up to heavân their leafy heads unshorn,
And, overpressâd with natureâs heavy load,
Dance to the whistling winds, and at each other nod.
In flows a tide of Latians, when they see
The gate set open, and the passage free;
Bold Quercens, with rash Tmarus, rushing on,
Equicolus, that in bright armour shone,
And Haemon first; but soon repulsâd they fly,
Or in the well-defended pass they die.
These with success are firâd, and those with rage,
And each on equal terms at length engage.
Drawn from their lines, and issuing on the plain,
The Trojans hand to hand the fight maintain.
Fierce Turnus in another quarter fought,
When suddenly thâ unhopâd-for news was brought,
The foes had left the fastness of their place,
Prevailâd in fight, and had his men in chase.
He quits thâ attack, and, to prevent their fate,
Runs where the giant brothers guard the gate.
The first he met, Antiphates the brave,
But base-begotten on a Theban slave,
Sarpedonâs son, he slew: the deadly dart
Found passage throâ his breast, and piercâd his heart.
Fixâd in the wound thâ Italian cornel stood,
Warmâd in his lungs, and in his vital blood.
Aphidnus next, and Erymanthus dies,
And Meropes, and the gigantic size
Of Bitias, threatâning with his ardent eyes.
Not by the feeble dart he fell oppressâd
(A dart were lost within that roomy breast),
But from a knotted lance, large, heavy, strong,
Which roarâd like thunder as it whirlâd along:
Not two bull hides thâ impetuous force withhold,
Nor coat of double mail, with scales of gold.
Down sunk the monster bulk and pressâd the ground;
His arms and clattâring shield on the vast body sound,
Not with less ruin than the Bajan mole,
Raisâd on the seas, the surges to controlâ â
At once comes tumbling down the rocky wall;
Prone to the deep, the stones disjointed fall
Of the vast pile; the scatterâd ocean flies;
Black sands, discolourâd froth, and mingled mud arise:
The frighted billows roll, and seek the shores;
Then trembles Prochyta, then Ischia roars:
Typhoeus, thrown beneath, by Joveâs command,
Astonishâd at the flaw that shakes the land,
Soon shifts his weary side, and, scarce awake,
With wonder feels the weight press lighter on his back.
The warrior god the Latian troops inspirâd,
New strung their sinews, and their courage firâd,
But chills the Trojan hearts with cold affright:
Then black despair precipitates their flight.
When Pandarus beheld his brother killâd,
The town with fear and wild confusion fillâd,
He turns the hinges of the heavy gate
With both his hands, and adds his shoulders to the weight;
Some happier friends within the walls inclosâd;
The rest shut out, to certain death exposâd:
Fool as he was, and frantic in his care,
Tâ admit young Turnus, and include the war!
He thrust amid the crowd, securely bold,
Like a fierce tiger pent amid the fold.
Too late his blazing buckler they descry,
And sparkling fires that shot from either eye,
His mighty members, and his ample breast,
His rattling armour, and his crimson crest.
Far from that hated face the Trojans fly,
All but the fool who sought his destiny.
Mad Pandarus steps forth, with vengeance vowâd
For Bitiasâ death, and threatens thus aloud:
âThese are not Ardeaâs walls, nor this the town
Amata proffers with Laviniaâs crown:
âTis hostile earth you tread. Of hope bereft,
No means of safe return by flight are left.â
To whom, with countânance calm, and soul sedate,
Thus Turnus: âThen begin, and try thy fate:
My message to the ghost of Priam bear;
Tell him a new Achilles sent thee there.â
A lance of tough ground ash the Trojan threw,
Rough in the rind, and knotted as it grew:
With his full force he whirlâd it first around;
But the soft yielding air receivâd the wound:
Imperial Juno turnâd the course before,
And fixâd the wandâring weapon in the door.
âBut hope not thou,â said Turnus, âwhen I strike,
To shun thy fate: our force is not alike,
Nor thy steel temperâd by the Lemnian god.â
Then rising, on his utmost stretch he stood,
And aimâd from high: the full descending blow
Cleaves the broad front and beardless cheeks in two.
Down sinks the giant with a thundâring sound:
His pondârous limbs oppress the trembling ground;
Blood, brains, and foam gush from the gaping wound:
Scalp, face, and shoulders the keen steel divides,
And the sharâd visage hangs on equal sides.
The Trojans fly from their approaching fate;
And, had the victor then securâd the gate,
And to his troops without unclosâd the bars,
One lucky day had ended all
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