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
At fifty mouths his flaming breath expires,
And flash for flash returns, and fires for fires;
In his right hand as many swords he wields,
And takes the thunder on as many shields:
With strength like his, the Trojan hero stood;
And soon the fields with falling corps were strowâd,
When once his falchion found the taste of blood.
With fury scarce to be conceivâd, he flew
Against Niphaeus, whom four coursers drew.
They, when they see the fiery chief advance,
And pushing at their chests his pointed lance,
Wheelâd with so swift a motion, mad with fear,
They threw their master headlong from the chair.
They stare, they start, nor stop their course, before
They bear the bounding chariot to the shore.
Now Lucagus and Liger scour the plains,
With two white steeds; but Liger holds the reins,
And Lucagus the lofty seat maintains:
Bold brethren both. The former wavâd in air
His flaming sword: Aeneas couchâd his spear,
Unusâd to threats, and more unusâd to fear.
Then Liger thus: âThy confidence is vain
To scape from hence, as from the Trojan plain:
Nor these the steeds which Diomede bestrode,
Nor this the chariot where Achilles rode;
Nor Venusâ veil is here, near Neptuneâs shield;
Thy fatal hour is come, and this the field.â
Thus Liger vainly vaunts: the Trojan peer
Returnâd his answer with his flying spear.
As Lucagus, to lash his horses, bends,
Prone to the wheels, and his left foot protends,
Preparâd for fight; the fatal dart arrives,
And throâ the borders of his buckler drives;
Passâd throâ and piercâd his groin: the deadly wound,
Cast from his chariot, rollâd him on the ground.
Whom thus the chief upbraids with scornful spite:
âBlame not the slowness of your steeds in flight;
Vain shadows did not force their swift retreat;
But you yourself forsake your empty seat.â
He said, and seizâd at once the loosenâd rein;
For Liger lay already on the plain,
By the same shock: then, stretching out his hands,
The recreant thus his wretched life demands:
âNow, by thyself, O more than mortal man!
By her and him from whom thy breath began,
Who formâd thee thus divine, I beg thee, spare
This forfeit life, and hear thy suppliantâs prayâr.â
Thus much he spoke, and more he would have said;
But the stern hero turnâd aside his head,
And cut him short: âI hear another man;
You talkâd not thus before the fight began.
Now take your turn; and, as a brother should,
Attend your brother to the Stygian flood.â
Then throâ his breast his fatal sword he sent,
And the soul issued at the gaping vent.
As storms the skies, and torrents tear the ground,
Thus ragâd the prince, and scatterâd deaths around.
At length Ascanius and the Trojan train
Broke from the camp, so long besiegâd in vain.
Meantime the King of Gods and Mortal Man
Held conference with his queen, and thus began:
âMy sister goddess, and well-pleasing wife,
Still think you Venusâ aid supports the strifeâ â
Sustains her Trojansâ âor themselves, alone,
With inborn valour force their fortune on?
How fierce in fight, with courage undecayâd!
Judge if such warriors want immortal aid.â
To whom the goddess with the charming eyes,
Soft in her tone, submissively replies:
âWhy, O my sovâreign lord, whose frown I fear,
And cannot, unconcernâd, your anger bear;
Why urge you thus my grief? when, if I still
(As once I was) were mistress of your will,
From your almighty powâr your pleasing wife
Might gain the grace of lengthâning Turnusâ life,
Securely snatch him from the fatal fight,
And give him to his aged fatherâs sight.
Now let him perish, since you hold it good,
And glut the Trojans with his pious blood.
Yet from our lineage he derives his name,
And, in the fourth degree, from god Pilumnus came;
Yet he devoutly pays you rites divine,
And offers daily incense at your shrine.â
Then shortly thus the sovâreign god replied:
âSince in my powâr and goodness you confide,
If for a little space, a lengthenâd span,
You beg reprieve for this expiring man,
I grant you leave to take your Turnus hence
From instant fate, and can so far dispense.
But, if some secret meaning lies beneath,
To save the short-livâd youth from destinâd death,
Or if a farther thought you entertain,
To change the fates; you feed your hopes in vain.â
To whom the goddess thus, with weeping eyes:
âAnd what if that request, your tongue denies,
Your heart should grant; and not a short reprieve,
But length of certain life, to Turnus give?
Now speedy death attends the guiltless youth,
If my presaging soul divines with truth;
Which, O! I wish, might err throâ causeless fears,
And you (for you have powâr) prolong his years!â
Thus having said, involvâd in clouds, she flies,
And drives a storm before her throâ the skies.
Swift she descends, alighting on the plain,
Where the fierce foes a dubious fight maintain.
Of air condensâd a spectre soon she made;
And, what Aeneas was, such seemâd the shade.
Adornâd with Dardan arms, the phantom bore
His head aloft; a plumy crest he wore;
This hand appearâd a shining sword to wield,
And that sustainâd an imitated shield.
With manly mien he stalkâd along the ground,
Nor wanted voice belied, nor vaunting sound.
(Thus haunting ghosts appear to waking sight,
Or dreadful visions in our dreams by night.)
The spectre seems the Daunian chief to dare,
And flourishes his empty sword in air.
At this, advancing, Turnus hurlâd his spear:
The phantom wheelâd, and seemâd to fly for fear.
Deluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled,
And with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed.
âWhether, O coward?â (thus he calls aloud,
Nor found he spoke to wind, and chasâd a cloud,)
âWhy thus forsake your bride! Receive from me
The fated land you sought so long by sea.â
He said, and, brandishing at once his blade,
With eager pace pursued the flying shade.
By chance a ship was fastenâd to the shore,
Which from old Clusium King Osinius bore:
The plank was ready laid for safe ascent;
For shelter there the trembling shadow bent,
And skippât and skulkâd, and under hatches went.
Exulting Turnus, with regardless haste,
Ascends the plank, and to the galley passâd.
Scarce had he reachâd the prow: Saturniaâs hand
The haulsers cuts, and shoots the ship from land.
With wind in poop, the vessel plows the sea,
And measures back with speed her former way.
Meantime Aeneas seeks his absent foe,
And sends his slaughterâd troops to shades below.
The guileful phantom now forsook the shroud,
And flew sublime, and vanishâd in a cloud.
Too late young Turnus the delusion found,
Far on the sea, still making from the ground.
Then, thankless for a life redeemâd
Comments (0)