The Aeneid Virgil (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) đ
- Author: Virgil
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With sense of honour stung, and forfeit fame,
Fearful besides of what in fight had passâd,
His hands and haggard eyes to heavân he cast;
âO Jove!â he cried, âfor what offence have I
Deservâd to bear this endless infamy?
Whence am I forcâd, and whether am I borne?
How, and with what reproach, shall I return?
Shall ever I behold the Latian plain,
Or see Laurentumâs lofty towârs again?
What will they say of their deserting chief
The war was mine: I fly from their relief;
I led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave;
And evân from hence their dying groans receive.
Here, overmatchâd in fight, in heaps they lie;
There, scatterâd oâer the fields, ignobly fly.
Gape wide, O earth, and draw me down alive!
Or, O ye pitying winds, a wretch relieve!
On sands or shelves the splitting vessel drive;
Or set me shipwreckâd on some desert shore,
Where no Rutulian eyes may see me more,
Unknown to friends, or foes, or conscious Fame,
Lest she should follow, and my flight proclaim.â
Thus Turnus ravâd, and various fates revolvâd:
The choice was doubtful, but the death resolvâd.
And now the sword, and now the sea took place,
That to revenge, and this to purge disgrace.
Sometimes he thought to swim the stormy main,
By stretch of arms the distant shore to gain.
Thrice he the sword assayâd, and thrice the flood;
But Juno, movâd with pity, both withstood.
And thrice repressâd his rage; strong gales supplied,
And pushâd the vessel oâer the swelling tide.
At length she lands him on his native shores,
And to his fatherâs longing arms restores.
Meantime, by Joveâs impulse, Mezentius armâd,
Succeeding Turnus, with his ardour warmâd
His fainting friends, reproachâd their shameful flight,
Repellâd the victors, and renewâd the fight.
Against their king the Tuscan troops conspire;
Such is their hate, and such their fierce desire
Of wishâd revenge: on him, and him alone,
All hands employâd, and all their darts are thrown.
He, like a solid rock by seas inclosâd,
To raging winds and roaring waves opposâd,
From his proud summit looking down, disdains
Their empty menace, and unmovâd remains.
Beneath his feet fell haughty Hebrus dead,
Then Latagus, and Palmus as he fled.
At Latagus a weighty stone he flung:
His face was flatted, and his helmet rung.
But Palmus from behind receives his wound;
Hamstringâd he falls, and grovels on the ground:
His crest and armour, from his body torn,
Thy shoulders, Lausus, and thy head adorn.
Evas and Mimas, both of Troy, he slew.
Mimas his birth from fair Theano drew,
Born on that fatal night, when, big with fire,
The queen producâd young Paris to his sire:
But Paris in the Phrygian fields was slain,
Unthinking Mimas on the Latian plain.
And, as a savage boar, on mountains bred,
With forest mast and fattâning marshes fed,
When once he sees himself in toils inclosâd,
By huntsmen and their eager hounds opposâdâ â
He whets his tusks, and turns, and dares the war;
Thâ invaders dart their javâlins from afar:
All keep aloof, and safely shout around;
But none presumes to give a nearer wound:
He frets and froths, erects his bristled hide,
And shakes a grove of lances from his side:
Not otherwise the troops, with hate inspirâd,
And just revenge against the tyrant firâd,
Their darts with clamour at a distance drive,
And only keep the languishâd war alive.
From Coritus came Acron to the fight,
Who left his spouse betrothâd, and unconsummate night.
Mezentius sees him throâ the squadrons ride,
Proud of the purple favours of his bride.
Then, as a hungry lion, who beholds
A gamesome goat, who frisks about the folds,
Or beamy stag, that grazes on the plainâ â
He runs, he roars, he shakes his rising mane,
He grins, and opens wide his greedy jaws;
The prey lies panting underneath his paws:
He fills his famishâd maw; his mouth runs oâer
With unchewâd morsels, while he churns the gore:
So proud Mezentius rushes on his foes,
And first unhappy Acron overthrows:
Stretchâd at his length, he spurns the swarthy ground;
The lance, besmearâd with blood, lies broken in the wound.
Then with disdain the haughty victor viewâd
Orodes flying, nor the wretch pursued,
Nor thought the dastardâs back deservâd a wound,
But, running, gainâd thâ advantage of the ground:
Then turning short, he met him face to face,
To give his victory the better grace.
Orodes falls, in equal fight oppressâd:
Mezentius fixâd his foot upon his breast,
And rested lance; and thus aloud he cries:
âLo! here the champion of my rebels lies!â
The fields around with Io Paean! ring;
And peals of shouts applaud the conquâring king.
At this the vanquishâd, with his dying breath,
Thus faintly spoke, and prophesied in death:
âNor thou, proud man, unpunishâd shalt remain:
Like death attends thee on this fatal plain.â
Then, sourly smiling, thus the king replied:
âFor what belongs to me, let Jove provide;
But die thou first, whatever chance ensue.â
He said, and from the wound the weapon drew.
A hovâring mist came swimming oâer his sight,
And sealâd his eyes in everlasting night.
By Caedicus, Alcathous was slain;
Sacrator laid Hydaspes on the plain;
Orses the strong to greater strength must yield;
He, with Parthenius, were by Rapo killâd.
Then brave Messapus Ericetes slew,
Who from Lycaonâs blood his lineage drew.
But from his headstrong horse his fate he found,
Who threw his master, as he made a bound:
The chief, alighting, stuck him to the ground;
Then Clonius, hand to hand, on foot assails:
The Trojan sinks, and Neptuneâs son prevails.
Agis the Lycian, stepping forth with pride,
To single fight the boldest foe defied;
Whom Tuscan Valerus by force oâercame,
And not belied his mighty fatherâs fame.
Salius to death the great Antronius sent:
But the same fate the victor underwent,
Slain by Nealcesâ hand, well-skillâd to throw
The flying dart, and draw the far-deceiving bow.
Thus equal deaths are dealt with equal chance;
By turns they quit their ground, by turns advance:
Victors and vanquishâd, in the various field,
Nor wholly overcome, nor wholly yield.
The gods from heavân survey the fatal strife,
And mourn the miseries of human life.
Above the rest, two goddesses appear
Concernâd for each: here Venus, Juno there.
Amidst the crowd, infernal Ate shakes
Her scourge aloft, and crest of hissing snakes.
Once more the proud Mezentius, with disdain,
Brandishâd his spear, and rushâd into the plain,
Where towâring in the midmost rank she stood,
Like tall Orion stalking oâer the flood.
(When with his brawny breast he cuts the waves,
His shoulders scarce the topmost billow laves),
Or like a mountain ash, whose roots are spread,
Deep fixâd in earth; in clouds he hides his head.
The Trojan prince beheld him from afar,
And dauntless undertook the doubtful
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