As when a whirlwind, rushing to the shore From the mid ocean, drives the waves before;The painful hind with heavy heart foresees The flatted fields, and slaughter of the trees;With like impetuous rage the prince appears Before his doubled front, nor less destruction bears.
And now both armies shock in open field;
Osiris is by strong Thymbraeus kill'd.
Archetius, Ufens, Epulon, are slain (All fam'd in arms, and of the Latian train)By Gyas', Mnestheus', and Achates' hand.
The fatal augur falls, by whose command The truce was broken, and whose lance, embrued With Trojan blood, th' unhappy fight renew'd.
Loud shouts and clamors rend the liquid sky, And o'er the field the frighted Latins fly.
The prince disdains the dastards to pursue, Nor moves to meet in arms the fighting few;Turnus alone, amid the dusky plain, He seeks, and to the combat calls in vain.
Juturna heard, and, seiz'd with mortal fear, Forc'd from the beam her brother's charioteer;Assumes his shape, his armor, and his mien, And, like Metiscus, in his seat is seen.
As the black swallow near the palace plies;O'er empty courts, and under arches, flies;Now hawks aloft, now skims along the flood, To furnish her loquacious nest with food:
So drives the rapid goddess o'er the plains;The smoking horses run with loosen'd reins.
She steers a various course among the foes;Now here, now there, her conqu'ring brother shows;Now with a straight, now with a wheeling flight, She turns, and bends, but shuns the single fight.
Aeneas, fir'd with fury, breaks the crowd, And seeks his foe, and calls by name aloud:
He runs within a narrower ring, and tries To stop the chariot; but the chariot flies.
If he but gain a glimpse, Juturna fears, And far away the Daunian hero bears.
What should he do! Nor arts nor arms avail;And various cares in vain his mind assail.
The great Messapus, thund'ring thro' the field, In his left hand two pointed jav'lins held:
Encount'ring on the prince, one dart he drew, And with unerring aim and utmost vigor threw.
Aeneas saw it come, and, stooping low Beneath his buckler, shunn'd the threat'ning blow.
The weapon hiss'd above his head, and tore The waving plume which on his helm he wore.
Forced by this hostile act, and fir'd with spite, That flying Turnus still declin'd the fight, The Prince, whose piety had long repell'd His inborn ardor, now invades the field;Invokes the pow'rs of violated peace, Their rites and injur'd altars to redress;Then, to his rage abandoning the rein, With blood and slaughter'd bodies fills the plain.
What god can tell, what numbers can display, The various labors of that fatal day;What chiefs and champions fell on either side, In combat slain, or by what deaths they died;Whom Turnus, whom the Trojan hero kill'd;Who shar'd the fame and fortune of the field!
Jove, could'st thou view, and not avert thy sight, Two jarring nations join'd in cruel fight, Whom leagues of lasting love so shortly shall unite!
Aeneas first Rutulian Sucro found, Whose valor made the Trojans quit their ground;Betwixt his ribs the jav'lin drove so just, It reach'd his heart, nor needs a second thrust.
Now Turnus, at two blows, two brethren slew;First from his horse fierce Amycus he threw:
Then, leaping on the ground, on foot assail'd Diores, and in equal fight prevail'd.
Their lifeless trunks he leaves upon the place;Their heads, distilling gore, his chariot grace.
Three cold on earth the Trojan hero threw, Whom without respite at one charge he slew:
Cethegus, Tanais, Tagus, fell oppress'd, And sad Onythes, added to the rest, Of Theban blood, whom Peridia bore.
Turnus two brothers from the Lycian shore, And from Apollo's fane to battle sent, O'erthrew; nor Phoebus could their fate prevent.
Peaceful Menoetes after these he kill'd, Who long had shunn'd the dangers of the field:
On Lerna's lake a silent life he led, And with his nets and angle earn'd his bread;Nor pompous cares, nor palaces, he knew, But wisely from th' infectious world withdrew:
Poor was his house; his father's painful hand Discharg'd his rent, and plow'd another's land.
As flames among the lofty woods are thrown On diff'rent sides, and both by winds are blown;The laurels crackle in the sputt'ring fire;The frighted sylvans from their shades retire:
Or as two neighb'ring torrents fall from high;Rapid they run; the foamy waters fry;
They roll to sea with unresisted force, And down the rocks precipitate their course:
Not with less rage the rival heroes take Their diff'rent ways, nor less destruction make.
With spears afar, with swords at hand, they strike;And zeal of slaughter fires their souls alike.
Like them, their dauntless men maintain the field;And hearts are pierc'd, unknowing how to yield:
They blow for blow return, and wound for wound;And heaps of bodies raise the level ground.
Murranus, boasting of his blood, that springs From a long royal race of Latian kings, Is by the Trojan from his chariot thrown, Crush'd with the weight of an unwieldy stone:
Betwixt the wheels he fell; the wheels, that bore His living load, his dying body tore.
His starting steeds, to shun the glitt'ring sword, Paw down his trampled limbs, forgetful of their lord.
Fierce Hyllus threaten'd high, and, face to face, Affronted Turnus in the middle space:
The prince encounter'd him in full career, And at his temples aim'd the deadly spear;So fatally the flying weapon sped, That thro' his helm it pierc'd his head.
Nor, Cisseus, couldst thou scape from Turnus' hand, In vain the strongest of th' Arcadian band:
Nor to Cupentus could his gods afford Availing aid against th' Aenean sword, Which to his naked heart pursued the course;Nor could his plated shield sustain the force.
Iolas fell, whom not the Grecian pow'rs, Nor great subverter of the Trojan tow'rs, Were doom'd to kill, while Heav'n prolong'd his date;But who can pass the bounds, prefix'd by fate?
In high Lyrnessus, and in Troy, he held Two palaces, and was from each expell'd:
