Th' impetuous youth press forward to the field;They clash the sword, and clatter on the shield:
The fearful matrons raise a screaming cry;Old feeble men with fainter groans reply;A jarring sound results, and mingles in the sky, Like that of swans remurm'ring to the floods, Or birds of diff'ring kinds in hollow woods.
Turnus th' occasion takes, and cries aloud:
"Talk on, ye quaint haranguers of the crowd:
Declaim in praise of peace, when danger calls, And the fierce foes in arms approach the walls."He said, and, turning short, with speedy pace, Casts back a scornful glance, and quits the place:
"Thou, Volusus, the Volscian troops command To mount; and lead thyself our Ardean band.
Messapus and Catillus, post your force Along the fields, to charge the Trojan horse.
Some guard the passes, others man the wall;Drawn up in arms, the rest attend my call."They swarm from ev'ry quarter of the town, And with disorder'd haste the rampires crown.
Good old Latinus, when he saw, too late, The gath'ring storm just breaking on the state, Dismiss'd the council till a fitter time, And own'd his easy temper as his crime, Who, forc'd against his reason, had complied To break the treaty for the promis'd bride.
Some help to sink new trenches; others aid To ram the stones, or raise the palisade.
Hoarse trumpets sound th' alarm; around the walls Runs a distracted crew, whom their last labor calls.
A sad procession in the streets is seen, Of matrons, that attend the mother queen:
High in her chair she sits, and, at her side, With downcast eyes, appears the fatal bride.
They mount the cliff, where Pallas' temple stands;Pray'rs in their mouths, and presents in their hands, With censers first they fume the sacred shrine, Then in this common supplication join:
"O patroness of arms, unspotted maid, Propitious hear, and lend thy Latins aid!
Break short the pirate's lance; pronounce his fate, And lay the Phrygian low before the gate."Now Turnus arms for fight.His back and breast Well-temper'd steel and scaly brass invest:
The cuishes which his brawny thighs infold Are mingled metal damask'd o'er with gold.
His faithful fauchion sits upon his side;Nor casque, nor crest, his manly features hide:
But, bare to view, amid surrounding friends, With godlike grace, he from the tow'r descends.
Exulting in his strength, he seems to dare His absent rival, and to promise war.
Freed from his keepers, thus, with broken reins, The wanton courser prances o'er the plains, Or in the pride of youth o'erleaps the mounds, And snuffs the females in forbidden grounds.
Or seeks his wat'ring in the well-known flood, To quench his thirst, and cool his fiery blood:
He swims luxuriant in the liquid plain, And o'er his shoulder flows his waving mane:
He neighs, he snorts, he bears his head on high;Before his ample chest the frothy waters fly.
Soon as the prince appears without the gate, The Volscians, with their virgin leader, wait His last commands.Then, with a graceful mien, Lights from her lofty steed the warrior queen:
Her squadron imitates, and each descends;Whose common suit Camilla thus commends:
"If sense of honor, if a soul secure Of inborn worth, that can all tests endure, Can promise aught, or on itself rely Greatly to dare, to conquer or to die;Then, I alone, sustain'd by these, will meet The Tyrrhene troops, and promise their defeat.
Ours be the danger, ours the sole renown:
You, gen'ral, stay behind, and guard the town:"Turnus a while stood mute, with glad surprise, And on the fierce virago fix'd his eyes;Then thus return'd: "O grace of Italy, With what becoming thanks can I reply?
Not only words lie lab'ring in my breast, But thought itself is by thy praise oppress'd.
Yet rob me not of all; but let me join My toils, my hazard, and my fame, with thine.
The Trojan, not in stratagem unskill'd, Sends his light horse before to scour the field:
Himself, thro' steep ascents and thorny brakes, A larger compass to the city takes.
This news my scouts confirm, and I prepare To foil his cunning, and his force to dare;With chosen foot his passage to forelay, And place an ambush in the winding way.
Thou, with thy Volscians, face the Tuscan horse;The brave Messapus shall thy troops inforce With those of Tibur, and the Latian band, Subjected all to thy supreme command."This said, he warns Messapus to the war, Then ev'ry chief exhorts with equal care.
All thus encourag'd, his own troops he joins, And hastes to prosecute his deep designs.
Inclos'd with hills, a winding valley lies, By nature form'd for fraud, and fitted for surprise.
A narrow track, by human steps untrode, Leads, thro' perplexing thorns, to this obscure abode.
High o'er the vale a steepy mountain stands, Whence the surveying sight the nether ground commands.
The top is level, an offensive seat Of war; and from the war a safe retreat:
For, on the right and left, is room to press The foes at hand, or from afar distress;To drive 'em headlong downward, and to pour On their descending backs a stony show'r.
Thither young Turnus took the well-known way, Possess'd the pass, and in blind ambush lay.
Meantime Latonian Phoebe, from the skies, Beheld th' approaching war with hateful eyes, And call'd the light-foot Opis to her aid, Her most belov'd and ever-trusty maid;Then with a sigh began: "Camilla goes To meet her death amidst her fatal foes:
The nymphs I lov'd of all my mortal train, Invested with Diana's arms, in vain.
Nor is my kindness for the virgin new:
'T was born with her; and with her years it grew.
Her father Metabus, when forc'd away From old Privernum, for tyrannic sway, Snatch'd up, and sav'd from his prevailing foes, This tender babe, companion of his woes.
Casmilla was her mother; but he drown'd One hissing letter in a softer sound, And call'd Camilla.Thro' the woods he flies;Wrapp'd in his robe the royal infant lies.
His foes in sight, he mends his weary pace;With shout and clamors they pursue the chase.
The banks of Amasene at length he gains:
