The Aeneid

Jupiter, calling a council of the gods, forbids them to engage in either party. At Aeneas’ return there is a bloody battle: Turnus killing Pallas; Aeneas, Lausus, and Mezentius. Mezentius is described as an atheist; Lausus as a pious and virtuous youth. The different actions and death of these two are the subject of a noble episode.

The gates of heav’n unfold: Jove summons all The gods to council in the common hall. Sublimely seated, he surveys from far The fields, the camp, the fortune of the war, And all th’ inferior world. From first to last, The sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d.

Then thus th’ almighty sire began: “Ye gods, Natives or denizens of blest abodes, From whence these murmurs, and this change of mind, This backward fate from what was first design’d? Why this protracted war, when my commands Pronounc’d a peace, and gave the Latian lands? What fear or hope on either part divides Our heav’ns, and arms our powers on diff’rent sides? A lawful time of war at length will come, (Nor need your haste anticipate the doom), When Carthage shall contend the world with Rome, Shall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains, And, like a flood, come pouring on the plains. Then is your time for faction and debate, For partial favour, and permitted hate. Let now your immature dissension cease; Sit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.”

Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge; But lovely Venus thus replies at large: “O pow’r immense, eternal energy, (For to what else protection can we fly?) Seest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare In fields, unpunish’d, and insult my care? How lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train, In shining arms, triumphant on the plain? Ev’n in their lines and trenches they contend, And scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend: The town is fill’d with slaughter, and o’erfloats, With a red deluge, their increasing moats. Aeneas, ignorant, and far from thence, Has left a camp expos’d, without defence. This endless outrage shall they still sustain? Shall Troy renew’d be forc’d and fir’d again? A second siege my banish’d issue fears, And a new Diomede in arms appears. One more audacious mortal will be found; And I, thy daughter, wait another wound. Yet, if with fates averse, without thy leave, The Latian lands my progeny receive, Bear they the pains of violated law, And thy protection from their aid withdraw. But, if the gods their sure success foretell; If those of heav’n consent with those of hell, To promise Italy; who dare debate The pow’r of Jove, or fix another fate? What should I tell

of tempests on the main, Of Aeolus usurping Neptune’s reign? Of Iris sent, with Bacchanalian heat T’ inspire the matrons, and destroy the fleet? Now Juno to the Stygian sky descends, Solicits hell for aid, and arms the fiends. That new example wanted yet above: An act that well became the wife of Jove! Alecto, rais’d by her, with rage inflames The peaceful bosoms of the Latian dames. Imperial sway no more exalts my mind; (Such hopes I had indeed, while Heav’n was kind;) Now let my happier foes possess my place, Whom Jove prefers before the Trojan race; And conquer they, whom you with conquest grace. Since you can spare, from all your wide command, No spot of earth, no hospitable land, Which may my wand’ring fugitives receive; (Since haughty Juno will not give you leave;) Then, father, (if I still may use that name,) By ruin’d Troy, yet smoking from the flame, I beg you, let Ascanius, by my care, Be freed from danger, and dismiss’d the war: Inglorious let him live, without a crown. The father may be cast on coasts unknown, Struggling with fate; but let me save the son. Mine is Cythera, mine the Cyprian tow’rs: In those recesses, and those sacred bow’rs, Obscurely let him rest; his

right resign To promis’d empire, and his Julian line. Then Carthage may th’ Ausonian towns destroy, Nor fear the race of a rejected boy. What profits it my son to scape the fire, Arm’d with his gods, and loaded with his sire; To pass the perils of the seas and wind; Evade the Greeks, and leave the war behind; To reach th’ Italian shores; if, after all, Our second Pergamus is doom’d to fall? Much better had he curb’d his high desires, And hover’d o’er his ill-extinguish’d fires. To Simois’ banks the fugitives restore, And give them back to war, and all the woes before.”

Deep indignation swell’d Saturnia’s heart: “And must I own,” she said, “my secret smart— What with more decence were in silence kept, And, but for this unjust reproach, had slept? Did god or man your fav’rite son advise, With war unhop’d the Latians to surprise? By fate, you boast, and by the gods’ decree, He left his native land for Italy! Confess the truth; by mad Cassandra, more Than Heav’n inspir’d, he sought a foreign shore! Did I persuade to trust his second Troy To the raw conduct of a beardless boy, With walls unfinish’d, which himself forsakes, And thro’ the waves a wand’ring voyage takes? When have I urg’d him meanly to demand The Tuscan aid, and arm a quiet land? Did I or Iris give this mad advice, Or made the fool himself the fatal choice? You think it hard, the Latians should destroy With swords your Trojans, and with fires your Troy! Hard and unjust indeed, for men to draw Their native air, nor take a foreign law! That Turnus is permitted still to live, To whom his birth a god and goddess give! But yet is just and lawful for your line To drive their fields, and force with fraud to join; Realms, not your own, among your clans divide, And from the bridegroom tear the

promis’d bride; Petition, while you public arms prepare; Pretend a peace, and yet provoke a war! ’Twas giv’n to you, your darling son to shroud, To draw the dastard from the fighting crowd, And, for a man, obtend an empty cloud. From flaming fleets you turn’d the fire away, And chang’d the ships to daughters of the sea. But is my crime—the Queen of Heav’n offends, If she presume to save her suff’ring friends! Your son, not knowing what his foes decree, You say, is absent: absent let him be. Yours is Cythera, yours the Cyprian tow’rs, The soft recesses, and the sacred bow’rs. Why do you then these needless arms prepare, And thus provoke a people prone to war? Did I with fire the Trojan town deface, Or hinder from return your exil’d race? Was I the cause of mischief, or the man Whose lawless lust the fatal war began? Think on whose faith th’ adult’rous youth relied; Who promis’d, who procur’d, the Spartan bride? When all th’ united states of Greece combin’d, To purge the world of the perfidious kind, Then was your time to fear the Trojan fate: Your quarrels and complaints are now too late.”

Thus Juno. Murmurs rise, with mix’d applause, Just as they favour or dislike the cause. So winds, when yet unfledg’d in woods they lie, In whispers first their tender voices try, Then issue on the main with bellowing rage, And storms to trembling mariners presage.

Then thus to both replied th’ imperial god, Who shakes heav’n’s axles with his awful nod. (When he begins, the silent senate stand With rev’rence, list’ning to the dread command: The clouds dispel; the winds their breath restrain; And the hush’d waves lie flatted on the main.) “Celestials, your attentive ears incline! Since,” said the god, “the Trojans must not join In wish’d alliance with the Latian line; Since endless jarrings and immortal hate Tend but to discompose our happy state; The war henceforward be resign’d to fate: Each to his proper fortune stand or fall; Equal and unconcern’d I look on all. Rutulians, Trojans, are the same to me; And both shall draw the lots their fates decree. Let these assault, if Fortune be their friend; And, if she favours those, let those defend: The Fates will find their way.” The Thund’rer said, And shook the sacred honours of his head, Attesting Styx, th’ inviolable flood, And the black regions of his brother god. Trembled the poles of heav’n, and earth confess’d the nod. This end the sessions had: the senate rise, And to his palace wait their sov’reign thro’ the skies.

Th’ Aeneans wish in vain their wanted chief, Hopeless of flight, more hopeless of relief. Thin on the tow’rs they stand; and ev’n those few A feeble, fainting, and dejected crew. Yet in the face of danger some there stood: The two bold brothers of Sarpedon’s blood, Asius and Acmon; both th’ Assaraci; Young Haemon, and tho’ young, resolv’d to die. With these were Clarus and Thymoetes join’d; Tibris and Castor, both of Lycian kind. From Acmon’s hands a rolling stone there came, So large, it half deserv’d a mountain’s name: Strong-sinew’d was the youth, and big of bone; His brother Mnestheus could not more have done, Or the great father of th’ intrepid son. Some firebrands throw, some flights of arrows send; And some with darts, and some with stones defend.

Amid the press appears the beauteous boy, The care of Venus, and the hope of Troy. His lovely face unarm’d, his head was bare; In ringlets o’er his shoulders hung his hair. His forehead circled with a diadem; Distinguish’d from the crowd, he shines a gem, Enchas’d in gold, or polish’d iv’ry set, Amidst the meaner foil of sable jet.

Nor Ismarus was wanting to the war, Directing pointed arrows from afar, And death with poison arm’d—in Lydia born, Where plenteous harvests the fat fields adorn; Where proud Pactolus floats the fruitful lands, And leaves a rich manure of golden sands. There Capys, author of the Capuan name, And there was Mnestheus too, increas’d in fame, Since Turnus from the camp he cast with shame.

Thus mortal war was wag’d on either side. Meantime the hero cuts the nightly tide: For, anxious, from Evander when he went, He sought the Tyrrhene camp, and Tarchon’s tent; Expos’d the cause of coming to the chief; His name and country told, and ask’d relief; Propos’d the terms; his own small strength declar’d; What vengeance proud Mezentius had prepar’d: What Turnus, bold and violent, design’d; Then shew’d the slipp’ry state of humankind, And fickle fortune; warn’d him to beware, And to his wholesome counsel added pray’r. Tarchon, without delay, the treaty signs, And to the Trojan troops the Tuscan joins.

They soon set sail; nor now the fates withstand; Their forces trusted with a foreign hand. Aeneas leads; upon his stern appear Two lions carv’d, which rising Ida bear— Ida, to wand’ring Trojans ever dear. Under their grateful shade Aeneas sate, Revolving war’s events, and various fate. His left young Pallas kept, fix’d to his side, And oft of winds enquir’d, and of the tide; Oft of the stars, and of their wat’ry way; And what he suffer’d both by land and sea.

A thousand youths brave Massicus obey, Borne in the Tiger thro’ the foaming sea; From Asium brought, and Cosa, by his care: For arms, light quivers, bows and shafts, they bear. Fierce Abas next: his men bright armour wore; His stern Apollo’s golden statue bore. Six hundred Populonia sent along, All skill’d in martial exercise, and strong. Three hundred more for battle Ilva joins, An isle renown’d for steel, and unexhausted mines. Asylas on his prow the third appears, Who heav’n interprets, and the wand’ring stars; From offer’d entrails prodigies expounds, And peals of thunder, with presaging sounds. A thousand spears in warlike order stand, Sent by the Pisans under his command.

Fair Astur follows in the wat’ry field, Proud of his manag’d horse and painted shield. Gravisca, noisome from the neighb’ring fen, And his own Caere, sent three hundred men; With those which Minio’s fields and Pyrgi gave, All bred in arms, unanimous, and brave.

Thou, Muse, the name of Cinyras renew, And brave Cupavo follow’d but by few; Whose helm confess’d the lineage of the man, And bore, with wings display’d, a silver swan. Love was the fault of his fam’d ancestry, Whose forms and fortunes in his ensigns fly. For Cycnus lov’d unhappy Phaeton, And sung his loss in poplar groves, alone, Beneath the sister shades, to soothe his grief. Heav’n heard his song, and hasten’d his relief, And chang’d to snowy plumes his hoary hair, And wing’d his flight, to chant aloft in air. His son Cupavo brush’d the briny flood: Upon his stern a brawny Centaur stood, Who heav’d a rock, and, threat’ning still to throw, With lifted hands alarm’d the seas below: They seem’d to fear the formidable sight, And roll’d their billows on, to speed his flight.

Ocnus was next, who led his native train Of hardy warriors thro’ the wat’ry plain: The son of Manto by the Tuscan stream, From whence the Mantuan town derives the name— An ancient city, but of mix’d descent: Three sev’ral tribes compose the government; Four towns are under each; but all obey The Mantuan laws, and own the Tuscan sway.

Hate to Mezentius arm’d five hundred more, Whom Mincius from his sire Benacus bore: Mincius, with wreaths of reeds his forehead cover’d o’er. These grave Auletes leads: a hundred sweep With stretching oars at once the glassy deep. Him and his martial train the Triton bears; High on his poop the sea-green god appears: Frowning he seems his crooked shell to sound, And at the blast the billows dance around. A hairy man above the waist he shows; A porpoise tail beneath his belly grows; And ends a fish: his breast the waves divides, And froth and foam augment the murm’ring tides.

Now was the world forsaken by the sun, And Phoebe half her nightly race had run. The careful chief, who never clos’d his eyes, Himself the rudder holds, the sails supplies. A choir of Nereids meet him on the flood, Once his own galleys, hewn from Ida’s wood; But now, as many nymphs, the sea they sweep, As rode, before, tall vessels on the deep. They know him from afar; and in a ring Enclose the ship that bore the Trojan king. Cymodoce, whose voice excell’d the rest, Above the waves advanc’d her snowy breast; Her right hand stops the stern; her left divides The curling ocean, and corrects the tides. She spoke for all the choir, and thus began With pleasing words to warn th’ unknowing man: “Sleeps our lov’d lord? O goddess-born, awake! Spread ev’ry sail, pursue your wat’ry track, And haste your course. Your navy once were we, From Ida’s height descending to the sea; Till Turnus, as at anchor fix’d we stood, Presum’d to violate our holy wood. Then, loos’d from shore, we fled his fires profane (Unwillingly we broke our master’s chain), And since have sought you thro’ the Tuscan main. The mighty Mother chang’d our forms to these, And gave us life immortal in the seas. But young Ascanius, in his camp distress’d, By your insulting foes is hardly press’d. Th’ Arcadian horsemen, and Etrurian host, Advance in order on the Latian coast: To cut their way the Daunian chief designs, Before their troops can reach the Trojan lines. Thou, when the rosy morn restores the light, First arm thy soldiers for th’ ensuing fight:

Thyself the fated sword of Vulcan wield, And bear aloft th’ impenetrable shield. Tomorrow’s sun, unless my skill be vain, Shall see huge heaps of foes in battle slain.” Parting, she spoke; and with immortal force Push’d on the vessel in her wat’ry course; For well she knew the way. Impell’d behind, The ship flew forward, and outstripp’d the wind. The rest make up. Unknowing of the cause, The chief admires their speed, and happy omens draws.

Then thus he pray’d, and fix’d on heav’n his eyes: “Hear thou, great Mother of the deities. With turrets crown’d! (on Ida’s holy hill Fierce tigers, rein’d and curb’d, obey thy will.) Firm thy own omens; lead us on to fight; And let thy Phrygians conquer in thy right.”

He said no more. And now renewing day Had chas’d the shadows of the night away. He charg’d the soldiers, with preventing care, Their flags to follow, and their arms prepare; Warn’d of th’ ensuing fight, and bade ’em hope the war. Now, his lofty poop, he view’d below His camp incompass’d, and th’ inclosing foe. His blazing shield, imbrac’d, he held on high; The camp receive the sign, and with loud shouts reply. Hope arms their courage: from their tow’rs they throw Their darts with double force, and drive the foe. Thus, at the signal giv’n, the cranes arise Before the stormy south, and blacken all the skies.

King Turnus wonder’d at the fight renew’d, Till, looking back, the Trojan fleet he view’d, The seas with swelling canvas cover’d o’er, And the swift ships descending on the shore. The Latians saw from far, with dazzled eyes, The radiant crest that seem’d in flames to rise, And dart diffusive fires around the field, And the keen glitt’ring of the golden shield. Thus threat’ning comets, when by night they rise, Shoot sanguine streams, and sadden all the skies: So Sirius, flashing forth sinister lights, Pale humankind with plagues and with dry famine fright:

Yet Turnus with undaunted mind is bent To man the shores, and hinder their descent, And thus awakes the courage of his friends: “What you so long have wish’d, kind Fortune sends; In ardent arms to meet th’ invading foe: You find, and find him at advantage now. Yours is the day: you need but only dare; Your swords will make you masters of the war. Your sires, your sons, your houses, and your lands, And dearest wifes, are all within your hands. Be mindful of the race from whence you came, And emulate in arms your fathers’ fame. Now take the time, while stagg’ring yet they stand With feet unfirm, and prepossess the strand: Fortune befriends the bold.” Nor more he said, But balanc’d whom to leave, and whom to lead; Then these elects, the landing to prevent; And those he leaves, to keep the city pent.

Meantime the Trojan sends his troops ashore: Some are by boats expos’d, by bridges more. With lab’ring oars they bear along the strand, Where the tide languishes, and leap a-land. Tarchon observes the coast with careful eyes, And, where no ford he finds, no water fries, Nor billows with unequal murmurs roar, But smoothly slide along, and swell the shore, That course he steer’d, and thus he gave command: “Here ply your oars, and at all hazard land: Force on the vessel, that her keel may wound This hated soil, and furrow hostile ground. Let me securely land—I ask no more; Then sink my ships, or shatter on the shore.”

This fiery speech inflames his fearful friends: They tug at ev’ry oar, and ev’ry stretcher bends; They run their ships aground; the vessels knock, (Thus forc’d ashore,) and tremble with the shock. Tarchon’s alone was lost, that stranded stood, Stuck on a bank, and beaten by the flood: She breaks her back; the loosen’d sides give way, And plunge the Tuscan soldiers in the sea. Their broken oars and floating planks withstand Their passage, while they labour to the land, And ebbing tides bear back upon th’ uncertain sand.

Now Turnus leads his troops without delay, Advancing to the margin of the sea. The trumpets sound: Aeneas first assail’d The clowns new-rais’d and raw, and soon prevail’d. Great Theron fell, an omen of the fight; Great Theron, large of limbs, of giant height. He first in open field defied the prince: But armour scal’d with gold was no defence Against the fated sword, which open’d wide His plated shield, and pierc’d his naked side. Next, Lichas fell, who, not like others born, Was from his wretched mother ripp’d and torn; Sacred, O Phoebus, from his birth to thee; For his beginning life from biting steel was free. Not far from him was Gyas laid along, Of monstrous bulk; with Cisseus fierce and strong: Vain bulk and strength! for, when the chief assail’d, Nor valour nor Herculean arms avail’d, Nor their fam’d father, wont in war to go With great Alcides, while he toil’d below. The noisy Pharos next receiv’d his death: Aeneas writh’d his dart, and stopp’d his bawling breath. Then wretched Cydon had receiv’d his doom, Who courted Clytius in his beardless bloom, And sought with lust obscene polluted joys: The Trojan sword had curd his love of boys, Had not his sev’n bold brethren stopp’d the course Of the fierce champions, with united force. Sev’n darts were thrown at once; and some rebound From his bright shield, some on his helmet sound: The rest had reach’d him; but his mother’s care Prevented those, and turn’d aside in air.

The prince then call’d Achates, to supply The spears that knew the way to victory— “Those fatal weapons, which, inur’d to blood, In Grecian bodies under Ilium stood: Not one of those my hand shall toss in vain Against our foes, on this contended plain.” He said; then seiz’d a mighty spear, and threw; Which, wing’d with fate, thro’ Maeon’s buckler flew, Pierc’d all the brazen plates, and reach’d his heart: He stagger’d with intolerable smart. Alcanor saw; and reach’d, but reach’d in vain, His helping hand, his brother to sustain. A second spear, which kept the former course, From the same hand, and sent with equal force, His right arm pierc’d, and holding on, bereft His use of both, and pinion’d down his left. Then Numitor from his dead brother drew Th’ ill-omen’d spear, and at the Trojan threw: Preventing fate directs the lance awry, Which, glancing, only mark’d Achates’ thigh.

In pride of youth the Sabine Clausus came, And, from afar, at Dryops took his aim. The spear flew hissing thro’ the middle space, And pierc’d his throat, directed at his face; It stopp’d at once the passage of his wind, And the free soul to flitting air resign’d: His forehead was the first that struck the ground; Lifeblood and life rush’d mingled thro’ the wound. He slew three brothers of the Borean race, And three, whom Ismarus, their native place, Had sent to war, but all the sons of Thrace. Halesus, next, the bold Aurunci leads: The son of Neptune to his aid succeeds, Conspicuous on his horse. On either hand, These fight to keep, and those to win, the land. With mutual blood th’ Ausonian soil is dyed, While on its borders each their claim decide. As wintry winds, contending in the sky, With equal force of lungs their titles try: They rage, they roar; the doubtful rack of heav’n Stands without motion, and the tide undriv’n: Each bent to conquer, neither side to yield, They long suspend the fortune of the field. Both armies thus perform what courage can; Foot set to foot, and mingled man to man.

But, in another part, th’ Arcadian horse With ill success engage the Latin force: For, where th’ impetuous torrent, rushing down, Huge craggy stones and rooted trees had thrown, They left their coursers, and, unus’d to fight On foot, were scatter’d in a shameful flight. Pallas, who with disdain and grief had view’d His foes pursuing, and his friends pursued, Us’d threat’nings mix’d with pray’rs, his last resource, With these to move their minds, with those to fire their force “Which way, companions? whether would you run? By you yourselves, and mighty battles won, By my great sire, by his establish’d name, And early promise of my future fame; By my youth, emulous of equal right To share his honours—shun ignoble flight! Trust not your feet: your hands must hew way Thro’ yon black body, and that thick array: ’Tis thro’ that forward path that we must come; There lies our way, and that our passage home. Nor pow’rs above, nor destinies below Oppress our arms: with equal strength we go, With mortal hands to meet a mortal foe. See on what foot we stand: a scanty shore, The sea behind, our enemies before; No passage left, unless we swim the main; Or, forcing these, the Trojan trenches

gain.” This said, he strode with eager haste along, And bore amidst the thickest of the throng. Lagus, the first he met, with fate to foe, Had heav’d a stone of mighty weight, to throw: Stooping, the spear descended on his chine, Just where the bone distinguished either loin: It stuck so fast, so deeply buried lay, That scarce the victor forc’d the steel away. Hisbon came on: but, while he mov’d too slow To wish’d revenge, the prince prevents his blow; For, warding his at once, at once he press’d, And plung’d the fatal weapon in his breast. Then lewd Anchemolus he laid in dust, Who stain’d his stepdam’s bed with impious lust. And, after him, the Daucian twins were slain, Laris and Thymbrus, on the Latian plain; So wondrous like in feature, shape, and size, As caus’d an error in their parents’ eyes— Grateful mistake! but soon the sword decides The nice distinction, and their fate divides: For Thymbrus’ head was lopp’d; and Laris’ hand, Dismember’d, sought its owner on the strand: The trembling fingers yet the falchion strain, And threaten still th’ intended stroke in vain.

Now, to renew the charge, th’ Arcadians came: Sight of such acts, and sense of honest shame, And grief, with anger mix’d, their minds inflame. Then, with a casual blow was Rhoeteus slain, Who chanc’d, as Pallas threw, to cross the plain: The flying spear was after Ilus sent; But Rhoeteus happen’d on a death unmeant: From Teuthras and from Tyres while he fled, The lance, athwart his body, laid him dead: Roll’d from his chariot with a mortal wound, And intercepted fate, he spurn’d the ground. As when, in summer, welcome winds arise, The watchful shepherd to the forest flies, And fires the midmost plants; contagion spreads, And catching flames infect the neighb’ring heads; Around the forest flies the furious blast, And all the leafy nation sinks at last, And Vulcan rides in triumph o’er the waste; The pastor, pleas’d with his dire victory, Beholds the satiate flames in sheets ascend the sky: So Pallas’ troops their scatter’d strength unite, And, pouring on their foes, their prince delight.

Halesus came, fierce with desire of blood; But first collected in his arms he stood: Advancing then, he plied the spear so well, Ladon, Demodocus, and Pheres fell. Around his head he toss’d his glitt’ring brand, And from Strymonius hew’d his better hand, Held up to guard his throat; then hurl’d a stone At Thoas’ ample front, and pierc’d the bone: It struck beneath the space of either eye; And blood, and mingled brains, together fly. Deep skill’d in future fates, Halesus’ sire Did with the youth to lonely groves retire: But, when the father’s mortal race was run, Dire destiny laid hold upon the son, And haul’d him to the war, to find, beneath Th’ Evandrian spear, a memorable death. Pallas th’ encounter seeks, but, ere he throws, To Tuscan Tiber thus address’d his vows: “O sacred stream, direct my flying dart, And give to pass the proud Halesus’ heart! His arms and spoils thy holy oak shall bear.” Pleas’d with the bribe, the god receiv’d his pray’r: For, while his shield protects a friend distress’d, The dart came driving on, and pierc’d his breast.

But Lausus, no small portion of the war, Permits not panic fear to reign too far, Caus’d by the death of so renown’d a knight; But by his own example cheers the fight. Fierce Abas first he slew; Abas, the stay Of Trojan hopes, and hindrance of the day. The Phrygian troops escap’d the Greeks in vain: They, and their mix’d allies, now load the plain. To the rude shock of war both armies came; Their leaders equal, and their strength the same. The rear so press’d the front, they could not wield Their angry weapons, to dispute the field. Here Pallas urges on, and Lausus there: Of equal youth and beauty both appear, But both by fate forbid to breathe their native air. Their congress in the field great Jove withstands: Both doom’d to fall, but fall by greater hands.

Meantime Juturna warns the Daunian chief Of Lausus’ danger, urging swift relief. With his driv’n chariot he divides the crowd, And, making to his friends, thus calls aloud: “Let none presume his needless aid to join; Retire, and clear the field; the fight is mine: To this right hand is Pallas only due; O were his father here, my just revenge to view!” From the forbidden space his men retir’d. Pallas their awe, and his stern words, admir’d; Survey’d him o’er and o’er with wond’ring sight, Struck with his haughty mien, and tow’ring height. Then to the king: “Your empty vaunts forbear; Success I hope, and fate I cannot fear; Alive or dead, I shall deserve a name; Jove is impartial, and to both the same.” He said, and to the void advanc’d his pace: Pale horror sate on each Arcadian face. Then Turnus, from his chariot leaping light, Address’d himself on foot to single fight. And, as a lion—when he spies from far A bull that seems to meditate the war, Bending his neck, and spurning back the sand— Runs roaring downward from his hilly stand: Imagine eager Turnus not more slow, To rush from high on his unequal foe.