Cowards, incurable! a woman's hand
Drives, breaks, and scatters, your ignoble band! 1080
Now caft away the fword, and quit the fhield:
What ufe of weapons which you dare not wield ?
Not thus you fly your female foes by night,
Nor fhun the feaft, when the full bowls invite:
When to fat offerings the glad augur calls,
And the fhrill horn-pipe founds to bacchanals.
Thefe are your ftudy'd cares; your lewd delight:
Swift in debauch; but flow to manly fight.
Thus having faid, he fpurs amid the foes,
Not managing the life he meant to lofe.
The first he found he seiz`d, with headlong haste,
In his ftrong gripe: and clafp'd around the wafte:
'Twas Venulus; whom from his horfe he tore,
And (laid athwart his own) in triumph bore.
Loud fhouts enfue: the Latins turn their eyes,
And view th' unusual fight with vaft furprize.
I he fiery Tarchon, flying o'er the plains,
Prefs'd in his arms the ponderous prey fuftains:
Then, with his fhorten'd spear, explores around
His jointed arms, to fix a deadly wound.
Nor lefs the captive ftruggles for his life:
He writhes his body to prolong the ftrife:
And, fencing for his naked throat, exerts
His utmoft vigour, and the point averts.
So ftoops the yellow eagle from on high,
And bears a fpeckled ferpent through the sky;
Fastening his crooked talons on the prey,
The prifoner hiffes through the liquid way :
Refifts the royal hawk, and though oppreft,
She fights in volumes, and erects her crest ; ·
Turn'd to her foe, fhe ftiffens every scale,
And thoots her forky tongue, and whisks her threatening tail.
Against the victor all defence is weak ;
Th' imperial bird ftill plies her with his beak:
He tears her bowels, and her breast he gores;
Then claps his pinions, and securely foars.
Thus, through the midft of circling enemies,
Strong Tarchon fnatch'd, and bore away his prize :
The Tyrrhene troops, that shrunk before, now press
The Latins, and prefume the like fuccefs.
Then Aruns, doom'd to death, his arts effay'd
To murder, unefpy'd, the Volfcian maid:
This way and that his winding courfe he bends,
And, wherefoe'er fhe turns, her steps attends.
When he retires victorious from the chace,
He wheels about with care, and fhifts his place:
When, rushing on, fhe keeps her foes in fight,
He keeps aloof, but keeps her still in fight:
He threats, and trembles, trying every way
Unfeen to kill, and fafely to betray.
Chloreus, the priest of Cybelè, from far,
Glittering in Phrygian arms amidst the war,
Was by the virgin view'd: the feed he prefs'd
Was proud with trappings, and his brawny cheft
With fcales of gilded brass was cover'd o'er,
A robe of Tyrian dye the rider wore.
With deadly wounds he gaul'd the diftant foe;
Gnoffian his fhafts, and Lycian was his bow:
A golden helm his front and head surrounds,
A gilded quiver from his shoulder founds.
Gold, weav'd with linen, on his thighs he wore,
With flowers of needle-work distinguish'd o'er,
With golden buckles bound, and gather'd up before.
Him, the fierce maid beheld, with ardent eyes;
Fond and ambitious of fo rich a prize :
Or that the temple might his trophies hold,...
Or else to fhine herself in Trojan gold:
Blind in her hafte, fhe chaces him alone,
And feeks his life, regardless of her own.
This lucky moment the fly traitor chose :
Then, ftarting from his ambush, up he rofe,
And threw, but first to heaven addrefs'd his vows.
O patron of Soractes' high abodes,
Phoebus, the ruling power among the gods;.
Whom first we serve, whole woods of unctuous pine Are fell'd for thee, and to thy glory shine;
By thee protected, with our naked fouls,
Give me, propitious power, to wash away
The stains of this dishonourable day:
Nor fpoils, nor, triumph, from the fact I claim;
But with my future actions trust my fame.
Let me, by stealth, this female plague o'ercome,
And from the field return inglorious home.
Apollo heard, and, granting half his prayer, 1165 Shuffled in winds the reft, and tofs'd in empty air. He gives the death defir'd; his fafe return,
By fouthera, tempefts, to the feas is borne.
Now, when the javelin whiz'd along the skies,
Both armies on Camilla turn'd their eyes,
Directed by the found of either host,
Th' unhappy virgin, though concern'd the most,
Was only deaf; so greedy was she bent
On golden spoils, and on her prey intent :-.
Till in her pap the winged weapon food
Infix'd; and deeply drunk the purple blood.
Her fad attendants haften to sustain
Their dying lady drooping on the plain.
Far from their fight the trembling Aruns flies,
With beating heart, and fear confus'd with joys;:
Nor dares he farther to purfue his blow,
Or ev'n to bear the fight of his expiring foe.
As when the wolf has torn a bullock's hide,
At unawares, or ranch'd a fhepherd's fide :
Conscious of his audacious deed, he flies,
And claps his quivering tail between his thighs;
So, fpeeding once, the wretch no more attends;
But, fpurring forward, herds among his friends.
She wrench'd the javelin with her dying hands;
But, wedg'd within her breast, the weapon ftands: 1190-
The wood fhe draws, the fteely point remains;
She staggers in her feat with agonizing pains:
A gathering mist o'erclouds her chearful eyes,
And from her cheeks the rofy colour flies.
Then turns to her, whom, of her female train, 1195 She trufted moft, and thus fhe fpeaks with pain:
Acca, 'tis paft! he swims before my fight,
Inexorable Death; and claims his right.
Bear my last words to Turnus, fly with speed,
And bid him timely to my charge fucceed :
Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve:
Farewell; and in this kifs my parting breath receive.
She faid; and fliding funk upon the plain;
Dying, her open'd hand forfakes the rein;
Short, and more short, fhe pants: by flow degrees
Her mind the paffage from her body frees.
She drops her fword, the nods her plumy creft;
Her drooping head declining on her breast :
In the last sigh her struggling soul expires ;
And, murmuring with difdain, to Stygian founds retires.
A fhout, that ftruck the golden stars, enfu'd:
Defpair and rage, and languish'd fight renew'd.
The Trojan troops, and Tufcans in a line,
Advance to charge; the mix'd Arcadians join.
By Cynthia's maid, high feated, from afar
Surveys the field, and fortune of the war:
Unmov'd a while, till proftrate on the plain,
Weltering in blood, fhe fees Camilla slain ;
And round her corpfe, of friends and foes a fighting
train.
Then, from the bottom of her breaft, the drew
A mournful figh, and these fad words enfue:
Too dear a fine, ah! much-lamented maid,
For warring with the Trojans, thou haft paid:
Nor aught avail'd, in this unhappy strife,
Diana's facred arms, to save thy life.
Yet unreveng'd thy goddess will not leave
Her votary's death, nor with vain forrow grieve.
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