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The bowstring touch'd her breast, so strong she drew;

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Whizzing in air the fatal arrow flew. At once the twanging bow and sounding dart

The traitor heard, and felt the point within his heart.

Him, beating with his heels in pangs of death,

His flying friends to foreign fields bequeath. The conqu'ring damsel, with expanded wings,

The welcome message to her mistress brings.

Their leader lost, the Volscians quit the field;

And, unsustain❜d, the chiefs of Turnus yield. The frighted soldiers, when their captains fly,

More on their speed than on their strength rely.

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Confus'd in flight, they bear each other down,

And spur their horses headlong to the town. Driv'n by their foes, and to their fears resign'd,

Not once they turn, but take their wounds behind.

These drop the shield, and those the lance forego,

Or on their shoulders bear the slacken'd bow.

The hoofs of horses, with a rattling sound, Beat short and thick, and shake the rotten ground.

Black clouds of dust come rolling in the sky, And o'er the darken'd walls and rampires fly.

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The trembling matrons, from their lofty stands,

Rend heav'n with female shrieks, and wring their hands.

All pressing on, pursuers and pursued,
Are crush'd in crowds, a mingled multitude.
Some happy few escape: the throng too late
Rush on for entrance, till they choke the
gate.

Ev'n in the sight of home, the wretched sire
Looks on, and sees his helpless son expire.
Then, in a fright, the folding gates they
close,

But leave their friends excluded with their foes. 1280

The vanquish'd cry; the victors loudly shout;

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Or, to the moats pursued, precipitate their fall.

The Latian virgins, valiant with despair, Arm'd on the tow'rs, the common danger share:

So much of zeal their country's cause inspir'd;

So much Camilla's great example fir'd. Poles, sharpen'd in the flames, from high they throw,

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With imitated darts to gall the foe. Their lives for godlike freedom they bequeath,

And crowd each other to be first in death. Meantime to Turnus, ambush'd in the shade,

With heavy tidings came th' unhappy maid:

"The Volscians overthrown, Camilla kill'd; The foes, entirely masters of the field, Like a resistless flood, come rolling on: The cry goes off the plain, and thickens to the town."

Inflam'd with rage, (for so the Furies fire The Daunian's breast, and so the Fates require,)

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He leaves the hilly pass, the woods in vain Possess'd, and downward issues on the plain.

Scarce was he gone, when to the straits, now freed

From secret foes, the Trojan troops succeed.

Thro' the black forest and the ferny brake, Unknowingly secure, their way they take; From the rough mountains to the plain descend,

And there, in order drawn, their line extend.

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THE TWELFTH BOOK OF THE

ENEIS

THE ARGUMENT

Turnus challenges Eneas to a single combat: articles are agreed on, but broken by the Rutili, who wound Æneas. He is miraculously cur'd by Venus, forces Turnus to a duel, and concludes the poem with his death.

WHEN Turntis saw the Latins leave the field, Their armies broken, and their courage quell'd,

Himself become the mark of public spite, His honor question'd for the promis'd fight; The more he was with vulgar hate oppress'd, The more his fury boil'd within his breast: He rous'd his vigor for the last debate, And rais'd his haughty soul to meet his fate. As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase, He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace;

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But, if the pointed jav'lin pierce his side, The lordly beast returns with double pride: He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain; His sides he lashes, and erects his mane: So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire, Thro' his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire.

Trembling with rage, around the court he

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With what success, 'tis needless to declare;

I and my subjects feel, and you have had your share.

Twice vanquish'd, while in bloody fields we strive,

Scarce in our walls we keep our hopes alive: The rolling flood runs warm with human

gore;

The bones of Latians blanch the neighb'ring shore.

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Why put I not an end to this debate,
Still unresolv'd, and still a slave to fate?
If Turnus' death a lasting peace can give,
Why should I not procure it whilst you
live?

Should I to doubtful arms your youth betray,

What would my kinsmen the Rutulians say?

And, should you fall in fight, (which Heav'n defend !)

How curse the cause which hasten'd to

his end

The daughter's lover and the father's friend?

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At his approach they toss their heads on high,

And, proudly neighing, promise victory. The sires of these Orythia sent from far, 130 To grace Pilumnus, when he went to war. The drifts of Thracian snows were scarce so white,

Nor northern winds in fleetness match'd their flight.

Officious grooms stand ready by his side; And some with combs their flowing manes divide,

And others stroke their chests and gently soothe their pride.

He sheath'd his limbs in arms; a temper'd mass

Of golden metal those, and mountain brass. Then to his head his glitt'ring helm he tied, And girt his faithful fauchion to his side. 140 In his Ætnæan forge, the God of Fire

That fauchion labor'd for the hero's sire; Immortal keenness on the blade bestow'd, And plung'd it hissing in the Stygian flood. Propp'd on a pillar, which the ceiling bore, Was plac'd the lance Auruncan Actor wore;

Which with such force he brandish'd in his hand,

The tough ash trembled like an osier wand: Then cried: "O pond'rous spoil of Actor slain,

And never yet by Turnus toss'd in vain, 150 Fail not this day thy wonted force; but go, Sent by this hand, to pierce the Trojan foe! Give me to tear his corslet from his breast, And from that eunuch head to rend the crest;

Dragg'd in the dust, his frizzled hair to soil, Hot from the vexing ir'n, and smear'd with fragrant oil!"

Thus while he raves, from his wide nostrils flies

A fiery steam, and sparkles from his eyes.
So fares the bull in his lov'd female's sight:
Proudly he bellows, and preludes the
fight;

He tries his goring horns against a tree,
And meditates his absent enemy;

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He pushes at the winds; he digs the strand With his black hoofs, and spurns the yellow sand.

Nor less the Trojan, in his Lemnian arms, To future fight his manly courage warms: He whets his fury, and with joy prepares To terminate at once the ling'ring wars; To cheer his chiefs and tender son, relates What Heav'n had promis'd, and expounds the fates.

Then to the Latian king he sends, to cease The rage of arms, and ratify the peace.

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The morn ensuing, from the mountain's

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Of either sex promiscuous, old and young, Swarm from the town: by those who rest behind,

The gates and walls and houses' tops are lin'd.

Meantime the Queen of Heav'n beheld the sight,

With eyes unpleas'd, from Mount Albano's height

(Since call'd Albano by succeeding fame, But then an empty hill, without a name). She thence survey'd the field, the Trojan pow'rs,

The Latian squadrons, and Laurentine tow'rs.

Then thus the goddess of the skies bespake,

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With sighs and tears, the goddess of the lake,

King Turnus' sister, once a lovely maid, Ere to the lust of lawless Jove betray'd: Compress'd by force, but, by the grateful god,

Now made the Naïs of the neighb'ring flood. "O nymph, the pride of living lakes," said she,

"O most renown'd, and most belov'd by me,
Long hast thou known, nor need I to record,
The wanton sallies of my wand'ring lord.
Of ev'ry Latian fair whom Jove misled 220
To mount by stealth my violated bed,
To thee alone I grudg'd not his embrace,
But gave a part of heav'n, and an unenvied

place.

Now learn from me thy near approaching grief,

Nor think my wishes want to thy relief. While fortune favor'd, nor Heav'n's King denied

To lend my succor to the Latian side,

I sav'd thy brother, and the sinking state: But now he struggles with unequal fate, And goes, with gods averse, o'ermatch'd in might,

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To meet inevitable death in fight; Nor must I break the truce, nor can sustain the sight.

Thou, if thou dar'st, thy present aid supply; It well becomes a sister's care to try.'

At this the lovely nymph, with grief oppress'd,

Thrice tore her hair, and beat her comely breast.

To whom Saturnia thus: "Thy tears are late:

Haste, snatch him, if he can be snatch'd from fate:

New tumults kindle; violate the truce: Who knows what changeful fortune may

produce?

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'T is not a crime t' attempt what I decree; Or, if it were, discharge the crime on me." She said, and, sailing on the winged wind, Left the sad nymph suspended in her mind. And now in pomp the peaceful kings appear:

Four steeds the chariot of Latinus bear; Twelve golden beams around his temples play,

To mark his lineage from the God of Day. Two snowy coursers Turnus' chariot yoke, And in his hand two massy spears he shook: Then issued from the camp, in arms divine, Eneas, author of the Roman line;

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And by his side Ascanius took his place, The second hope of Rome's immortal race. Adorn'd in white, a rev'rend priest appears,

And off rings to the flaming altars bears; A porket, and a lamb that never suffer'd

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Nor he, nor they, with force infringe the peace.

But, if my juster arms prevail in fight, 280
(As sure they shall, if I divine aright,)
My Trojans shall not o'er th' Italians reign:
Both equal, both unconquer'd shall remain,
Join'd in their laws, their lands, and their
abodes;

I ask but altars for my weary gods.
The care of those religious rites be mine;
The crown to King Latinus I resign:
His be the sov'reign sway. Nor will I
share

His pow'r in peace, or his command in war. For me, my friends another town shall frame,

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And bless the rising tow'rs with fair Lavinia's name.'

Thus he. Then, with erected eyes and hands,

The Latian king before his altar stands. "By the same heav'n," said he, "and earth, and main,

And all the pow'rs that all the three contain;

By hell below, and by that upper god Whose thunder signs the peace, who seals it with his nod;

So let Latona's double offspring hear,
And double-fronted Janus, what I swear:
I touch the sacred altars, touch the flames,
And all those pow'rs attest, and all their

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