With equal ardour fired and warlike joy, His glowing friend address'd the Dardan boy: 'These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou dare alone? 41 Must all the fame, the peril, be thine own? And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear. The price of honour is the sleep of death.' 1 50 Then Nisus, Calm thy bosom's fond alarms, Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of And poised with easy arm his ancient shield; When Nisus and his friend their leave request To offer something to their high behest. With anxious tremors, yet unawed by fear, Where yonder beacons half-expiring beam, Our slumbering foes of future conquest dream, Nor heed that we a secret path have traced, Between the ocean and the portal placed, Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke Whose shade securely our design will cloak ! If you, ye chiefs, and fortune will allow, We'll bend our course to yonder mountain's brow, 'Ye parent gods! who rule the fate of Troy, Still dwells the Dardan spirit in the boy; When minds like these in striplings thus ye raise, Yours is the godlike act, be yours the praise; In gallant youth my fainting hopes revive, And Ilion's wonted glories still survive.' Then in his warm embrace the boys he press'd, And, quivering, strain'd them to his aged breast; With tears the burning cheek of each bedew'd, And, sobbing, thus his first discourse renew'd: 130 'What gift, my countrymen, what martial prize Can we bestow, which you may not despise ? Our deities the first best boon have given Internal virtues are the gift of Heaven. What poor rewards can bless your deeds on earth, Doubtless await such young, exalted worth. To yield applause far, far surpassing mine.' To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince, Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping head; From the swoll'n veins the blackening torrents pour; 251 Stain'd is the couch and earth with clotting gore. Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire, And gay Serranus, fill'd with youthful fire; Half the long night in childish games was pass'd; 319 On every side they seek his absent friend. O God! my boy,' he cries, 'of me bereft, In what impending perils art thou left!' Listening he runs above the waving trees Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze; The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground. Again he turns, of footsteps hears the noise; The sound elates, the sight his hope destroys: The hapless boy a ruffian train surround, While lengthening shades his weary way confound; 330 |