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 Turnus 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;

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 ex-
pire.

Trembling with rage, around the court he

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?

And the blood follows, where the weapon flies.

His goddess mother is not near, to shroud The flying coward with an empty cloud." But now the queen, who fear'd for Turnus' life,

And loath'd the hard conditions of the strife,

Held him by force; and, dying in his death, In these sad accents gave her sorrow breath: "O Turnus, I adjure thee by these tears, And whate'er price Amata's honor bears Within thy breast, since thou art all my hope,

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My sickly mind's repose, my sinking age's prop;

Since on the safety of thy life alone
Depends Latinus, and the Latian throne:
Refuse me not this one, this only pray'r,
To waive the combat, and pursue the war.
Whatever chance attends this fatal strife,
Think it includes, in thine, Amata's life.
I cannot live a slave, or see my throne
Usurp'd by strangers, or a Trojan son."
At this, a flood of tears Lavinia shed;
A crimson blush her beauteous face o'er-
spread,
Varying her cheeks by turns with white
and red.

ΙΟΙ

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.

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Then to the Latian king he sends, to cease The rage of arms, and ratify the peace. The morn ensuing, from the mountain's height,

Had scarcely spread the skies with rosy light;

Th' ethereal coursers, bounding from the sea, From out their flaming nostrils breath'd the day;

When now the Trojan and Rutulian guard, In friendly labor join'd, the list prepar'd. Beneath the walls they measure out the

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?

'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

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

No force, no fortune, shall my vows unbind, Or shake the steadfast tenor of my mind; Not tho' the circling seas should break their

bound,

O'erflow the shores, or sap the solid ground; Not tho' the lamps of heav'n their spheres forsake,

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Hurl'd down, and hissing in the nether lake:
Ev'n as this royal scepter" (for he bore
A scepter in his hand) “shall never more
Shoot out in branches, or renew the birth:
An orphan now, cut from the mother earth
By the keen ax, dishonor'd of its hair,
And cas'd in brass, for Latian kings to
bear."

When thus in public view the peace was tied

With solemn vows, and sworn on either side,

All dues perform'd which holy rites require;

The victim beasts are slain before the fire, The trembling entrails from their bodies torn,

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And to the fatten'd flames in chargers borne.

Already the Rutulians deem their man O'ermatch'd in arms, before the fight be

gan.

First rising fears are whisper'd thro' the crowd;

Then, gath'ring sound, they murmur more aloud.

Now, side to side, they measure with their eyes

The champions' bulk, their sinews, and their size:

The nearer they approach, the more is known

Th' apparent disadvantage of their own. Turnus himself appears in public sight 330 Conscious of fate, desponding of the fight. Slowly he moves, and at his altar stands With eyes dejected, and with trembling hands;

And, while he mutters undistinguish'd

Dissembling her immortal form, she took
Camertus' mien, his habit, and his look;
A chief of ancient blood: in arms well
known

Was his great sire, and he his greater son.
His shape assum'd, amid the ranks she ran,
And humoring their first motions, thus
began:

"For shame, Rutulians, can you bear the sight

Of one expos'd for all, in single fight?
Can we, before the face of heav'n, confess
Our courage colder, or our numbers less?
View all the Trojan host, th' Arcadian

Inspires new courage, and a glad surprise. For, sudden, in the fiery tracts above, Appears in pomp th' imperial bird of Jove: A plump of fowl he spies, that swim the lakes,

And o'er their heads his sounding pinions shakes;

Then, stooping on the fairest of the train, In his strong talons truss'd a silver swan. Th' Italians wonder at th' unusual sight; But, while he lags, and labors in his flight, Behold, the dastard fowl return anew,

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