Thus in their doubtful cause the chieftains strove.
Meanwhile Aeneas his assaulting line
moved forward. The ill tidings wildly sped
from royal hall to hall, and filled the town
with rumors dark: for now the Trojan host
o'er the wide plains from Tiber's wave was spread
in close array of war. The people's soul
was vexed and shaken, and its martial rage
rose to the stern compulsion. Now for arms
their terror calls; the youthful soldiery
clamor for arms; the sires of riper days
weep or repress their tears. On every side
loud shouts and cries of dissonant acclaim
trouble the air, as when in lofty grove
legions of birds alight, or by the flood
of Padus' fishy stream the shrieking swans
far o'er the vocal marish fling their song.
Then, seizing the swift moment, Turnus cried:
“Once more, my countrymen,—ye sit in parle,
lazily praising peace, while yonder foe
speeds forth in arms our kingdom to obtain.”
He spoke no more, but hied him in hot haste,
and from the housetop called, “Volusus, go!
Equip the Volscian companies! Lead forth
my Rutules also! O'er the spreading plain,
ye brothers Coras and Messapus range
our host of cavalry!
Let others guard
the city's gates and hold the walls and towers:
I and my followers elsewhere oppose
the shock of arms.” Now to and fro they run
to man the walls. Father Latinus quits—
the place of council and his large design,
vexed and bewildered by the hour's distress.
He blames his own heart that he did not ask
Trojan Aeneas for his daughter's lord,
and gain him for his kingdom's lasting friend.
They dig them trenches at the gates, or lift
burden of stakes and stones. The horn's harsh note
sounds forth its murderous signal for the war;
striplings and women, in a motley ring,
defend the ramparts; the decisive hour
lays tasks on all. Upon the citadel
a train of matrons, with the doleful Queen,
toward Pallas' temple moves, and in their hand
are gifts and offerings. See, at their side
the maid Lavinia, cause of all these tears,
drops down her lovely eyes! The incense rolls
in clouds above the altar; at the doors
with wailing voice the women make this prayer:
“Tritonian virgin, arbitress of war!
Break of thyself yon Phrygian robber's spear!
Hurl him down dying in the dust! Spill forth
his evil blood beneath our lofty towers!”
Fierce Turnus girds him, emulous to slay:
a crimson coat of mail he wears, with scales
of burnished bronze; beneath his knees are bound
the golden greaves; upon his naked brow
no helm he wears; but to his thigh is bound
a glittering sword. Down from the citadel
runs he, a golden glory, in his heart
boldly exulting, while impatient hope
fore-counts his fallen foes. He seemed as when,
from pinfold bursting, breaking his strong chain,
th' untrammelled stallion ranges the wide field,
or tries him to a herd of feeding mares,
or to some cooling river-bank he knows,
most fierce and mettlesome; the streaming mane
o'er neck and shoulder flies. Across his path
Camilla with her Volscian escort came,
and at the city-gate the royal maid
down from her charger leaped; while all her band
at her example glided to the ground,
their horses leaving. Thus the virgin spoke:
“Turnus, if confidence beseem the brave,
I have no fear; but of myself do vow
to meet yon squadrons of Aeneadae
alone, and front me to the gathered charge
of Tuscan cavalry.
Let me alone
the war's first venture-prove. Take station, thou,
here at the walls, this rampart to defend.”
With fixed eyes on the terror-striking maid,
Turnus replied, “O boast of Italy,
O virgin bold! What praise, what gratitude
can words or deeds repay? But since thy soul
so large of stature shows, I bid thee share
my burden and my war. Our spies bring news
that now Aeneas with pernicious mind
sends light-armed horse before him, to alarm
the plains below, while through the wilderness
he climbs the steep hills, and approaches so
our leaguered town. But I in sheltered grove
a stratagem prepare, and bid my men
in ambush at a mountain cross-road lie.
Meet thou the charge of Tuscan cavalry
with all thy banners. For auxiliar strength
take bold Messapus with his Latin troop
and King Tiburtus' men: but the command
shall be thy task and care.” He spoke, and urged
with like instruction for the coming fray
Messapus and his captains; then advanced
to meet the foe. There is a winding vale
for armed deception and insidious war
well fashioned, and by interlacing leaves
screened darkly in; a small path thither leads,
through strait defile-a passage boding ill.
Above it, on a mountain's lofty brow,
are points of outlook, level spaces fair,
and many a safe, invisible retreat
from whence on either hand to challenge war,
or, standing on the ridges, to roll down
huge mountain boulders. Thither Turnus fared,
and, ranging the familiar tract, chose out
his cunning ambush in the dangerous grove.
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