But to Rutulian eyes th' approaching joust
seemed all ill-matched; and shifting hopes and fears
disturbed their hearts the closer they surveyed
th' unequal risks: still worse it was to see
how Turnus, silent and with downcast eyes,
dejectedly drew near the place of prayer,
worn, pale, and wasted in his youthful bloom.
The nymph Juturna, with a sister's fear,
noted the growing murmur, and perceived
how all the people's will did shift and change;
she went from rank to rank, feigning the shape
of Camers, scion of illustrious line,
with heritage of valor, and himself
dauntless in war; unceasingly she ran
from rank to rank, spreading with skilful tongue
opinions manifold, and thus she spoke:
“Will ye not blush, Rutulians, so to stake
one life for many heroes? Are we not
their match in might and numbers? O, behold
those Trojan sons of Heaven making league
with exiled Arcady; see Tuscan hordes
storming at Turnus. Yet we scarce could find
one foe apiece, forsooth, if we should dare
fight them with half our warriors.
Of a truth
your champion brave shall to those gods ascend
before whose altars his great heart he vows;
and lips of men while yet on earth he stays
will spread his glory far. Ourselves, instead,
must crouch to haughty masters, and resign
this fatherland upon whose fruitful fields
we dwell at ease.” So speaking, she inflamed
the warriors' minds, and through the legions ran
increasing whisper; the Laurentine host
and even Latium wavered. Those who late
prayed but for rest and safety, clamored loud
for arms, desired annulment of the league,
and pitied Turnus' miserable doom.
Whereon Juturna tried a mightier stroke,
a sign from heaven, which more than all beside
confused the Latins and deceived their hearts
with prodigy.
For through the flaming skies
Jove's golden eagle swooped, and scattered far
a clamorous tribe of river-haunting birds;
then, swiftly to the waters falling, seized
one noble swan, which with keen, curving claws
he ruthless bore away: th' Italians all
watched eagerly, while the loud-screaming flock
wheeled upward (wondrous sight!), with host of wings
shadowed the sky, and in a legion-cloud
chased through the air the foe; till, overborne
by heavier odds, the eagle from his claws
flung back his victim to the waves, and fled
to the dim, distant heaven. The Rutules then
hailed the good omen with consenting cry,
and grasped the sword and shield. Tolumnius
the augur spake first: “Lo, the sign I sought
with many a prayer! I welcome and obey
the powers divine. Take me for captain, me!
And draw your swords, ye wretches, whom th' assault
of yonder foreign scoundrel puts in fear
like feeble birds, and with his violence
lays waste your shore. He too shall fly away,
spreading his ships' wings on the distant seas.
Close up your ranks—one soul in all our breasts!
Defend in open war your stolen King.”
So saying, he hurled upon th' opposing foe
his javelin, running forward. The strong shaft
of corner whistled shrill, and clove the air
unerring. Instantly vast clamor rose,
and all th' onlookers at the spectacle
leaped up amazed, and every heart beat high.
The spear sped flying to the foeman's line,
where stood nine goodly brethren, pledges all
of one true Tuscan mother to her lord,
Gylippus of Arcadia; it struck full
on one of these at his gold-belted waist,
and where the clasp clung, pierced the rib clean through.
And stretched the fair youth in his glittering arms
full length and lifeless on the yellow sand.
His brothers then, bold band to wrath aroused
by sorrow, seize the sword or snatch the spear
and blindly charge. Opposing them, the host
Laurentine makes advance, and close-arrayed
the Trojans like a torrent pour, enforced
by Tuscans and the gay-accoutred clans
of Arcady. One passion moved in all
to try the judgment of the sword. They tore
the altars down: a very storm of spears
rose angrily to heaven, in iron rain
down-pouring: while the priests bore far away
the sacrificial bowls and sacred fires.
Even Latinus fled; his stricken gods
far from his violated oath he bore.
Some leaped to horse or chariot and rode
with naked swords in air.
Messapus, wild
to break the truce, assailed the Tuscan King,
Aulestes, dressed in kingly blazon fair,
with fearful shock of steeds; the Tuscan dropped
helplessly backward, striking as he fell
his head and shoulders on the altar-stone
that lay behind him. But Messapus flew,
infuriate, a javelin in his hand,
and, towering o'er the suppliant, smote him strong
with the great beam-like spear, and loudly cried:
“Down with him! Ah! no common victim he
to give the mighty gods!” Italia's men
despoiled the dead man ere his limbs were cold.
Then Corynaeus snatched a burning brand
out of the altar, and as Ebysus
came toward him for to strike, he hurled the flame
full in his face: the big beard quickly blazed
with smell of singeing; while the warrior bold
strode over him, and seized with firm left hand
his quailing foe's Iong hair; then with one knee
he pushed and strained, compelled him to the `ground—
and struck straight at his heart with naked steel.
The shepherd Alsus in the foremost line
came leaping through the spears; when o'er him towered
huge Podalirius with a flashing sword
in close pursuit; the mighty battle-axe
clove him with swinging stroke from brow to chin,
and spilt along his mail the streaming gore:
so stern repose and iron slumber fell
upon that shepherd's eyes, and sealed their gaze
in endless night. But good Aeneas now
stretched forth his unarmed hand, and all unhelmed
thus loudly to his people called: “What means
this frantic stir, this quarrel rashly bold?
Recall your martial rage! The pledge is given
and all its terms agreed. 'T is only I
do lawful battle here. So let me forth,
and tremble not. My own hand shall confirm
the solemn treaty. For these rites consign
Turnus to none but me.” Yet while he spoke,
behold, a winged arrow, hissing loud,
the hero pierced; but what bold hand impelled
its whirling speed, none knew; nor if it were
chance or some power divine that brought this fame
upon Rutulia; for the glorious deed
was covered o'er with silence: none would boast
an arrow guilty of Aeneas' wound.
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