When Turnus saw Aeneas from the line
retreating, and the captains in dismay,
with sudden hope he burned: he called for steeds,
for arms, and, leaping to his chariot,
rode insolently forth, the reins in hand.
Many strong heroes he dispatched to die,
as on he flew, and many stretched half-dead,
or from his chariot striking, or from far
raining his javelins on the recreant foe.
As Mars, forth-speeding by the wintry stream
of Hebrus, smites his sanguinary shield
and whips the swift steeds to the front of war,
who, flying past the winds of eve and morn,
scour the wide champaign; the bounds of Thrace
beneath their hoof-beats thunder; the dark shapes
of Terror, Wrath, and Treachery move on
in escort of the god: in such grim guise
bold Turnus lashed into the fiercest fray
his streaming steeds, that pitiful to see
trod down the slaughtered foe; each flying hoof
scattered a bloody dew; their path was laid
in mingled blood and sand. To death he flung
Pholus and Sthenelus and Thamyris:
two smitten in close fight and one from far:
also from far he smote with fatal spear
Glaucus and Lades, the Imbrasidae,
whom Imbrasus himself in Lycia bred,
and honored them with arms of equal skill
when grappling with a foe, or o'er the field
speeding a war-horse faster than the wind.
Elsewhere Eumedes through a throng of foes
to battle rode, the high-born Dolon's child,
famous in war, who bore his grandsire's name,
but seemed in might and courage like his sire:
that prince, who reconnoitring crept so near
the Argive camp, he dared to claim for spoil
the chariot of Achilles; but that day
great Diomed for such audacious deed
paid wages otherwise,—and he no more
dreamed to possess the steeds of Peleus' son.
When Turnus recognized in open field
this warrior, though far, he aimed and flung
his javelin through the spacious air; then stayed
his coursers twain, and, leaping from his car,
found the wretch helpless fallen; so planted he
his foot upon his neck, and from his hand
wrested the sword and thrust it glittering
deep in the throat, thus taunting as he slew:
“There's land for thee, thou Trojan! Measure there
th' Hesperian provinces thy sword would find.
Such reward will I give to all who dare
draw steel on me; such cities they shall build.”
To bear him company his spear laid low
Asbutes, Sybaris, Thersilochus,
Chloreus and Dares, and Thymoetes thrown
sheer off the shoulders of his balking steed.
As when from Thrace the north wind thunders down
the vast Aegean, flinging the swift flood
against the shore, and where his blasts assail
the cloudy cohorts vanish out of heaven:
so before Turnus, where his path he clove,
the lines fell back, the wheeling legions fled.
The warrior's own wild impulse swept him on,
and every wind that o'er his chariot blew
shook out his plume in air. But such advance
so bold, so furious, Phegeus could not brook,
but, fronting the swift chariot's path, he seized
the foam-flecked bridles of its coursers wild,
while from the yoke his body trailed and swung;
the broad lance found his naked side, and tore
his double corselet, pricking lightly through
the outer flesh; but he with lifted shield
still fought his foe and thrust with falchion bare;
but the fierce pace of whirling wheel and pole
flung him down prone, and stretched him on the plain.
Then Turnus, aiming with relentless sword
between the corselet's edge and helmet's rim
struck off his whole head, leaving on the sands
the mutilated corpse. While thus afield
victorious Turnus dealt out death and doom,
Mnestheus, Achates true, and by their side
Ascanius, have carried to the camp
Aeneas, gashed and bleeding, whose long lance
sustained his limping step. With fruitless rage
he struggled with the spear-head's splintered barb,
and bade them help him by the swiftest way
to carve the wound out with a sword, to rip
the clinging weapon forth, and send him back
to meet the battle. Quickly to his side
came Iapyx, dear favorite and friend
of Phoebus, upon whom the god bestowed
his own wise craft and power, Iove-impelled.
The gifts of augury were given, and song,
with arrows of swift wing: he when his sire
was carried forth to die, deferred the doom
for many a day, by herbs of virtue known
to leechcraft; and without reward or praise
his silent art he plied. Aeneas stood,
bitterly grieving, propped upon his spear;
a throng of warriors were near him, and
Iulus, sorrowing. The aged man
gathered his garments up as leeches do,
and with skilled hand and Phoebus' herbs of power
bustled in vain; in vain his surgery
pried at the shaft, and with a forceps strong
seized on the buried barb.
But Fortune gave
no remedy, nor did Apollo aid
his votary. So more and more grim fear
stalks o'er the field of war, and nearer hies
the fatal hour; the very heavens are dust;
the horsemen charge, and in the midmost camp
a rain of javelins pours. The dismal cry
of men in fierce fight, and of men who fall
beneath relentless Mars, rends all the air.
Then Venus, by her offspring's guiltless woe
sore moved, did cull from Cretan Ida's crest
some dittany, with downy leaf and stem
and flowers of purple bloom—a simple known
to mountain goats, when to their haunches clings
an arrow gone astray. This Venus brought,
mantling her shape in cloud; and this she steeped
in bowls of glass, infusing secretly
ambrosia's healing essence and sweet drops
of fragrant panacea. Such a balm
aged Iapyx poured upon the wound,
though unaware; and sudden from the flesh
all pain departed and the blood was staunched,
while from the gash the arrow uncompelled
followed the hand and dropped: his wonted strength
flowed freshly through the hero's frame. “Make haste!
Bring forth his arms! Why tarry any more?”
Iapyx shouted, being first to fire
their courage 'gainst the foe. “This thing is done
not of man's knowledge, nor by sovereign skill;
nor has my hand, Aeneas, set thee free.
Some mighty god thy vigor gives again
for mighty deeds.” Aeneas now put on,
all fever for the fight, his golden greaves,
and, brooking not delay, waved wide his spear.
Soon as the corselet and the shield were bound
on back and side, he clasped Ascanius
to his mailed breast, and through his helmet grim
tenderly kissed his son. “My boy", he cried,
“What valor is and patient, genuine toil
learn thou of me; let others guide thy feet
to prosperous fortune. Let this hand and sword
defend thee through the war and lead thee on
to high rewards. Thou also play the man!
And when thy riper vigor soon shall bloom,
forget not in thy heart to ponder well
the story of our line. Heed honor's call,
like Sire Aeneas and Hector thy close kin.”
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