Your share of mortal forrows to fuftain,
And fee your brother bleeding on the plain?
For to what power can Turnus have recourfe,
*Or how resist his fate's prevailing force!
Thefe eyes beheld Murranus bite the ground.
Mighty the man, and mighty was the wound.
I heard my dearest friend, with dying breath,
My name invoking to revenge his death :
Brave Ufens fell with honour on the place;
To fhun the shameful fight of my disgrace.
On earth fupine, a manly corpfe he lies.;
His veft and armour are the victor's prize.
Then fhall I fee Laurentum in a flame,
Which only wanted to compleat my fhame?
How will the Latins hoot their champion's flight;
How Drances will infult, and point them to the sight !
Is death fo hard to bear? ye gods below,
(Since thofe above fo fmall compaffion fhow,)
Receive a foul unfully'd yet with shame,
Which not belies my great- forefathers' name.
He faid: and while he spoke, with flying speed,
Came Sages, urging on his foamy steed;
Fix'd on his wounded face a shaft he bore,
And feeking Turnus fent his voice before:
Turnus, on you, on you alone depends
Our last relief; compaffionate your friends.
Like lightning, fierce Æneas, rolling on,
With arms invefts, with flames invades the town:
The brands are tofs'd on high: the winds confpire
To drive along the deluge of the fire:
All eyes are fix'd on you; your foes rejoice;
Ev'n the king staggers, and fufpends his choice. 955 Doubts to deliver, or defend the town ;
Whom to reject, or whom to call his fon.
The queen, on whom your utmost hopes were plac'd, Herself fuborning death, has breath'd her last. 'Tis true, Meffapus, fearlefs of his fate, With fierce Atinas' aid, defends the gate: fide furrounded by the foe;
The more they kill, the greater numbers grow ;
An iron harvest mounts, and ftill remains to mow.
You, far aloof from your unfhaken bands,
Your rolling chariot drive o'er empty fands.
Stupid he fate, his eyes on earth declin'd,
And various cares revolving in his mind :
Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast,
And forrow, mix'd with fhame, his foul opprefs'd; 970
And confcious worth lay labouring in his thought:
And love, by jealousy, to madness wrought.
By flow degrees his reafon drove away
The mists of paffion, and refum'd her sway.
Then, rifing on his car, he turn'd his look;
And faw the town involv'd in fire and finoke.
A wooden tower with flames already blaz'd,
Which his own hands on beams and rafters rais'd:
And bridges laid above to join the space :
And wheels below to roll from place to place.
Sifter, the fates have vanquish'd : let us go
The way which heaven and my hard fortune show.
The fight is fix'd: nor shall the branded name
Of a base coward blot your brother's fame.
Death is my choice: but suffer me to try
My force, and vent my rage before I die.
He faid, and, leaping down without delay,
Through crouds of scatter'd foes he freed his way.
Striding, he pafs'd, impetuous as the wind,
And left the grieving goddess far behind.
As when a fragment from a mountain torn
By raging tempefts, or by torrents borne,
Or fapp'd by time, or loosen'd from the roots,
Prone through the void the rocky ruin shoots,
Rolling from crag to crag, from steep to steep;
Down fink, at once, the fhepherds and their sheep;
Involv'd alike, they rush to nether ground,
Stunn'd with the shock, they fall, and stunn'd from
earth rebound:
So, Turnus, hasting headlong to the town,
Shouldering and fhoving, bore the fquadrons down.
Still preffing on onward, to the walls he drew,
Where shafts, and fpears, and darts, promifcuous flew;
And fanguine ftreams the flippery ground embrue.
First stretching out his arm, in fign of peace,
He cries aloud, to make the combat cease;
Rutulians, hold, and Latin troops retire;
The fight is mine, and me the gods require.
'Tis just that I should vindicate alone
The broken truce, or for the breach atone.
This day fhall free from wars th' Aufonian state; 1010
Or finish my misfortunes in my
fate.
Both armies from their bloody work desist : And, bearing backward, form a fpacious lift. The Trojan hero, who receiv'd from fame
The welcome found, and heard the champion's name,
Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls,
Greedy of war, where greater glory calls.
He fprings to fight, exulting in his force;
His jointed armour rattles in the courfe.
Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows,
Or father Appenine, when white with snows,
His head divine, obfcure in clouds he hides,
And thakes the founding foreft on his fides.
The nations, o'er-aw'd, furceafe the fight,
Immoveable their bodies, fix'd their fight:
Ev'n Death stands ftill; nor from above they throw
Their darts, nor drive their battering rams below.
In filent order either army ftands;
And drop their fwords, unknowing, from their hands.
Th' Aufonian king beholds, with wondering fight, 1030
Two mighty champions match'd in single fight,
Born under climes remote, and brought by fate,
With fwords to try their titles to the state.
Now, in clos'd field, each other from afar
They view; and, rushing on, begin the war.
They lanch their spears, then hand to hand they meet;
The trembling foil refounds beneath their feet:
Their bucklers clash; thick blows defcend from high,
And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly.
Courage confpires with chance; and both engage 1040
With equal fortune yet, and mutual rage.
As when two bulls for their fair female fight,
In Sila's fhades, or on Taburnus' height;
With horns adverse they meet: the keeper flies:
Mute stands the herd, the heifers roll their eyes, 1945
And wait th' event; which victor they shall bear,
And who fhall be the Lord, to rule the lufty year:
With rage of love the jealous rivals burn,
And push for push, and wound for wound return :
Their dewlaps gor'd, their fides are lav'd in blood: 1050
Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow through the wood:
Such was the combat in the lifted ground;
So clash their fwords, and fo their shields refound.
Jove fets the beam; in either scale he lays
The champion's fate, and each exactly weighs. 1055
On this fide life, and lucky chance ascends;
Loaded with death, that other scale defcends.
Rais'd on the stretch, young Turnus aims a blow,
Full on the helm of his unguarded foe:
-Shrill shouts and clamours ring on either fide: 1060
As hopes and fears their panting hearts divide.
But all in pieces, flies the traitor fword,
And, in the middle ftroke, deferts his lord.
Now 'tis but death, or flight: disarm'd he flies,
When in his hand an unknown hilt he fpies.
Fame fays that Turnus, when his steeds he join'd,
Hurrying to war, diforder'd in his mind,
Snatch'd the first weapon which his haste could find.
'Twas not the fated fword his father bore;
But that his charioteer Metifcus wore.
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