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Three cold on earth the Trojan hero threw ;
Whom without respite at one charge he slew:
Cethegus, Tanais, Tagus, fell opprest
And sad Onythes, added to the rest :
Of Theban blood, whom Peridia bore.
Turnus two brothers from the Lycian shore,
And from Apollo's fane to battle sent,
O'erthrew, nor Phoebus could their fate prevent.
Peaceful Menætes after these he kill'd,
Who long had shunn'd the dangers of the field:
On Lerna's lake a silent life he led,

And with his nets and angle earn'd his bread.
Nor pompous cares, nor palaces he knew,
But wisely from th' infectious world withdrew.
Poor was his house; his father's painful hand
Discharg'd his rent, and plough'd another's land.
As flames among the lofty woods are thrown,
On different sides, and both by winds are blown,
The laurels crackle in the sputtering fire;
The frighted sylvans from their shades retire:
Or as two neighbouring torrents fall from high,
Rapid they run; the foamy waters fry:
They roll to sea, with unresisted force,
And down the rocks precipitate their course:
Not with less rage the rival heroes take
Their different ways; nor less destruction make.
With spears afar, with swords at hand they strike,
And zeal of slaughter fires their souls alike.
Like them, their dauntless men maintain the field,
And hearts are pierc'd unknowing how to yield:
They blow for blow return, and wound for wound;
And heaps of bodies raise the level ground.

Murranus, boasting of his blood, that springs
From a long royal race of Latin kings,
Is by the Trojan from his chariot thrown,
Crush'd with the weight of an unwieldy stone:
Betwixt the wheels he fell; the wheels that bore
His living load, his dying body tore.
His starting steeds, to shun the glittering sword,
Paw down his trampled limbs, forgetful of their lord.
Fierce Hillus threaten'd high; and face to face
Affronted Turnus in the middle space:
The prince encounter'd him in full career,
And at his temples aim'd the deadly spear:
So fatally the flying weapon sped,

That through his brazen helm it pierc'd his head.
Nor, Cisseus, could'st thou 'scape from Turnus'
In vain the strongest of the Arcadian band: [hand,
Nor to Cupentus could his gods afford
Availing aid against th' Enean sword:
Which to his naked heart pursued the course:
Nor could his plated shield sustain the force.

Tölus fell, whom not the Grecian powers,
Nor great subverter of the Trojan towers, [date:
Were doom'd to kill, while Heaven prolong'd his
But who can pass the bounds prefixt by fate?
In high Lyrnessus, and in Troy, he held
Two palaces, and was from each expell'd:
Of all the mighty man, the last remains
A little spot of foreign earth contains.

And now both hosts their broken troops unite, In equal ranks, and mix in mortal fight. Seresthus and undaunted Mnestheus join The Trojan, Tuscan, and Arcadian line: Sea-born Messa pus, with Atinas, heads The Latin squadrons, and to battle leads. They strike, they push, they throng the scanty

space;

Resolv'd on death, impatient of disgrace; And where one falls, another fills his place.

The Cyprian goddess now inspires her son To leave th' unfinish'd fight, and storm the town, For, while he rolls his eyes around the plain, In quest of Turnus, whom he seeks in vain, He views th' unguarded city from afar, In careless quiet, and secure of war: Occasion offers, and excites his mind, To dare beyond the task he first design'd. Resolv'd, he calls his chiefs; they leave the fight; Attended thus, he takes a neighbouring height: The crowding troops about their general stand, All under arms, and wait his high command. Then thus the lofty prince: "Hear and obey, Ye Trojan bands, without the least delay. Jove is with us, and what I have decreed Requires our utmost vigour, and our speed. Your instant arms against the town prepare: The source of mischief, and the seat of war. This day the Latian towers, that mate the sky, Shall level with the plain in ashes lie: The people shall be slaves, unless in time They kneel for pardon, and repent their crime. Twice have our foes been vanquish'd on the plain; Then shall I wait till Turnus will be slain? Your force against the perjur'd city bend : There it began, and there the war shall end. The peace profan'd our rightful arms requires, Cleanse the polluted place with purging fires."

He finish'd; and, one soul inspiring all, Form'd in a wedge, the foot approach the wall. Without the town, an unprovided train Of gaping, gazing citizens are slain. Some firebrands, others scaling ladders, bear; And those they toss aloft, and these they rear: The flames now lanch'd, the feather'd arrows fly, The clouds of missive arms obscure the sky. Advancing to the front, the hero stands, And, stretching out to Heaven his pious hands, Attests the gods, asserts his innocence, Upbraids with breach of faith th' Ausonian prince: Declares the royal honour doubly stain'd, And twice the rites of holy peace profan'd.

Dissenting clamours in the town arise; Each will be heard, and all at once advise. One part for peace, and one for war contends: Some would exclude their foes, and some admit

their friends.

The helpless king is hurry'd in the throng,
And, whate'er tide prevails, is borne along.
Thus, when the swain, within a hollow rock,
Invades the bees with suffocating smoke,
They run around, or labour on their wings,
Disus'd to flight; and shoot their sleepy stings;
To shun the bitter fumes in vain they try;
Black vapours, issuing from the vent, involve the
sky.

But fate, and envious fortune, now prepare
To plunge the Latins in the last despair.
The queen, who saw the foes invade the town,
And brands on tops of burning houses thrown;
Cast round her eyes, distracted with her fear;
No troops of Turnus in the field appear.
Once more she stares abroad, but still in vain;
And then concludes the royal youth is slain.
Mad with her anguish, impotent to bear
The mighty grief, she loaths the vital air.
She calls herself the cause of all this ill,
And owns the dire effects of her ungovern'd will:
She raves against the gods, she beats her breast,
She tears with both her hands her purple vest;

Then round a beam a running noose she ty'd,
And, fasten'd by the neck, obscenely dy'd.

Soon as the fatal news by Fame was blown,
And to her dames and to her daughter known;
The sad Lavinia rends her yellow hair,
And rosy cheeks; the rest her sorrow share?
With shrieks the palace rings, and madness and
despair.

The spreading rumour fills the public place;
Confusion, fear, distraction, and disgrace,
And silent shame, are seen in every face.
Latinus tears his garments as he goes,
Both for his public and his private woes:
With filth his venerable beard besmears,
And sordid dust deforms his silver hairs.
And much he blames the softness of his mind,
Obnoxious to the charms of womankind, [sign'd:
And soon reduc'd to change, what he so well de-
To break the solemn league so long desir'd,
Nor finish what his fates, and those of Troy, re-
quir'd.

Now Turnus rolls aloof o'er empty plains,
And here and there some straggling foes he gleans.
His flying coursers please him less and less,
Asham'd of easy fight, and cheap success.
Thus half contented, anxious in his mind,
The distant cries come driving in the wind;
Shouts from the walls, but shouts in murmurs
A jarring mixture, and a boding sound. [drown'd;
"Alas!" said he, "what mean these dismal cries?
What doleful clamours from the town arise ?"
Confus'd he stops, and backward pulls the reins :
She, who the driver's office now sustains,
Replies: "Neglect, my lord, these new alarms;
Here fight, and urge the fortune of your arms:
There want not others to defend the wall,
If by your rival's hand th' Italians fall.
So shall your fatal sword his friends oppress,
In honour equal, equal in success."

To this, the prince: "O sister! (for I knew
The peace infring'd, proceeded first from you)
I knew you when you mingled first in fight,
And now in vain you would deceive my sight:
Why, goddess, this unprofitable care?
Who sent you down from Heaven, involv'd in air?
Your share of mortal sorrows to sustain,
And see your brother bleeding on the plain?
For to what power can Turnus have recourse,
Or how resist his fate's prevailing force?
These 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 shun the shameful sight of my disgrace.
On earth supine, a manly corpse he lies:
His vest and armour are the victor's prize.
Then shall I see Laurentum in a flame,
Which only wanted to complete my shame?
How will the Latins hoot their champion's flight!
How Drances will insult, and point them to the
sight!

Is death so hard to bear? Ye gods below,
(Since those above so small compassion show)
Receive a soul unsully'd yet with shame,
Which not belies my great forefather's name."
He said: and while he spoke, with flying speed,
Came Sages, urging on his foamy steed;
Fixt on his wounded face a shaft be bore,
And, seeking Turnus, sent his voice before :

Turnus, on you, on you alone depends
Our last relief; compassionate your friends.
Like lightning, fierce Æneas, rolling on,
With arms invests, with flames invades the town:
The brands are toss'd on high: the winds conspire
To drive along the deluge of the fire:

All eyes are fixt on you; your foes rejoice;
Ev'n the king staggers, and suspends his choice
Doubts to deliver, or defend the town;
Whom to reject, or whom to call his son.

The queen, on whom your utmost hopes were plac'd,
Herself suborning death, has breath'd her last.
'Tis true, Messapus, fearless of his fate,
With fierce Atinas' aid, defends the gate:
On every side surrounded by the foe;
The more they kill, the greater numbers grow;
An iron harvest mounts, and still remains to mow.
You, far aloof from your unshaken bands,
Your rolling chariot drive o'er empty sands."
Stupid he sat, his eyes on earth declin'd,
And various cares revolving in his mind:
Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast,
And sorrow, mixt with shame, his soul oppress'd;
And conscious worth lay labouring in his thought:
And love, by jealousy, to madness wrought.
By slow degrees his reason drove away
The mists of passion, and resum'd her sway.
Then, rising on his car, he turn'd his look,
And saw the town involv'd in fire and smoke.
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.

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Sister, the fates have vanquish'd let us go
The way which Heaven and my hard fortune show.
The fight is fixt: 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 said, and, leaping down, without delay,
Thro' crowds of scatter'd foes he freed his way.
Striding, he pass'd, impetuous as the wind,
And left the grieving goddess far behind.
As when a fragment from a mountain torn
By raging tempests, or by torrents borne,
Or sapp'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 sink at once, the shepherds 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 shoving, bore the squadrons down.
Still pressing onward, to the walls he drew,
Where shafts, and spears, and darts, promiscuous
flew ;

And sanguine streams the slippery ground embrue.
First stretching out his arm, in sign of peace,

46

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 shall free from wars th' Ausonian states
Or finish my misfortunes in my fate."

Both armies from their bloody work desist:
And, bearing backward, form a spacious list.
The Trojan hero, who receiv'd from fame
The welcome sound, and heard the champion's name,

Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls,
Greedy of war, where greater glory calls.
He springs to fight, exulting in his force;
His jointed armour ratles in the course.
Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows,
Or father Appenine, when, white with snows,
His head divine, obscure in clouds he hides,
And shakes the sounding forest on his sides,

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The nations, overaw'd, surcease the fight, Immoveable their bodies, fixt their sight: Ev'n Death stands still; nor from above they throw Their darts, nor drive their battering rams below. In silent order either army stands;

And drop their swords, unknowing, from their hands.

Th' Ausonian king beholds, with wondering sight, Two mighty champions match'd in single fight, Born under climes remote, and brought by fate With swords 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 soil resounds beneath their feet: Their bucklers clash, thick blows descend from

high,

And flakes of fire from their hard helmets fly. Courage conspires with chance; and both engage With equal fortune yet, and mutual rage.

As when two bulls for their fair female fight,
In-Sila's shades, or on Taburnus' height;
With horns adverse they meet: the keeper flies:
Mute stands the herd, the heifers roll their eyes,
And wait th' event; which victor they shall bear,
And who shall be the lord, to rule the lusty year:
With rage of love the jealous rivals burn,
And push for push, and wound for wound, return :
Their dewlaps gor'd, their sides are lav'd in blood :
Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow through
the wood:

Such was the combat in the listed ground;
So clash their swords, and so their shields resound.
Jove sets the beam; in either scale he lays
The champion's fate, and each exactly weighs.
On this side life, and lucky chance ascends;
Loaded with death, that other scale descends,
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 side:
As hop s and fears their panting hearts divide.
But all in pieces flies the traitor sword,
And, in the middle stroke, deserts his lord.
Now it's but death, or flight: disarm'd he flies,
When in his hand an unknown hilt he spies.
Fame says that Turnus, when his steeds he join'd,
Hurrying to war, disorder'd in his mind,
Snatch'd the first weapon which his haste could find.
"Twas not the fated sword his father bore;
But that his charioteer Metiscus wore.
This, while the Trojans fled, the toughness held;
But vain against the great Vulcanian shield.
The mortal-temper'd steel deceiv'd his hand :
The shiver'd fragments shone amid the sand.

Surpris'd with fear, he fled along the field;
And now forthright, and now in orbits, wheel'd.
For here the Trojan troops the list surround;
And there the pass is clos'd with pools and marshy
ground.

Eneas hastens, though with heavier pace,
His wound, so newly knit, retards the chase:

And oft his trembling knees their aid refuse,
Yet pressing foot by foot his foe pursues.

Thus, when a fearful stag is clos'd around
With crimson toils, or in a river found;
High on the bank the deep-mouth'd hound appears;
Still opening, following still, where'er he steers:
The persecuted creature to and fro,

Turns here and there, to 'scape his Umbrian foe:
Steep is th' ascent, and if he gains the land,
The purple death is pitch'd along the strand :
His eager foe, determin'd to the chase,
Stretch'd at his length, gains ground at every pace
Now to his beamy head he makes his way,
And now he holds, or thinks he holds, his prey:
Just at the pinch the stag springs out with fear,
He bites the wind, and fills his sounding jaws with

air.

The rocks, the lakes, the meadows, ring with cries; The mortal tumult mounts, and thunders in the

skies.

Thus flies the Daunian prince: and, flying, blames
His tardy troops: and, calling by their names,
Demands his trusty sword. The Trojan threats
The realm with ruin, and their ancient seats
To lay in ashes, if they dare supply,
With arms or aid, his vanquish'd enemy:
Thus menacing, he still pursues the course
With vigour, though diminish'd of his force.
Ten times, already, round the listed place
One chief had fled, and t' other given the chase:
No trivial prize is play'd; for on the life
Or death of Turnus, now depends the strife.
Within the space an olive-tree had stood,
A sacred shade, a venerable wood,

For vows to Faunus paid, the Latins' guardian god.
Here hung the vests, and tablets were engrav'd,
Of sinking mariners from shipwreck sav'd.
With beedless hands the Trojans fell'd the tree,
To make the ground enclos'd for combat free.
Deep in the root, whether by fate, or chance,
Or erring haste, the Trojan drove his lance: [free
Then stoop'd, and tugg'd with force immense, to
Th' encumber'd spear from the tenacious tree:
That whom his fainting limbs pursued in vain,
His flying weapon might from far attain.

Confus'd with fear, bereft with human aid, Then Turnus to the gods, and first to Faunus pray'd:

"O Faunus, pity, and, thou mother Earth,
Where I, thy foster-son, receiv'd my birth,
Hold fast the steel; if my religious hand
Your plant has honour'd, which your foes profan'd;
Propitious hear my pious prayer!" He said,
Nor with successless vows invok'd the aid.
Th' incumbent hero wrench'd, and pull'd, and
strain'd,

But still the stubborn earth the steel detain'd.
Juturna took her time: and, while in vain
He strove, assum'd Metiscus' form again:
And, in that imitated shape, restor'd,
To the despairing prince, his Daunian sword.
The queen of love, who, with disdain and grief,
Saw the bold nymph afford this prompt relief;
T' assert her offspring with a greater deed,
From the tough root the lingering weapon freed.

Once more erect, the rival chiefs advance;
One trusts the sword, and one the pointed lance:
And both resolv'd, alike, to try their fatal chance.
Meantime imperial Jove to Juno spoke,
Who from a shining cloud beheld the shock:

"What new arrest, O queen of Heaven! is sent
To stop the fates now labouring in th' event,
What further hopes are left thee to pursue ?
Divine Æneas (and thou know'st it too)
Free-doom'd to these celestial seats is due.
What more attempts for Turnus can be made,
That thus thou lingerest in this lonely shade!
Is it becoming of the due respect,
And awful honour of a god elect,
A wound unworthy of our state to feel;
Patient of human hands, and earthly steel?
Or seems it just, the sister should restore
A second sword, when one was lost before,
And arm a conquer'd wretch against his conqueror?
For what without thy knowledge and avow,
Nay, more, thy dictate, durst Juturna do?
At last, in deference to my love, forbear
To lodge within thy soul this anxious care:
Reclin'd upon my breast, thy grief unload;
Who should relieve the goddess but the god?
Now, all things to their utmost issue tend;
Push'd by the fates to their appointed end:
While leave was giv'n thee, and a lawful hour
For vengeance, wrath, and unresisted power :
Tost on the seas thou could'st thy foes distress,
And driven ashore, with hostile arms oppress :
Deform the royal house, and from the side
Of the just bridegroom, tear the plighted bride:
"Now cease at my command." The thunderer
said;

And, with dejected eyes, this answer Juno made:
"Because your dread decree too well I knew;
From Turnus and from Earth unwilling I withdrew.
Else should you not behold me here alone,
Involv'd in empty clouds, my friends bemoan;
But, girt with vengeful flames, in open sight,
Engag'd against my foes in mortal fight.
'Tis true, Juturna mingled in the strife
By my command, to save her brother's life
At least to try: but by the Stygian lake,
(The most religious oath the gods can take)
With this restriction, not to bend the bow,
Or toss the spear, or trembling dart to throw.
And now resign'd to your superior might,
And tir'd with fruitless toils, I loath the fight.
This let me beg (and this no fates withstand)
Both for myself, and for your father's land;
That when the nuptial bed shall bind the peace,
(Which I, since you ordain, consent to bless)
The laws of either nation be the same;
But let the Latins still retain their name:
Speak the same language which they spoke before;
Wear the same habits which their grandsires wore :
Call them not Trojans: perish the renown
And name of Troy with that detested town;
Latium be Latium still; let Alba reign,
And Rome's immortal majesty remain."

Then thus the founder of mankind replies
(Unruffled was his front, serene his eyes):
"Can Saturn's issue, and Heaven's other heir,
Such endless anger in her bosom bear?
Be mistress, and your full desires obtain:
But quench the choler you foment in vain.
From ancient blood th' Ausonian people sprung,
Shall keep their name, their habit, and their tongue.
The Trojans to their customs shall be ty'd,
I will, myself, their common rites provide;
The natives shall command, the foreigners subside.
All shall be Latium: Troy without a name :
And her lost sons forget from whence they came.

From blood so mixt, a pious race shall flow;
Equal to gods, excelling all below.
No nation more respect to you shall pay,
Or greater offerings on your altars lay."
Juno consents, well pleas'd that her desires
Had found success, and from the clouds retires.

The peace thus made, the thunderer next pre-
To force the watery goddess from the wars. [pares
Deep in the dismal regions, void of light,
Three daughters at a birth were born to Night:
These their brown mother, brooding on her care,
Indulg'd with windy wings to flit in air; [hair.
With serpents girt alike, and crown'd with hissing
In Heaven the Diræ call'd, and still at hand,
Before the throne of angry Jove they stand,
His ministers of wrath; and ready still
The minds of mortal men with fears to fill;
Whene'er the moody sire, to wreak his hate
On realms, or towns, deserving of their fate,
Hurls down diseases, death, and deadly care,
And terrifies the guilty world with war.
One sister-plague of these from Heaven be sent,
To fright Juturna with a dire portent.
The pest comes whirling down: by far more slow
Springs the swift arrow from the Parthiau bow,
Or Cydon yew; when traversing the skies,
And drench'd in poisonous juice, the sure destruc→
tion flies.

With such a sudden and unseen a flight,
Shot through the clouds the daughter of the night.
Soon as the field enclos'd she had in view,
And from afar her destin'd quarry knew:
Contracted to the boding bird she turns,
Which haunts the ruin'd piles, and hallow'd urns,
And beats about the tombs with nightly wings;
Where songs obscene on sepulchres she sings.
Thus lessen'd in her form, with frightful cries
The fury round unhappy Turnus flies,
Flaps on his shield, and flutters o'er his eyes.
A lazy chillness crept along his blood,
Chok'd was his voice, his hair with horrour stood.
Juturna from afar beheld her fly,

And knew th' ill omen, by her screaming cry,
And stridour of her wing. Amaz'd with fear,
Her beauteous breast she beat, and rent her flowing
hair.

"Ah me," she cries, "in this unequal strife,
What can thy sister more to save thy life!
Weak as I am, can I, alas! contend
In arms, with that inexorable fiend!
Now, now, I quit the field! forbear to fright
My tender soul, ye baleful birds of night!
The lashing of your wings I know too well:
The sounding flight, and funeral screams of Hell!
These are the gifts you bring from haughty Jove,
The worthy recompense of ravish'd love!
Did he for this exempt my life from fate?
O hard conditions of immortal state!
Though born to death, not privileg'd to die,
But forc'd to bear impos'd eternity!
Take back your envious bribes, and let me go
Companion to my brother's ghost below!
The joys are vanish'd: nothing now remains
Of life immortal, but immortal pains.
What earth will open her devouring womb,
To rest a weary goddess in the tomb!"
She drew a length of sighs; nor more she said,
But in her azure mantle wrapp'd her head :
Then plung'd into her stream, with deep despair,
And her last sobs came bubbling up in air.

Now stern Eneas waves his weighty spear Against his foe, and thus upbraids his fear: "What farther subterfuge can Turnus find? What empty hopes are harbour'd in his mind ? 'Tis not thy swiftness can secure thy flight: Not with their feet, but hands, the valiant fight. Vary thy shape in thousand forms, and dare What skill and courage can attempt in war: Wish for the wings of wind to mount the sky; Or hid within the bollow Earth to lie."

The champion shook his head, and made this short reply:

"No threats of thine my manly mind can move :
'Tis hostile Heaven I dread; and partial Jove."
He said no more; but, with a sigh, repress'd
The mighty sorrow in his swelling breast.
Then, as he roll'd his troubled eyes around,
An antique stone he saw; the common bound
Of neighbouring fields, and barrier of the ground:
So vast, that twelve strong men of modern days
Th' enormous weight from earth could hardly raise.
He heav'd it at a lift: and, pois'd on high,
Ran, staggering on, against his enemy.
But so disorder'd, that he scarcely knew
His way; or what unwieldy weight he threw.
His knocking knees are bent beneath the load;
And shivering cold congeals his vital blood.
The stone drops from his arms; and falling short,
For want of vigour, mocks his vain effort.
And as, when heavy sleep has clos'd the sight,
The sickly fancy labours in the night:
We seem to run; and destitute of force,
Our sinking limbs forsake us in the course:
In vain we heave for breath; in vain we cry:
The nerves unbrac'd their usual strength deny,
And on the tongue the faultering accents die:
So Turnus far'd, whatever means he try'd,
All force of arms, and points of art employ'd,
The fury flew athwart, and made th' endeavour

void.

A thousand various thoughts his soul confound:
He star'd about; nor aid nor issue found:
His own men stop the pass, and his own walls
surround.

Once more he pauses, and looks out again;
And seeks the goddess charioteer in vain.
Trembling, he views the thundering chief advance,
And brandishing aloft the deadly lance:
Amaz'd he cowers beneath his conquering foe,
Forgets to ward, and waits the coming blow.
Astonish'd while he stands, and fixt with fear,
Air'd at his shield he sees th' impending spear.
The hero measur'd first, with narrow view,
The destin'd mark: and, rising as he threw,
With its full swing the fatal weapon flew.
Not with less rage the rattling thunder falls,
Or stones from battering engines break the walls:
Swift as a whirlwind, from an arm so stroug,
The lance drove on; and bore the death along.
Nought could his seven-fold shield the prince avail,
Nor aught beneath his arms the coat of mail;
It pierc'd through all; and, with a grisly wound,
Transfix'd his thigh, and doubled him to ground.
With groans the Latins rend the vaulted sky:
Woods, hills, and valleys, to the voice reply.

Now low on earth the lofty chief is laid,
With eyes cast upwards, and with arms display'd;
And recreant thus to the proud victor pray'd:
"I know my death deserv'd, nor hope to live:
Uee what the gods and thy good fortune give.

Yet think; oh think, if mercy may be shown,
(Thou hadst a father once, and hadst a son):
Pity my sire, now sinking to the grave;
And, for Anchises' sake, old Daunus save!
Or, if they vow'd revenge, pursue my death;
Give to my friends my body void of breath!
The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life;
Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife;
Against a yielded man, 'tis mean ignoble strife."

In deep suspence the Trojan seem'd to stand;
And, just appear'd to strike, repress'd his hand.
He roll'd his eyes, and every moment felt
His manly soul with more compassion melt.
When, casting down a casual glance, he spy'd
The golden belt that glitter'd on his side:
The fatal spoils which haughty Turnus tore
From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore.
Then, rous'd anew to wrath, he loudly cries
(Flames, while he spoke, came flashing from his
eyes);

"Traitor, dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend, Clad, as thou art, in trophies of my friend? To his sad soul a grateful offering go; 'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow," He rais'd his arm aloft; and at the word, Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword. The streaming blood distain'd his arms around, And the disdainful soul came rushing through the wound.

POSTCRIPT.

WHAT Virgil wrote in the vigour of his age, in plenty and at ease, I have undertaken to translate in my declining years: struggling with wants, oppressed with sickness, curbed in my genius, liable to be misconstrued in all I write; and my judges, if they are not very equitable, already prejudiced against me, by the lying character which has been given them of my morals. Yet, steady to my principles, and not dispirited with my afflictions, I have, by the blessing of God on my endeavours, overcome all difficulties; and, in some measure, acquitted myself of the debt which I owed the public, when I undertook this work. In the first place, therefore, I thankfully acknowledge to the Almighty Power, the assistance he has given me in the beginning, the prosecution, and conclusion of my present studies, which are more happily performed, than I could have promised to myself, when I laboured under such discouragements. For what I have done, imperfect as it is, for want of health and leisure to correct it, will be judged in after-ages, and possibly in the present, to be no dishonour to my native country; whose language and poetry would be more esteemed abroad, if they were better understood. Somewhat (give me leave to say) I have added to both of them, in the choice of words, and harmony of numbers, which were wanting, especially the last, in all our poets, even in those who, being endued with genius, yet have not cultivated their mother-tongue with sufficient care; or, relying on the beauty of their thoughts, have judged the ornament of words, and sweetness of sound, unnecessary. One is for raking in Chaucer (our English Ennius) for antiquated words, which are never to be revived, but when sound or significancy is wanting in the present language. But many of his deserve not this redemption, any

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