Cleaving
the deep, he floats with
the tide down the flood, and is borne on to his father Daunus' ancient
city.
the tide down the flood, and is borne on to his father Daunus' ancient
city.
Virgil - Aeneid
And him Aeneas seeks for battle and finds not, and sends many a
man that meets him to death. Then the light phantom seeks not yet any
further hiding-place, but, flitting aloft, melts in a dark cloud; and a
blast comes down meanwhile and sweeps Turnus through the seas. He looks
back, witless of his case and thankless for his salvation, and, wailing,
stretches both hands to heaven: 'Father omnipotent, was I so guilty in
thine eyes, and is this the punishment thou hast ordained? Whither am I
borne? whence came I? what flight is this, or in what guise do I return?
Shall I look again on the camp or walls of Laurentum? What of that array
of men who followed me to arms? whom--oh horrible! --I have abandoned all
amid [674-707]a dreadful death; and now I see the stragglers and catch
the groans of those who fall. What do I? or how may earth ever yawn for
me deep enough? Do you rather, O winds, be pitiful, carry my bark on
rock or reef; it is I, Turnus, who desire and implore you; or drive me
on the cruel shoals of the Syrtis, where no Rutulian may follow nor
rumour know my name. ' Thus speaking, he wavers in mind this way and
that: maddened by the shame, shall he plunge on his sword's harsh point
and drive it through his side, or fling himself among the waves, and
seek by swimming to gain the winding shore, again to return on the
Trojan arms? Thrice he essayed either way; thrice queenly Juno checked
and restrained him in pity of heart.
Cleaving the deep, he floats with
the tide down the flood, and is borne on to his father Daunus' ancient
city.
But meanwhile at Jove's prompting fiery Mezentius takes his place in the
battle and assails the triumphant Teucrians. The Tyrrhene ranks gather
round him, and all at once in unison shower their darts down on the
hated foe. As a cliff that juts into the waste of waves, meeting the
raging winds and breasting the deep, endures all the threatening force
of sky and sea, itself fixed immovable, so he dashes to earth Hebrus son
of Dolichaon, and with him Latagus, and Palmus as he fled; catching
Latagus full front in the face with a vast fragment of mountain rock,
while Palmus he hamstrings, and leaves him rolling helpless; his armour
he gives Lausus to wear on his shoulders, and the plumes to fix on his
crest. With them fall Evanthes the Phrygian, and Mimas, fellow and
birthmate of Paris; for on one night Theano bore him to his father
Amycus, and the queen, Cisseus' daughter, was delivered of Paris the
firebrand; he sleeps in his fathers' city; Mimas lies a stranger on the
Laurentian coast. And as the boar driven by snapping hounds from the
mountain heights, [708-744]many a year hidden by Vesulus in his pines,
many an one fed in the Laurentian marsh among the reedy forest, once
come among the nets, halts and snorts savagely, with shoulders bristling
up, and none of them dare be wrathful or draw closer, but they shower
from a safe distance their darts and cries; even thus none of those
whose anger is righteous against Mezentius have courage to meet him with
drawn weapon: far off they provoke him with missiles and huge clamour,
and he turns slow and fearless round about, grinding his teeth as he
shakes the spears off his shield. From the bounds of ancient Corythus
Acron the Greek had come, leaving for exile a bride half won. Seeing him
afar dealing confusion amid the ranks, in crimson plumes and his
plighted wife's purple,--as an unpastured lion often ranging the deep
coverts, for madness of hunger urges him, if he haply catches sight of a
timorous roe or high-antlered stag, he gapes hugely for joy, and, with
mane on end, clings crouching over its flesh, his cruel mouth bathed in
reeking gore. . . . so Mezentius darts lightly among the thick of the
enemy. Hapless Acron goes down, and, spurning the dark ground, gasps out
his life, and covers the broken javelin with his blood. But the victor
deigned not to bring down Orodes with the blind wound of his flying
lance as he fled; full face to face he meets him, and engages man with
man, conqueror not by stealth but armed valour. Then, as with planted
foot, he thrust him off the spear: 'O men,' he cries, 'Orodes lies low,
no slight arm of the war. ' His comrades shout after him the glad battle
chant.
man that meets him to death. Then the light phantom seeks not yet any
further hiding-place, but, flitting aloft, melts in a dark cloud; and a
blast comes down meanwhile and sweeps Turnus through the seas. He looks
back, witless of his case and thankless for his salvation, and, wailing,
stretches both hands to heaven: 'Father omnipotent, was I so guilty in
thine eyes, and is this the punishment thou hast ordained? Whither am I
borne? whence came I? what flight is this, or in what guise do I return?
Shall I look again on the camp or walls of Laurentum? What of that array
of men who followed me to arms? whom--oh horrible! --I have abandoned all
amid [674-707]a dreadful death; and now I see the stragglers and catch
the groans of those who fall. What do I? or how may earth ever yawn for
me deep enough? Do you rather, O winds, be pitiful, carry my bark on
rock or reef; it is I, Turnus, who desire and implore you; or drive me
on the cruel shoals of the Syrtis, where no Rutulian may follow nor
rumour know my name. ' Thus speaking, he wavers in mind this way and
that: maddened by the shame, shall he plunge on his sword's harsh point
and drive it through his side, or fling himself among the waves, and
seek by swimming to gain the winding shore, again to return on the
Trojan arms? Thrice he essayed either way; thrice queenly Juno checked
and restrained him in pity of heart.
Cleaving the deep, he floats with
the tide down the flood, and is borne on to his father Daunus' ancient
city.
But meanwhile at Jove's prompting fiery Mezentius takes his place in the
battle and assails the triumphant Teucrians. The Tyrrhene ranks gather
round him, and all at once in unison shower their darts down on the
hated foe. As a cliff that juts into the waste of waves, meeting the
raging winds and breasting the deep, endures all the threatening force
of sky and sea, itself fixed immovable, so he dashes to earth Hebrus son
of Dolichaon, and with him Latagus, and Palmus as he fled; catching
Latagus full front in the face with a vast fragment of mountain rock,
while Palmus he hamstrings, and leaves him rolling helpless; his armour
he gives Lausus to wear on his shoulders, and the plumes to fix on his
crest. With them fall Evanthes the Phrygian, and Mimas, fellow and
birthmate of Paris; for on one night Theano bore him to his father
Amycus, and the queen, Cisseus' daughter, was delivered of Paris the
firebrand; he sleeps in his fathers' city; Mimas lies a stranger on the
Laurentian coast. And as the boar driven by snapping hounds from the
mountain heights, [708-744]many a year hidden by Vesulus in his pines,
many an one fed in the Laurentian marsh among the reedy forest, once
come among the nets, halts and snorts savagely, with shoulders bristling
up, and none of them dare be wrathful or draw closer, but they shower
from a safe distance their darts and cries; even thus none of those
whose anger is righteous against Mezentius have courage to meet him with
drawn weapon: far off they provoke him with missiles and huge clamour,
and he turns slow and fearless round about, grinding his teeth as he
shakes the spears off his shield. From the bounds of ancient Corythus
Acron the Greek had come, leaving for exile a bride half won. Seeing him
afar dealing confusion amid the ranks, in crimson plumes and his
plighted wife's purple,--as an unpastured lion often ranging the deep
coverts, for madness of hunger urges him, if he haply catches sight of a
timorous roe or high-antlered stag, he gapes hugely for joy, and, with
mane on end, clings crouching over its flesh, his cruel mouth bathed in
reeking gore. . . . so Mezentius darts lightly among the thick of the
enemy. Hapless Acron goes down, and, spurning the dark ground, gasps out
his life, and covers the broken javelin with his blood. But the victor
deigned not to bring down Orodes with the blind wound of his flying
lance as he fled; full face to face he meets him, and engages man with
man, conqueror not by stealth but armed valour. Then, as with planted
foot, he thrust him off the spear: 'O men,' he cries, 'Orodes lies low,
no slight arm of the war. ' His comrades shout after him the glad battle
chant.
