and
thou, most gracious Earth, keep thy hold on the steel, as I ever have
kept your worship, and the Aeneadae again have polluted it in war.
thou, most gracious Earth, keep thy hold on the steel, as I ever have
kept your worship, and the Aeneadae again have polluted it in war.
Virgil - Aeneid
Turnus darts out,
thinking it secure, and rises with his whole reach of body on his
uplifted sword; then strikes; Trojans and Latins cry out in excitement,
and both armies strain their gaze. But the treacherous sword shivers,
and in mid stroke deserts its eager lord. If flight aid him not now! He
flies swifter than the wind, when once he descries a strange hilt in his
weaponless hand. Rumour is that in his headlong hurry, when mounting
behind his yoked horses to begin the battle, he left his father's sword
behind and caught up his charioteer Metiscus' weapon; and that served
him long, while Teucrian stragglers turned their backs; when it met the
divine Vulcanian armour, the mortal blade like brittle ice snapped in
the stroke; the shards lie glittering upon the yellow sand. So in
distracted flight Turnus darts afar over the plain, and now this way and
now that crosses in wavering circles; for on all hands the Teucrians
locked him in crowded ring, and the dreary marsh on this side, on this
the steep city ramparts hem him in.
Therewith Aeneas pursues, though ever and anon his knees, disabled by
the arrow, hinder and stay his speed; and foot hard on foot presses
hotly on his hurrying enemy: as when a hunter courses with a fleet
barking hound some stag caught in a river-loop or girt by the
crimson-feathered toils, and he, in terror of the snares and the high
river-bank, [753-786]darts back and forward in a thousand ways; but the
keen Umbrian clings agape, and just catches at him, and as though he
caught him snaps his jaws while the baffled teeth close on vacancy. Then
indeed a cry goes up, and banks and pools answer round about, and all
the sky echoes the din. He, even as he flies, chides all his Rutulians,
calling each by name, and shrieks for the sword he knew. But Aeneas
denounces death and instant doom if one of them draw nigh, and doubles
their terror with threats of their city's destruction, and though
wounded presses on. Five circles they cover at full speed, and unwind as
many this way and that; for not light nor slight is the prize they seek,
but Turnus' very lifeblood is at issue. Here there haply had stood a
bitter-leaved wild olive, sacred to Faunus, a tree worshipped by
mariners of old; on it, when rescued from the waves, they were wont to
fix their gifts to the god of Laurentum and hang their votive raiment;
but the Teucrians, unregarding, had cleared away the sacred stem, that
they might meet on unimpeded lists. Here stood Aeneas' spear; hither
borne by its own speed it was held fast stuck in the tough root. The
Dardanian stooped over it, and would wrench away the steel, to follow
with the weapon him whom he could not catch in running. Then indeed
Turnus cries in frantic terror: 'Faunus, have pity, I beseech thee!
and
thou, most gracious Earth, keep thy hold on the steel, as I ever have
kept your worship, and the Aeneadae again have polluted it in war. ' He
spoke, and called the god to aid in vows that fell not fruitless. For
all Aeneas' strength, his long struggling and delay over the tough stem
availed not to unclose the hard grip of the wood. While he strains and
pulls hard, the Daunian goddess, changing once more into the charioteer
Metiscus' likeness, runs forward and passes her brother his sword. But
Venus, indignant that the [787-818]Nymph might be so bold, drew nigh
and wrenched away the spear where it stuck deep in the root. Erect in
fresh courage and arms, he with his faithful sword, he towering fierce
over his spear, they face one another panting in the battle shock.
Meanwhile the King of Heaven's omnipotence accosts Juno as she gazes on
the battle from a sunlit cloud. 'What yet shall be the end, O wife? what
remains at the last? Heaven claims Aeneas as his country's god, thou
thyself knowest and avowest to know, and fate lifts him to the stars.
With what device or in what hope hangest thou chill in cloudland? Was it
well that a deity should be sullied by a mortal's wound? or that the
lost sword--for what without thee could Juturna avail? --should be
restored to Turnus and swell the force of the vanquished? Forbear now, I
pray, and bend to our entreaties; let not the pain thus devour thee in
silence, and distress so often flood back on me from thy sweet lips. The
end is come.
thinking it secure, and rises with his whole reach of body on his
uplifted sword; then strikes; Trojans and Latins cry out in excitement,
and both armies strain their gaze. But the treacherous sword shivers,
and in mid stroke deserts its eager lord. If flight aid him not now! He
flies swifter than the wind, when once he descries a strange hilt in his
weaponless hand. Rumour is that in his headlong hurry, when mounting
behind his yoked horses to begin the battle, he left his father's sword
behind and caught up his charioteer Metiscus' weapon; and that served
him long, while Teucrian stragglers turned their backs; when it met the
divine Vulcanian armour, the mortal blade like brittle ice snapped in
the stroke; the shards lie glittering upon the yellow sand. So in
distracted flight Turnus darts afar over the plain, and now this way and
now that crosses in wavering circles; for on all hands the Teucrians
locked him in crowded ring, and the dreary marsh on this side, on this
the steep city ramparts hem him in.
Therewith Aeneas pursues, though ever and anon his knees, disabled by
the arrow, hinder and stay his speed; and foot hard on foot presses
hotly on his hurrying enemy: as when a hunter courses with a fleet
barking hound some stag caught in a river-loop or girt by the
crimson-feathered toils, and he, in terror of the snares and the high
river-bank, [753-786]darts back and forward in a thousand ways; but the
keen Umbrian clings agape, and just catches at him, and as though he
caught him snaps his jaws while the baffled teeth close on vacancy. Then
indeed a cry goes up, and banks and pools answer round about, and all
the sky echoes the din. He, even as he flies, chides all his Rutulians,
calling each by name, and shrieks for the sword he knew. But Aeneas
denounces death and instant doom if one of them draw nigh, and doubles
their terror with threats of their city's destruction, and though
wounded presses on. Five circles they cover at full speed, and unwind as
many this way and that; for not light nor slight is the prize they seek,
but Turnus' very lifeblood is at issue. Here there haply had stood a
bitter-leaved wild olive, sacred to Faunus, a tree worshipped by
mariners of old; on it, when rescued from the waves, they were wont to
fix their gifts to the god of Laurentum and hang their votive raiment;
but the Teucrians, unregarding, had cleared away the sacred stem, that
they might meet on unimpeded lists. Here stood Aeneas' spear; hither
borne by its own speed it was held fast stuck in the tough root. The
Dardanian stooped over it, and would wrench away the steel, to follow
with the weapon him whom he could not catch in running. Then indeed
Turnus cries in frantic terror: 'Faunus, have pity, I beseech thee!
and
thou, most gracious Earth, keep thy hold on the steel, as I ever have
kept your worship, and the Aeneadae again have polluted it in war. ' He
spoke, and called the god to aid in vows that fell not fruitless. For
all Aeneas' strength, his long struggling and delay over the tough stem
availed not to unclose the hard grip of the wood. While he strains and
pulls hard, the Daunian goddess, changing once more into the charioteer
Metiscus' likeness, runs forward and passes her brother his sword. But
Venus, indignant that the [787-818]Nymph might be so bold, drew nigh
and wrenched away the spear where it stuck deep in the root. Erect in
fresh courage and arms, he with his faithful sword, he towering fierce
over his spear, they face one another panting in the battle shock.
Meanwhile the King of Heaven's omnipotence accosts Juno as she gazes on
the battle from a sunlit cloud. 'What yet shall be the end, O wife? what
remains at the last? Heaven claims Aeneas as his country's god, thou
thyself knowest and avowest to know, and fate lifts him to the stars.
With what device or in what hope hangest thou chill in cloudland? Was it
well that a deity should be sullied by a mortal's wound? or that the
lost sword--for what without thee could Juturna avail? --should be
restored to Turnus and swell the force of the vanquished? Forbear now, I
pray, and bend to our entreaties; let not the pain thus devour thee in
silence, and distress so often flood back on me from thy sweet lips. The
end is come.
