No More Learning

See, Troy and Arcadia is all they bring, and those fate-bound bands that
Etruria hurls on Turnus. Scarce is there an enemy to meet every other
man of ours. He indeed will ascend to the gods for whose altars he
devotes himself, and move living in the lips of men: we, our country
lost, shall bow to the haughty rigour of our lords, if we now sit
slackly on the field. '

By such words the soldiers' counsel was kindled yet higher and higher,
and a murmur crept through their columns; the very Laurentines, the very
Latins are changed; and they who but now hoped for rest from battle and
rescue of fortune now desire arms and pray the treaty were undone, and
pity Turnus' cruel lot. To this Juturna adds a yet stronger impulse, and
high in heaven shews a sign more potent than any to confuse Italian
souls with delusive augury. For on the crimsoned sky Jove's tawny bird
flew chasing, in a screaming crowd, fowl of the shore that winged their
column; then suddenly stooping to the water, pounces on a noble swan
with merciless crooked talons. The startled Italians watch, while all
the birds together clamorously wheel round from flight, wonderful to
see, and dim the sky with their pinions, and in thickening cloud urge
their foe through air, till, conquered by their attack and his heavy
prey, he yielded and dropped it from his talons into the river, and
winged his way deep into the clouds. Then indeed the Rutulians
clamorously greet the omen, and their hands flash out. And Tolumnius the
augur cries before them all: 'This it was, this, that my vows often have
sought; I welcome and know a deity; [261-294]follow me, follow, snatch
up the sword, O hapless people whom the greedy alien frightens with his
arms like silly birds, and with strong hand ravages your shores. He too
will take to flight, and spread his sails afar over ocean. Do you with
one heart close up your squadrons, and defend in battle your lost king. '
He spoke, and darting forward, hurled a weapon full on the enemy; the
whistling cornel-shaft sings, and unerringly cleaves the air. At once
and with it a vast shout goes up, and all their rows are amazed, and
their hearts hotly stirred. The spear flies on; where haply stood
opposite in ninefold brotherhood all the beautiful sons of one faithful
Tyrrhene wife, borne of her to Gylippus the Arcadian, one of them,
midway where the sewn belt rubs on the flank and the clasp bites the
fastenings of the side, one of them, excellent in beauty and glittering
in arms, it pierces clean through the ribs and stretches on the yellow
sand. But of his banded brethren, their courage fired by grief, some
grasp and draw their swords, some snatch weapons to throw, and rush
blindly forward.
The Laurentine columns rush forth against them; again
from the other side Trojans and Agyllines and Arcadians in painted
armour flood thickly in: so hath one passion seized all to make decision
by the sword. They pull the altars to pieces; through all the air goes a
thick storm of weapons, and faster falls the iron rain. Bowls and
hearth-fires are carried off; Latinus himself retreats, bearing the
outraged gods of the broken treaty. The others harness their chariots,
or vault upon their horses and come up with swords drawn. Messapus,
eager to shatter the treaty, rides menacingly down on Aulestes the
Tyrrhenian, a king in a king's array. Retreating hastily, and tripped on
the altars that meet him behind, the hapless man goes down on his head
and shoulders. But Messapus flies up with wrathful spear, and strikes
him, as he pleads sore, a deep downward [295-330]blow from horseback
with his beam-like spear, saying thus: _That for him: the high gods take
this better victim. _ The Italians crowd in and strip his warm limbs.
Corynaeus seizes a charred brand from the altar, and meeting Ebysus as
he advances to strike, darts the flame in his face; his heavy beard
flamed up, and gave out a scorched smell. Following up his enemy's
confusion, the other seizes him with his left hand by the hair, and
bears him to earth with a thrust of his planted knee, and there drives
the unyielding sword into his side. Podalirius pursues and overhangs
with naked sword the shepherd Alsus as he rushes amid the foremost line
of weapons; Alsus swings back his axe, and severs brow and chin full in
front, wetting his armour all over with spattered blood. Grim rest and
iron slumber seal his eyes; his lids close on everlasting night.

But good Aeneas, his head bared, kept stretching his unarmed hand and
calling loudly to his men: 'Whither run you? What is this strife that so
spreads and swells? Ah, restrain your wrath! truce is already stricken,
and all its laws ordained; mine alone is the right of battle.