She wings her way, and darts in a
whirlwind
to earth.
Virgil - Aeneid
[819-854]This thing I beseech thee, that is bound by no fatal law, for
Latium and for the majesty of thy kindred. When now they shall plight
peace with prosperous marriages (be it so! ), when now they shall join in
laws and treaties, bid thou not the native Latins change their name of
old, nor become Trojans and take the Teucrian name, or change their
language, or alter their attire: let Latium be, let Alban kings endure
through ages, let Italian valour be potent in the race of Rome. Troy is
fallen; let her and her name lie where they fell. '
To her smilingly the designer of men and things:
'Jove's own sister thou art, and second seed of Saturn, such surge of
wrath tosses within thy breast! But come, allay this madness so vainly
stirred. I give thee thy will, and yield thee ungrudged victory. Ausonia
shall keep her native speech and usage, and as her name is, it shall be.
The Trojans shall sink mingling into their blood; I will add their
sacred law and ritual, and make all Latins and of a single speech. Hence
shall spring a race of tempered Ausonian blood, whom thou shalt see
outdo men and gods in duty; nor shall any nation so observe thy
worship. ' To this Juno assented, and in gladness withdrew her purpose;
meanwhile she quits her cloud, and retires out of the sky.
This done, the Father revolves inly another counsel, and prepares to
separate Juturna from her brother's arms. Twin monsters there are,
called the Dirae by their name, whom with infernal Megaera the dead of
night bore at one single birth, and wreathed them in like serpent coils,
and clothed them in windy wings. They appear at Jove's throne and in the
courts of the grim king, and quicken the terrors of wretched men
whensoever the lord of heaven deals sicknesses and dreadful death, or
sends terror of war upon guilty cities. One of these Jupiter sent
swiftly down from heaven's height, and bade her meet Juturna for a
[855-888]sign.
She wings her way, and darts in a whirlwind to earth.
Even as an arrow through a cloud, darting from the string when Parthian
hath poisoned it with bitter gall, Parthian or Cydonian, and sped the
immedicable shaft, leaps through the swift shadow whistling and unknown;
so sprung and swept to earth the daughter of Night. When she espies the
Ilian ranks and Turnus' columns, suddenly shrinking to the shape of a
small bird that often sits late by night on tombs or ruinous roofs, and
vexes the darkness with her cry, in such change of likeness the monster
shrilly passes and repasses before Turnus' face, and her wings beat
restlessly on his shield. A strange numbing terror unnerves his limbs,
his hair thrills up, and the accents falter on his tongue. But when his
hapless sister knew afar the whistling wings of the Fury, Juturna
unbinds and tears her tresses, with rent face and smitten bosom. 'How, O
Turnus, can thine own sister help thee now? or what more is there if I
break not under this? What art of mine can lengthen out thy day? can I
contend with this ominous thing? Now, now I quit the field. Dismay not
my terrors, disastrous birds; I know these beating wings, and the sound
of death, nor do I miss high-hearted Jove's haughty ordinance. Is this
his repayment for my maidenhood? what good is his gift of life for ever?
why have I forfeited a mortal's lot? Now assuredly could I make all this
pain cease, and go with my unhappy brother side by side into the dark.
Alas mine immortality!
