But rage and mad thirst of
slaughter
drive him like fire on
the foe.
the foe.
Virgil - Aeneid
.
Pandarus, at his brother's
fall, sees how fortune stands, what hap rules the day; and swinging the
gate round on its hinge with all his force, pushes it to with his broad
shoulders, leaving many of his own people shut outside the walls in the
desperate conflict, but shutting others in with him as they pour back in
retreat. Madman! who saw not the Rutulian prince burst in amid their
columns, and fairly shut him into the town, like a monstrous tiger among
the silly flocks. At once strange light flashed from his eyes, and his
armour rang terribly; the blood-red plumes flicker on his head, and
lightnings shoot sparkling from his shield. In sudden dismay the
Aeneadae know the hated form and giant limbs. Then tall Pandarus leaps
forward, in burning rage at his brother's death: 'This is not the palace
of Amata's dower,' he cries, 'nor does Ardea enclose Turnus in her
native walls. Thou seest a hostile camp; escape hence is hopeless. ' To
him Turnus, smiling and cool: 'Begin with all thy valiance, and close
hand to hand; here too shalt thou tell that a Priam found his Achilles. '
He ended; the other, putting out all his strength, hurls his rough
spear, knotty and unpeeled. The breezes caught it; Juno, daughter of
Saturn, [746-780]made the wound glance off as it came, and the spear
sticks fast in the gate. 'But this weapon that my strong hand whirls,
this thou shalt not escape; for not such is he who sends weapon and
wound. ' So speaks he, and rises high on his uplifted sword; the steel
severs the forehead midway right between the temples, and divides the
beardless cheeks with ghastly wound. He crashes down; earth shakes under
the vast weight; dying limbs and brain-spattered armour tumble in a heap
to the ground, and the head, evenly severed, dangles this way and that
from either shoulder. The Trojans scatter and turn in hasty terror; and
had the conqueror forthwith taken thought to burst the bars and let in
his comrades at the gate, that had been the last day of the war and of
the nation.
But rage and mad thirst of slaughter drive him like fire on
the foe. . . . First he catches up Phalaris; then Gyges, and hamstrings
him; he plucks away their spears, and hurls them on the backs of the
flying crowd; Juno lends strength and courage. Halys he sends to join
them, and Phegeus, pierced right through the shield; then, as they
ignorantly raised their war-cry on the walls, Alcander and Halius,
Noemon and Prytanis. Lynceus advanced to meet him, calling up his
comrades; from the rampart the glittering sword sweeps to the left and
catches him; struck off by the one downright blow, head and helmet lay
far away. Next Amycus fell, the deadly huntsman, incomparable in skill
of hand to anoint his arrows and arm their steel with venom; and Clytius
the Aeolid, and Cretheus beloved of the Muses, Cretheus of the Muses'
company, whose delight was ever in songs and harps and stringing of
verses; ever he sang of steeds and armed men and battles.
At last, hearing of the slaughter of their men, the Teucrian captains,
Mnestheus and gallant Serestus, come up, and see their comrades in
disordered flight and the foe [781-814]let in. And Mnestheus: 'Whither
next, whither press you in flight? what other walls, what farther city
have you yet? Shall one man, and he girt in on all sides,
fellow-citizens, by your entrenchments, thus unchecked deal devastation
throughout our city, and send all our best warriors to the under world?
Have you no pity, no shame, cowards, for your unhappy country, for your
ancient gods, for great Aeneas? '
Kindled by such words, they take heart and rally in dense array. Little
by little Turnus drew away from the fight towards the river, and the
side encircled by the stream: the more bravely the Teucrians press on
him with loud shouts and thickening masses, even as a band that fall on
a wrathful lion with levelled weapons, but he, frightened back, retires
surly and grim-glaring; and neither does wrath nor courage let him turn
his back, nor can he make head, for all that he desires it, against the
surrounding arms and men. Even thus Turnus draws lingeringly backward,
with unhastened steps, and soul boiling in anger.
fall, sees how fortune stands, what hap rules the day; and swinging the
gate round on its hinge with all his force, pushes it to with his broad
shoulders, leaving many of his own people shut outside the walls in the
desperate conflict, but shutting others in with him as they pour back in
retreat. Madman! who saw not the Rutulian prince burst in amid their
columns, and fairly shut him into the town, like a monstrous tiger among
the silly flocks. At once strange light flashed from his eyes, and his
armour rang terribly; the blood-red plumes flicker on his head, and
lightnings shoot sparkling from his shield. In sudden dismay the
Aeneadae know the hated form and giant limbs. Then tall Pandarus leaps
forward, in burning rage at his brother's death: 'This is not the palace
of Amata's dower,' he cries, 'nor does Ardea enclose Turnus in her
native walls. Thou seest a hostile camp; escape hence is hopeless. ' To
him Turnus, smiling and cool: 'Begin with all thy valiance, and close
hand to hand; here too shalt thou tell that a Priam found his Achilles. '
He ended; the other, putting out all his strength, hurls his rough
spear, knotty and unpeeled. The breezes caught it; Juno, daughter of
Saturn, [746-780]made the wound glance off as it came, and the spear
sticks fast in the gate. 'But this weapon that my strong hand whirls,
this thou shalt not escape; for not such is he who sends weapon and
wound. ' So speaks he, and rises high on his uplifted sword; the steel
severs the forehead midway right between the temples, and divides the
beardless cheeks with ghastly wound. He crashes down; earth shakes under
the vast weight; dying limbs and brain-spattered armour tumble in a heap
to the ground, and the head, evenly severed, dangles this way and that
from either shoulder. The Trojans scatter and turn in hasty terror; and
had the conqueror forthwith taken thought to burst the bars and let in
his comrades at the gate, that had been the last day of the war and of
the nation.
But rage and mad thirst of slaughter drive him like fire on
the foe. . . . First he catches up Phalaris; then Gyges, and hamstrings
him; he plucks away their spears, and hurls them on the backs of the
flying crowd; Juno lends strength and courage. Halys he sends to join
them, and Phegeus, pierced right through the shield; then, as they
ignorantly raised their war-cry on the walls, Alcander and Halius,
Noemon and Prytanis. Lynceus advanced to meet him, calling up his
comrades; from the rampart the glittering sword sweeps to the left and
catches him; struck off by the one downright blow, head and helmet lay
far away. Next Amycus fell, the deadly huntsman, incomparable in skill
of hand to anoint his arrows and arm their steel with venom; and Clytius
the Aeolid, and Cretheus beloved of the Muses, Cretheus of the Muses'
company, whose delight was ever in songs and harps and stringing of
verses; ever he sang of steeds and armed men and battles.
At last, hearing of the slaughter of their men, the Teucrian captains,
Mnestheus and gallant Serestus, come up, and see their comrades in
disordered flight and the foe [781-814]let in. And Mnestheus: 'Whither
next, whither press you in flight? what other walls, what farther city
have you yet? Shall one man, and he girt in on all sides,
fellow-citizens, by your entrenchments, thus unchecked deal devastation
throughout our city, and send all our best warriors to the under world?
Have you no pity, no shame, cowards, for your unhappy country, for your
ancient gods, for great Aeneas? '
Kindled by such words, they take heart and rally in dense array. Little
by little Turnus drew away from the fight towards the river, and the
side encircled by the stream: the more bravely the Teucrians press on
him with loud shouts and thickening masses, even as a band that fall on
a wrathful lion with levelled weapons, but he, frightened back, retires
surly and grim-glaring; and neither does wrath nor courage let him turn
his back, nor can he make head, for all that he desires it, against the
surrounding arms and men. Even thus Turnus draws lingeringly backward,
with unhastened steps, and soul boiling in anger.
