But who hath bidden thee descend from heaven to
bear this sore travail?
bear this sore travail?
Virgil - Aeneid
And
when the unhappy Latin women knew this calamity, first her daughter
Lavinia tears her flower-like tresses and roseate cheeks, and all the
train around her madden in her suit; the wide palace echoes to their
wailing, and from it the sorrowful rumour spreads abroad throughout the
town. All hearts sink; Latinus goes with torn raiment, in dismay at his
wife's doom and his city's downfall, defiling his hoary hair with
soilure of sprinkled dust.
[614-648]Meanwhile on the skirts of the field Turnus chases scattered
stragglers, ever slacker to battle, ever less and less exultant in his
coursers' victorious speed. The confused cry came to him borne in blind
terror down the breeze, and his startled ears caught the echoing tumult
and disastrous murmur of the town. 'Ah me! what agony shakes the city?
or what is this cry that fleets so loud from the distant town? ' So
speaks he, and distractedly checks the reins. And to him his sister, as
changed into his charioteer Metiscus' likeness she swayed horses and
chariot-reins, thus rejoined: 'This way, Turnus, let us pursue the brood
of Troy, where victory opens her nearest way; there are others whose
hands can protect their dwellings. Aeneas falls fiercer on the Italians,
and closes in conflict; let our hand too deal pitiless death on his
Teucrians. Neither in tale of dead nor in glory of battle shalt thou
retire outdone. ' Thereat Turnus: . . .
'Ah my sister, long ere now I knew thee, when first thine arts shattered
the treaty, and thou didst mingle in the strife; and now thy godhead
conceals itself in vain.
But who hath bidden thee descend from heaven to
bear this sore travail? was it that thou mightest see thy hapless
brother cruelly slain? for what do I, or what fortune yet gives promise
of safety? Before my very eyes, calling aloud on me, I saw Murranus,
than whom none other is left me more dear, sink huge to earth, borne
down by as huge a wound. Hapless Ufens is fallen, not to see our shame;
corpse and armour are in Teucrian hands. The destruction of their
households, this was the one thing yet lacking; shall I suffer it? Shall
my hand not refute Drances' jeers? shall I turn my back, and this land
see Turnus a fugitive? Is Death all so bitter? Do you, O Shades, be
gracious to me, since the powers of heaven are estranged; to you shall I
go down, a pure spirit and [649-681]ignorant of your blame, never once
unworthy of my mighty fathers of old. '
Scarce had he spoken thus; lo! Saces, borne flying on his foaming horse
through the thickest of the foe, an arrow-wound right in his face,
darts, beseeching Turnus by his name. 'Turnus, in thee is our last
safety; pity thy people. Aeneas thunders in arms, and threatens to
overthrow and hurl to destruction the high Italian fortress; and already
firebrands are flying on our roofs. On thee, on thee the Latins turn
their gazing eyes; King Latinus himself mutters in doubt, whom he is to
call his sons, to whom he shall incline in union. Moreover the queen,
thy surest stay, hath fallen by her own hand and in dismay fled the
light.
when the unhappy Latin women knew this calamity, first her daughter
Lavinia tears her flower-like tresses and roseate cheeks, and all the
train around her madden in her suit; the wide palace echoes to their
wailing, and from it the sorrowful rumour spreads abroad throughout the
town. All hearts sink; Latinus goes with torn raiment, in dismay at his
wife's doom and his city's downfall, defiling his hoary hair with
soilure of sprinkled dust.
[614-648]Meanwhile on the skirts of the field Turnus chases scattered
stragglers, ever slacker to battle, ever less and less exultant in his
coursers' victorious speed. The confused cry came to him borne in blind
terror down the breeze, and his startled ears caught the echoing tumult
and disastrous murmur of the town. 'Ah me! what agony shakes the city?
or what is this cry that fleets so loud from the distant town? ' So
speaks he, and distractedly checks the reins. And to him his sister, as
changed into his charioteer Metiscus' likeness she swayed horses and
chariot-reins, thus rejoined: 'This way, Turnus, let us pursue the brood
of Troy, where victory opens her nearest way; there are others whose
hands can protect their dwellings. Aeneas falls fiercer on the Italians,
and closes in conflict; let our hand too deal pitiless death on his
Teucrians. Neither in tale of dead nor in glory of battle shalt thou
retire outdone. ' Thereat Turnus: . . .
'Ah my sister, long ere now I knew thee, when first thine arts shattered
the treaty, and thou didst mingle in the strife; and now thy godhead
conceals itself in vain.
But who hath bidden thee descend from heaven to
bear this sore travail? was it that thou mightest see thy hapless
brother cruelly slain? for what do I, or what fortune yet gives promise
of safety? Before my very eyes, calling aloud on me, I saw Murranus,
than whom none other is left me more dear, sink huge to earth, borne
down by as huge a wound. Hapless Ufens is fallen, not to see our shame;
corpse and armour are in Teucrian hands. The destruction of their
households, this was the one thing yet lacking; shall I suffer it? Shall
my hand not refute Drances' jeers? shall I turn my back, and this land
see Turnus a fugitive? Is Death all so bitter? Do you, O Shades, be
gracious to me, since the powers of heaven are estranged; to you shall I
go down, a pure spirit and [649-681]ignorant of your blame, never once
unworthy of my mighty fathers of old. '
Scarce had he spoken thus; lo! Saces, borne flying on his foaming horse
through the thickest of the foe, an arrow-wound right in his face,
darts, beseeching Turnus by his name. 'Turnus, in thee is our last
safety; pity thy people. Aeneas thunders in arms, and threatens to
overthrow and hurl to destruction the high Italian fortress; and already
firebrands are flying on our roofs. On thee, on thee the Latins turn
their gazing eyes; King Latinus himself mutters in doubt, whom he is to
call his sons, to whom he shall incline in union. Moreover the queen,
thy surest stay, hath fallen by her own hand and in dismay fled the
light.
