Aeneas (Legendary character) -- Poetry; Epic poetry, Latin -- Translations into English
by the sinews lifeless from the shoulder. Then Numitor, seizing his dead
brother's javelin, aims at Aeneas, but might not fairly pierce him, and
grazed tall Achates on the thigh. Here Clausus of Cures comes confident
in his pride of strength, and with a long reach strikes Dryops under the
chin, and, urging the stiff spear-shaft home, stops the accents of his
speech and his life together, piercing the throat; but he strikes the
earth with his forehead, and vomits clots of blood. Three Thracians
likewise of Boreas' sovereign race, and three sent by their father Idas
from their native Ismarus, fall in divers wise before him. Halesus and
his Auruncan troops hasten thither; Messapus too, seed of Neptune, comes
up charioted. This side and that strive to hurl back the enemy, and
fight hard on the very edge of Ausonia. As when in the depth of air
adverse winds rise in battle with equal spirit and strength; not they,
not clouds nor sea, yield one to another; long the battle is doubtful;
all stands locked in counterpoise: even thus clash the ranks of Troy and
ranks of Latium, foot fast on foot, and man crowded up on man.
But in another quarter, where a torrent had driven a wide path of
rolling stones and bushes torn away from the banks, Pallas saw his
Arcadians, unaccustomed to move as infantry, giving back before the
Latin pursuit, when the [366-400]roughness of the ground bade them
dismount. This only was left in his strait, to kindle them to valour,
now by entreaties, now by taunts: 'Whither flee you, comrades? by your
deeds of bravery, by your leader Evander's name, by your triumphant
campaigns, and my hope that now rises to rival my father's honour, trust
not to flight. Our swords must hew a way through the enemy. Where yonder
mass of men presses thickest, there your proud country calls you with
Pallas at your head. No gods are they who bear us down; mortals, we feel
the pressure of a mortal foe; we have as many lives and hands as he. Lo,
the deep shuts us in with vast sea barrier; even now land fails our
flight; shall we make ocean or Troy our goal?'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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