Camilla’s squadron Was first to flee, their leader lost; Atinas, Keen though he was, sped off; in reel and rout Rutulians followed; captains and troops uncaptained, Shattered and broken, turned and wheeled their horses On a gallop toward the walls. No one can halt The Trojans now, nor stand against the havoc; They carry unstrung bows on nerveless shoulders, And the horses drum in the rush in the dust of the plain. A cloud of dust, black murk, rolls toward the walls, And from the watch-towers mothers wail to heaven, Beating their breasts, screaming in lamentation. The first ones stumble through the gates; upon them The enemy presses hard, and friend and foe Are all confused together. Men are dying, Gasping away their lives on their own threshold, In sight of home and shelter, unprotected Within their native walls. Some close the gates, Dare not admit their wretched comrades, pleading, Nor take them to the town. And slaughter follows, Most pitiful: the sword that guards the portals Kills citizens who try to rush in blindly. Their parents, weeping, see them shut from the city, And some, who are driven back, go rolling headlong Into the trenches, and others, dashing wildly With loosened rein, crash into gates and portals Locked tight against them. Along the walls the mothers Try to be fighters (love of country taught them) And, as they saw Camilla do, fling weapons With trembling hands, or grasp at stakes or oak-poles To do the work that steel should do, poor creatures, Eager to die, before the walls, in the vanguard. Meanwhile, to Turnus in his forest ambush The terrible news is borne: Acca reports it, The Volscian ranks destroyed, Camilla fallen, The enemy, deadly, massing thick, and sweeping All things before them in triumphant warfare, Fear at the very walls. And Turnus, raging-- (As Jupiter’s relentless will commanded) Forsook the ambush in the hills, abandoned The rugged woodland, and scarcely had he done so, Passing from sight to valley, when Aeneas Entered the pass in safety, crossed the mountain, Came out of the dark woods. And both were striving To reach the city, swiftly, in full column And almost side by side: in a single moment Aeneas saw the plain and the dust rising And Turnus saw Aeneas, fierce for battle, And heard the stamp and snorting of the horses. There was almost time for fighting, but the Sun-god, Colored in crimson, brought his weary horses To bathe in the Western ocean; day was over, Night coming on. They camped before the city. BOOK XII THE FINAL COMBAT