The Volscians bear their shields upon their head, And, rushing forward, form a moving shed. These fill the ditch; those pull the bulwarks down; Some raise the ladders; others scale the town. But, where void spaces on the walls appear, Or thin defence, they pour their forces there. With poles and missive weapons, from afar, The Trojans keep aloof the rising war. Taught, by their ten years' siege, defensive fight, They roll down ribs of rocks, an unresisted weight, To break the penthouse with the ponderous blow, Which yet the patient Volscians undergo-- But could not bear the unequal combat long; For, where the Trojans find the thickest throng, The ruin falls: their shattered shields give way, And their crushed heads become an easy prey. They shrink for fear, abated of their rage, Nor longer dare in a blind fight engage-- Contented now to gall them from below With darts and slings, and with the distant bow. Elsewhere Mezentius, terrible to view, A blazing pine within the trenches threw. But brave Messapus, Neptune's warlike son, } Broke down the palisades, the trenches won, } And loud for ladders calls, to scale the town. } Calliope, begin! Ye sacred Nine, Inspire your poet in his high design, To sing what slaughter manly Turnus made, What souls he sent below the Stygian shade, What fame the soldiers with their captain share, And the vast circuit of the fatal war; For you, in singing martial facts, excel; You best remember, and alone can tell. There stood a tower, amazing to the sight, Built up of beams, and of stupendous height: Art, and the nature of the place, conspired To furnish all the strength that war required. To level this, the bold Italians join; The wary Trojans obviate their design; With weighty stones o'erwhelm their troops below, Shoot through the loopholes, and sharp javelins throw. Turnus, the chief, tossed from his thundering hand, Against the wooden walls, a flaming brand: It stuck, the fiery plague; the winds were high; The planks were seasoned, and the timber dry. Contagion caught the posts; it spread along, Scorched, and to distance drove, the scattered throng. The Trojans fled; the fire pursued amain, Still gathering fast upon the trembling train; Till, crowding to the corners of the wall, Down the defence and the defenders fall. The mighty flaw makes heaven itself resound: The dead and dying Trojans strew the ground. The tower, that followed on the fallen crew, Whelmed o'er their heads, and buried whom it slew: Some stuck upon the darts themselves had sent; All the same equal ruin underwent. Young Lycus and Helenor only 'scape; Saved--how, they know not--from the steepy leap. Helenor, elder of the two: by birth, On one side royal, one a son of earth,