She drops her sword; she nods her plumy crest, Her drooping head declining on her breast:
In the last sigh her struggling soul expires, And, murm'ring with disdain, to Stygian sounds retires.
A shout, that struck the golden stars, ensued;Despair and rage the languish'd fight renew'd.
The Trojan troops and Tuscans, in a line, Advance to charge; the mix'd Arcadians join.
But Cynthia's maid, high seated, from afar Surveys the field, and fortune of the war, Unmov'd a while, till, prostrate on the plain, Welt'ring in blood, she sees Camilla slain, And, round her corpse, of friends and foes a fighting train.
Then, from the bottom of her breast, she drew A mournful sigh, and these sad words ensue:
"Too dear a fine, ah much lamented maid, For warring with the Trojans, thou hast paid!
Nor aught avail'd, in this unhappy strife, Diana's sacred arms, to save thy life.
Yet unreveng'd thy goddess will not leave Her vot'ry's death, nor; with vain sorrow grieve.
Branded the wretch, and be his name abhorr'd;But after ages shall thy praise record.
Th' inglorious coward soon shall press the plain:
Thus vows thy queen, and thus the Fates ordain."High o'er the field there stood a hilly mound, Sacred the place, and spread with oaks around, Where, in a marble tomb, Dercennus lay, A king that once in Latium bore the sway.
The beauteous Opis thither bent her flight, To mark the traitor Aruns from the height.
Him in refulgent arms she soon espied, Swoln with success; and loudly thus she cried:
"Thy backward steps, vain boaster, are too late;Turn like a man, at length, and meet thy fate.
Charg'd with my message, to Camilla go, And say I sent thee to the shades below, An honor undeserv'd from Cynthia's bow."She said, and from her quiver chose with speed The winged shaft, predestin'd for the deed;Then to the stubborn yew her strength applied, Till the far distant horns approach'd on either side.
The bowstring touch'd her breast, so strong she drew;Whizzing in air the fatal arrow flew.
At once the twanging bow and sounding dart The traitor heard, and felt the point within his heart.
Him, beating with his heels in pangs of death, His flying friends to foreign fields bequeath.
The conqu'ring damsel, with expanded wings, The welcome message to her mistress brings.
Their leader lost, the Volscians quit the field, And, unsustain'd, the chiefs of Turnus yield.
The frighted soldiers, when their captains fly, More on their speed than on their strength rely.
Confus'd in flight, they bear each other down, And spur their horses headlong to the town.
Driv'n by their foes, and to their fears resign'd, Not once they turn, but take their wounds behind.
These drop the shield, and those the lance forego, Or on their shoulders bear the slacken'd bow.
The hoofs of horses, with a rattling sound, Beat short and thick, and shake the rotten ground.
Black clouds of dust come rolling in the sky, And o'er the darken'd walls and rampires fly.
The trembling matrons, from their lofty stands, Rend heav'n with female shrieks, and wring their hands.
All pressing on, pursuers and pursued, Are crush'd in crowds, a mingled multitude.
Some happy few escape: the throng too late Rush on for entrance, till they choke the gate.
Ev'n in the sight of home, the wretched sire Looks on, and sees his helpless son expire.
Then, in a fright, the folding gates they close, But leave their friends excluded with their foes.
The vanquish'd cry; the victors loudly shout;'T is terror all within, and slaughter all without.
Blind in their fear, they bounce against the wall, Or, to the moats pursued, precipitate their fall.
The Latian virgins, valiant with despair, Arm'd on the tow'rs, the common danger share:
So much of zeal their country's cause inspir'd;So much Camilla's great example fir'd.
Poles, sharpen'd in the flames, from high they throw, With imitated darts, to gall the foe.
Their lives for godlike ******* they bequeath, And crowd each other to be first in death.
Meantime to Turnus, ambush'd in the shade, With heavy tidings came th' unhappy maid:
"The Volscians overthrown, Camilla kill'd;The foes, entirely masters of the field, Like a resistless flood, come rolling on:
The cry goes off the plain, and thickens to the town."Inflam'd with rage, (for so the Furies fire The Daunian's breast, and so the Fates require,)He leaves the hilly pass, the woods in vain Possess'd, and downward issues on the plain.
Scarce was he gone, when to the straits, now freed From secret foes, the Trojan troops succeed.
Thro' the black forest and the ferny brake, Unknowingly secure, their way they take;From the rough mountains to the plain descend, And there, in order drawn, their line extend.
Both armies now in open fields are seen;
Nor far the distance of the space between.
Both to the city bend.Aeneas sees, Thro' smoking fields, his hast'ning enemies;And Turnus views the Trojans in array, And hears th' approaching horses proudly neigh.
Soon had their hosts in bloody battle join'd;But westward to the sea the sun declin'd.
Intrench'd before the town both armies lie, While Night with sable wings involves the sky.
