HKB
he next attempt? what arms employ, What fruitless force, to free the captive boy? Or desperate should he rush and lose his life, With odds oppress’d, in such unequal strife?
Resolv’d at length, his pointed spear he shook; And, casting on the moon a mournful look: “Guardian of groves, and goddess of the night, Fair queen,” he said, “direct my dart aright. If e’er my pious father, for my sake, Did grateful off’rings on thy altars make, Or I increas’d them with my sylvan toils, And hung thy holy roofs with savage spoils, Give me to scatter these.” Then from his ear He pois’d, and aim’d, and launch’d the trembling spear. The deadly weapon, hissing from the grove, Impetuous on the back of Sulmo drove; Pierc’d his thin armour, drank his vital blood, And in his body left the broken wood. He staggers round; his eyeballs roll in death, And with short sobs he gasps away his breath. All stand amaz’d—a second jav’lin flies With equal strength, and quivers thro’ the skies. This thro’ thy temples, Tagus, forc’d the way, And in the brainpan warmly buried lay. Fierce Volscens foams with rage, and, gazing round, Descried not him who gave the fatal wound, Nor knew to fix revenge: “But thou,” he cries, “Shalt pay for both,” and at the pris’ner flies With his drawn sword. Then, struck with deep despair, That cruel sight the lover could not bear; But from his covert rush’d in open view, And sent his voice before him as he flew: “Me! me!” he cried—“turn all your swords alone On me—the fact confess’d, the fault my own. He neither could nor durst, the guiltless youth: Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth! His only crime (if friendship can offend) Is too much love to his unhappy friend.” Too late he speaks: the sword, which fury guides, Driv’n with full force, had pierc’d his tender sides. Down fell the beauteous youth: the yawning wound Gush’d out a purple stream, and stain’d the ground. His snowy neck reclines upon his breast, Like a fair flow’r by the keen share oppress’d; Like a white poppy sinking on the plain, Whose heavy head is overcharg’d with rain. Despair, and rage, and vengeance justly vow’d, Drove Nisus headlong on the hostile crowd. Volscens he seeks; on him alone he bends: Borne back and bor’d by his surrounding friends, Onward he press’d, and kept him still in sight; Then whirl’d aloft his sword with all his might: Th’ unerring steel descended while he spoke, Pierc’d his wide mouth, and thro’ his weazon broke. Dying, he slew; and, stagg’ring on the plain, With swimming eyes he sought his lover slain; Then quiet on his bleeding bosom fell, Content, in death, to be reveng’d so well.
O happy friends! for, if my verse can give Immortal life, your fame shall ever live, Fix’d as the Capitol’s foundation lies, And spread, where’er the Roman eagle flies!
The conqu’ring party first divide the prey, Then their slain leader to the camp convey. With wonder, as they went, the troops were fill’d, To see such numbers whom so few had kill’d. Serranus, Rhamnes, and the rest, they found: Vast crowds the dying and the dead surround; And the yet reeking blood o’erflows the ground. All knew the helmet which Messapus lost, But mourn’d a purchase that so dear had cost. Now rose the ruddy morn from Tithon’s bed, And with the dawn of day the skies o’erspread; Nor long the sun his daily course withheld, But added colours to the world reveal’d: When early Turnus, wak’ning with the light, All clad in armour, calls his troops to fight. His martial men with fierce harangue he fir’d, And his own ardour in their souls inspir’d. This done—to give new terror to his foes, The heads of Nisus and his friend he shows, Rais’d high on pointed spears—a ghastly sight: Loud peals of shouts ensue, and barbarous delight.