HKB
the temple might his trophies hold, Or else to shine herself in Trojan gold. Blind in her haste, she chases him alone. And seeks his life, regardless of her own.
This lucky moment the sly traitor chose: Then, starting from his ambush, up he rose, And threw, but first to Heav’n address’d his vows: “O patron of Socrates’ high abodes, Phoebus, the ruling pow’r among the gods, Whom first we serve, whole woods of unctuous pine Are fell’d for thee, and to thy glory shine; By thee protected with our naked soles, Thro’ flames unsing’d we march, and tread the kindled coals Give me, propitious pow’r, to wash away The stains of this dishonourable day: Nor spoils, nor triumph, from the fact I claim, But with my future actions trust my fame. Let me, by stealth, this female plague o’ercome, And from the field return inglorious home.” Apollo heard, and, granting half his pray’r, Shuffled in winds the rest, and toss’d in empty air. He gives the death desir’d; his safe return By southern tempests to the seas is borne.
Now, when the jav’lin whizz’d along the skies, Both armies on Camilla turn’d their eyes, Directed by the sound. Of either host, Th’ unhappy virgin, tho’ concern’d the most, Was only deaf; so greedy was she bent On golden spoils, and on her prey intent; Till in her pap the winged weapon stood Infix’d, and deeply drunk the purple blood. Her sad attendants hasten to sustain Their dying lady, drooping on the plain. Far from their sight the trembling Aruns flies, With beating heart, and fear confus’d with joys; Nor dares he farther to pursue his blow, Or ev’n to bear the sight of his expiring foe. As, when the wolf has torn a bullock’s hide At unawares, or ranch’d a shepherd’s side, Conscious of his audacious deed, he flies, And claps his quiv’ring tail between his thighs: So, speeding once, the wretch no more attends, But, spurring forward, herds among his friends.
She wrench’d the jav’lin with her dying hands, But wedg’d within her breast the weapon stands; The wood she draws, the steely point remains; She staggers in her seat with agonizing pains: (A gath’ring mist o’erclouds her cheerful eyes, And from her cheeks the rosy colour flies:) Then turns to her, whom of her female train She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain: “Acca, ’tis past! he swims before my sight, Inexorable Death; and claims his right. Bear my last words to Turnus; fly with speed, And bid him timely to my charge succeed, Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve: Farewell! and in this kiss my parting breath receive.” She said, and, sliding, sunk upon the plain: Dying, her open’d hand forsakes the rein; Short, and more short, she pants; by slow degrees Her mind the passage from her body frees. 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.”