Combat.
Duel.

--Turbulent in Ire,
With his long Spear Mezentius takes the Field:
Huge as Orion, when on Foot he stalks,
Cutting his Way thro' the wide liquid Realms
Of Nereus, and surmounts the topmost Waves
With Shoulders tall:--
So in vast Arms Mezentius tow'rs sublime.
Thro' the long Ranks when him Æneas spies,
To meet him he prepares: the Other fix'd
And fearless waits, expecting the Approach
Of his brave Foe: and in his own Bulk stands.
Then having measur'd with his Eyes the Space
Fit for his Jav'lin's Reach: Assist me now,
My own Right Hand, and Thou, my missive Lance,
You are the only Gods that I invoke.

He said: and hurl'd the hissing Dart from far,
Which flying glances from the Target's Orb.

Then good Æneas throws a Spear, which flies
Swift thro' the hollow Orb of triple Brass,
Thro' the tough Linnen folds, and three Bulls Hides
Convolv'd: the Point stands fix'd within his Groin.--

--Thus Turnus to his Friends:
Desist You from the Battle, and retire:
Pallas I meet alone: To Me alone
Pallas is due: O! were his Father here
Spectator of the Fight! He said: His Friends
Form the commanded List, and clear the Field.

At their Retreat, and at Those proud Commands,
The Royal Youth, in Wonder, and Amaze,
Stands fix'd on Turnus: rolls his Eyes around,
And with stern Aspect his huge Bulk surveys.
Then to th' insulting Chief these Words returns:
Or I this Day will reap the Fame of Spoils
Illustrious won, or of a glorious Death:
For either Chance my Father stands prepar'd:
Forbear thy Threats:--This said, he takes the Field.

Turnus his Chariot quits: on Foot prepares
For closer Fight. As when a Lion spies
From a high Rock a Bull upon the Plain,
Standing aloof, and meditating War:
Forward he springs: Not diff'rent was the Port
Of Turnus, and his Figure, as he walk'd.

When Pallas thought within his Jav'lin's reach
His Foe advanc'd: He first begins th' Assault:
With mighty Strength the trembling Weapon hurls,
And from it's Scabbard draws his shining Sword.
On his high Shoulder lights the flying Spear:
And passing thro' the Shield's extreamest Edge,
The Body of great Turnus slightly raz'd.

Turnus a Lance prefix'd with sharpen'd Steel
Long poising, darts it, and Thus speaks: Now see
Whether our Weapon can more deeply wound.
He said: And, driv'n with forceful Swing from far,
Thro' the mid Shield, so many Plates of Brass,
So many Iron Folds, and tough Bull Hides
The Jav'lin makes it's Way: and pierces sheer
The Corslet's Mail, and bores his mighty Breast.
He wrenches out the reeking Point in vain:
Thro' the same Orifice the Blood, and Soul
Issue at once: He falls upon his Wound:
His Armour o'er him rings: With gory Mouth
He gasps in Death, and bites the hostile Plain.

Then o'er him Turnus speaks:
Arcadians, to Evander (mark my Words)
This Message bear: Just such as he deserv'd
To be restor'd, his Pallas I restore.
The Honour of a Tomb, whate'er it be,
And all the Solace which a Grave can yield,
I frankly give: yet dearly has he bought
His Trojan Guest's Alliance. Having spoke,
With his left Foot the breathless Corps he press'd:
Snatching with eager Haste the pondrous Belt,
And on it that dire Argument engrav'd,
So many Youths in one connubial Night
Dispatch'd; and bridal Beds besmear'd with Gore:
Which good Eurytion's Art had carv'd in Gold.
This Trophy now, with recent Conquest crown'd,
Turnus enjoys, and in proud Triumph wears.--

Thou, Idmon, to the Phrygian Tyrant bear
(No Joy to Him) this Message. --Soon as Morn,
Fresh in her rosy Car shall paint the Sky:
Let him not lead his Trojans to the Fight:
Let Trojans and Rutulians from their Arms
Desist:--His Blood and Mine decide the War.

The Trojans and Rutulians for the Fight
A Cirque before the lofty Walls describe.
Th' Ausonian Legions march: and Iron Troops
Pour from the crouded Gates. To them oppos'd
The Trojan, and the Tyrrhene Squadrons rush,
In various Arms: nor rang'd less in Array
Than if the rigid Labour of the War
Had call'd them to the Field. The Chiefs themselves,
Amidst the Thousands, thro' th' embattl'd Lines
Ride round, all rich in Purple, and in Gold.--

--When now (the Signal giv'n)
All to their Posts allotted were retir'd:
They fix their Spears in Earth, and rest their Shields.
The longing Matrons, and the feeble Sires,
And unarm'd Vulgar, load the Houses--Tops,
And Tow'rs: or crouding fill the lofty Gates.

And now, the furious Combatants at once,
With rapid Onset, darting missive Spears,
Begin the Fight with Shields and sounding Brass.
The Earth beneath them groans: Then various Strokes
In closer Conflict, furious, They repeat.
Turnus imagining his Blow secure,
Now forward springs with all his Body's Force,
And waves his glitt'ring Sword uprais'd in Air,
And strikes his Foe. The Trojans loud exclaim:
The Latins tremble: And the Bands of Both
Stand fix'd, expecting. But the faithless Blade
Breaks short: and in the middle of the Stroke
Deserts him. Nothing now but Flight remains
For Aid: More swift than Eastern Winds he flies,
Soon as he sees the unaccustom'd Hilt,
And his Right Hand disarm'd. With Fear confus'd
He traverses the Field: now here, now there
Doubles in doubtful Mazes: For all round
The Trojan Lines embattl'd hemm'd him in,
Here a vast Lake, and there the lofty Walls.

Æneas presses on his trembling Foe
With eager Haste, and Step by Step pursues.

Now Clamours rise: the Banks and Lakes around
Reply: And Heav'n all thunders to the Noise.

He flying chides his ling'ring Friends, and calls
On each by Name, to bring his faithful Sword.
Æneas opposite denounces Ruin
Instant, and Death, if any dares approach.
Five Orbs involv'd, five Windings they compleat,
This Way, and That: For now no trivial Prize
Is sought: For Turnus Life, or Blood they strive.

An old wild Olive Tree by Chance there stood
With bitter Leaves: to Faunus sacred held:
Hither Æneas Jav'lin flew: here fix'd
It stood: and in the stubborn Root remain'd.
He kneeling tugs, and strives to disengage
The Steel: and with his missive Spear to reach
Whom in the swift Pursuit he could not seize.
There while he tugs and sweats: again transform'd
Into the Charioteer Metiscus Shape,
The Daunian Goddess to her Brother runs
Assisting, and his trusty Sword restores.

Now Both, sublime in Courage, and with Arms
Refitted, one confiding in his Sword,
The Other rising to his brandish'd Spear,
Stand opposite: and panting urge the Fight.

Æneas shaking his long ashen Spear
Urges adverse: and Thus relentless speaks.
What, Turnus, now is the Delay? or what
Dost Thou revolve? No Hope of Flight remains:
Arms must decide the Strife: To every Shape
Transform thy self: Collect thy utmost Force,
Whate'er thou canst in Art, or Courage: Wish
For Wings to bear thee to the Stars aloft:
Or hide thyself in op'ning Earth below.--

The Hero shook his Head, and thus reply'd:
Not thy proud Threats, insulting Man, affright
My Soul: Me Heav'n affrights, and Jove my Foe.
No more he spoke: But looking round espy'd
A pondrous Stone, which then by Chance there lay,
An antique, pond'rous Stone, a Landmark plac'd,
To part the Limits of th' adjoining Fields.
With trembling Hands he rising lifts it high,
Runs stagg'ring forward, and against his Foe
Tosses th' enormous Load: but neither knows
Himself, when running, nor when stagg'ring on,
Nor poising in his Hands th' unweildy Weight.
His Knees fail tott'ring; and his Blood congeals.
The Stone then rolling thro' the empty Space
Drops short, nor reaches to the destin'd Mark.

Then various Passions struggle in his Breast:
The City and the Latian Host he views,
Wavers with Fear, and dreads the coming Dart:
Perceives no Way for Flight, no Strength to move
Against the Foe.--

While thus perplex'd he stands, Æneas shakes
The mortal Dart: and, having with his Eyes
Mark'd out the destin'd Wound, with all his Force
Collected, hurls the missive Death from far.
Stones shot from mural Engines with less Sound
Roar thro' the Air: nor breaks so loud a Crash
From bursting Thunder: Like a Whirlwind flies
The Fate--conveying Spear, and opens wide
The Corslet's Border, and the seven fold Shield's
Extremest Orbs: and whizzing passes sheer
Thro' his mid Thigh. Down lofty Turnus falls,
Wounded, on doubl'd Knee, and bent to Earth.
A gen'ral Groan runs thro' th' Ausonian Host:
The Mountain round rebellows: and the Woods
Echoing return the Noise.--Furious in Arms
Æneas stood, rolling his Eyes around,
And check'd his lifted Hand.--And now his Soul
Still more and more relented, as he paus'd:
When on the vanquish'd Champion's Shoulder high
With well known Bosses shone the fatal Belt
Of youthful Pallas: whom with mortal Wound
Turnus, unhappy Victor, struck to Earth,
And on his Shoulder wore the hostile Spoils.
Those Spoils the Trojan Hero having view'd,
The fresh Incentives of his Grief and Rage:
Inflam'd with Vengeance, terrible in Ire,
Shalt Thou, thus deck'd with Trophies of my Friends
Escape from Me?--'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives
This Wound, and from thy execrable Blood
Demands this Sacrifice of just Revenge.

Thus while he spoke, beneath his Breast adverse
Furious he plung'd the Sword: the vital Heat
Leaves his slack Limbs: And to the Shades below
With Indignation flies his groaning Soul.--
Comets.

Whether from Earth the active Seeds of Flame
May rise on high, and fiery Comets frame,
Or Emanations from the Stars may fly,
And join to form them, blazing thro' the Sky:
Or God, in pity to our mortal State,
Hangs out these Lights, to shew approaching Fate:
They never shine in vain, but still presage
Some coming Plague on the unhappy Age.
No Crop rewards the cheated Farmer's Toil,
He mourns, and curses the ungrateful Soil:
The meager Ox to the successless Plow
He yokes, and scarce dares make another Vow:
Or wasting Plagues their deadly Poisons spread,
And wide extend the Empire of the Dead:
Then Heaps on Heaps unhappy Mortals fall,
And mighty Cities make one Funeral.--

So threatning Comets glaring from an high
With sanguine Beams, dart swiftly thro' the Sky:
They stream a ruddy Trail, and, not in vain,
The Sailor fears them on the watry Plain,
And trembling Nations dread the long malignant Train.
The bearded Blaze th' impending Ill foreshows
Of wrecking Tempests, or invading Foes.--

--As when in Night serene,
Ensanguin'd Comets shoot a dismal Glare:
Or the red Dog--Star, rising on the World,
To wretched Mortals threatens Dearth and Plagues,
With baleful Light: and saddens all the Sky.--
Compassion.
See Clemency.

Compassion proper to Mankind appears,
Which Nature witness'd when she lent us Tears:
Of tender Sentiments We only give
Those Proofs:--to weep is our Prerogative:
To shew by pitying Looks, and melting Eyes,
How with a suff'ring Friend we sympathize.
Nature commands a Sigh, when in the Street,
With some fair blooming Virgin's Hearse we meet,
Or Infant's Funeral.--

--His moving Sighs controul
Our rising Rage, and soften ev'ry Soul.--

Touch'd with the moving Eloquence of Tears,
His Life we gave him, and dispell'd his Fears.--

But when Anchises' Son his Visage saw,
His Visage wondrous Pale, and chang'd in Death:
Deeply he groan'd with Pity, and his Hand
Extended, as he fell: and to his Thoughts
The Image soft of filial Piety
Itself presented. What, ill--fated Youth!
What Honours, by such mighty Virtue claim'd,
To thy Deserts can good Æneas pay?
The Arms, which pleas'd Thee living, still be thine:
And to thy Parents' Manes, and their Dust
(If aught That Care sollicit thee in Death)
Thy breathless Corps I willingly restore.
And let this Thought console thy rigid Doom,
By great Æneas' Hand Thou fall'st. At once
He chides his ling'ring Friends, and from the Ground
Uplifts him, with his Tresses, form'd by Art,
All foul in Dust, and clung with clotted Gore.—