Loud shouts ensue; the Latins turn their eyes, And view th' unusual sight with vast surprise.
The fiery Tarchon, flying o'er the plains, Press'd in his arms the pond'rous prey sustains;Then, with his shorten'd spear, explores around His jointed arms, to fix a deadly wound.
Nor less the captive struggles for his life:
He writhes his body to prolong the strife, And, fencing for his naked throat, exerts His utmost vigor, and the point averts.
So stoops the yellow eagle from on high, And bears a speckled serpent thro' the sky, Fast'ning his crooked talons on the prey:
The pris'ner hisses thro' the liquid way;Resists the royal hawk; and, tho' oppress'd, She fights in volumes, and erects her crest:
Turn'd to her foe, she stiffens ev'ry scale, And shoots her forky tongue, and whisks her threat'ning tail.
Against the victor, all defense is weak:
Th' imperial bird still plies her with his beak;He tears her bowels, and her breast he gores;Then claps his pinions, and securely soars.
Thus, thro' the midst of circling enemies, Strong Tarchon snatch'd and bore away his prize.
The Tyrrhene troops, that shrunk before, now press The Latins, and presume the like success.
Then Aruns, doom'd to death, his arts assay'd, To murther, unespied, the Volscian maid:
This way and that his winding course he bends, And, whereso'er she turns, her steps attends.
When she retires victorious from the chase, He wheels about with care, and shifts his place;When, rushing on, she seeks her foes flight, He keeps aloof, but keeps her still in sight:
He threats, and trembles, trying ev'ry way, Unseen to kill, and safely to betray.
Chloreus, the priest of Cybele, from far, Glitt'ring in Phrygian arms amidst the war, Was by the virgin view'd.The steed he press'd Was proud with trappings, and his brawny chest With scales of gilded brass was cover'd o'er;A robe of Tyrian dye the rider wore.
With deadly wounds he gall'd the distant foe;Gnossian his shafts, and Lycian was his bow:
A golden helm his front and head surrounds A gilded quiver from his shoulder sounds.
Gold, weav'd with linen, on his thighs he wore, With flowers of needlework distinguish'd o'er, With golden buckles bound, and gather'd up before.
Him the fierce maid beheld with ardent eyes, Fond and ambitious of so rich a prize, Or that 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 dishonorable 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 color flies:)Then turns to her, whom of her female train She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain:
"Acca, 't is 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.
