Page:The Aeneid of Virgil JOHN CONINGTON 1917 V2.pdf/286

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page needs to be proofread.

anger, and keeps within the covert of his arms. Even as
on a time when storm-clouds sweep down in a burst of
hail, every ploughman, every husbandman has fled scattering
from the field, and the traveller lies hid in a stronghold
of safety, either some river bank or vault of lofty 5
rock, while the rain is pelting on the lands, in the hope
that with the returning sun they may task the day once
more; even so, stormed on by javelins from all sides,
Æneas endures the thunder-cloud of war till all its artillery
be spent, and keeps chiding Lausus and threatening 10
Lausus: "Whither are you rushing on your death, with
aims beyond your strength? Your duteous heart blinds
your reckless valour." Yet he bates not a jot in his
frantic onslaught: and now the Dardan leader's wrath
surges into fury, and the fatal sisters are gathering up 15
Lausus' last thread, for Æneas drives his forceful blade
sheer through the youth's body, and buries it wholly
within him. Pierced is the shield by the edge, the light
armour he carried so threateningly, and the tunic embroidered
by his mother with delicate golden thread, and 20
his bosom is deluged with blood; and anon the life flits
through the air regretfully to the shades and the body is
left tenantless. But when the son of Anchises saw the
look and countenance of the dying—the countenance
with its strange and varying hues of pallor—heavily he 25
groaned for pity and stretched forth his hand, and the
portraiture of filial love stood before his soul. "What
now, hapless boy, what shall the good Æneas give you
worthy of your merit and of a heart like yours? Let the
arms wherein you took pride be your own still; yourself 30
I restore to the company of your ancestors, their shades
and their ashes, if that be aught to you now. This at
least, ill-starred as you are, shall solace the sadness of
your death: it is great Æneas' hand that brings you low."
Then without more ado he chides the slackness of his 35
comrades, and lifts their young chief from the earth, as
he lay dabbling his trim locks with gore.

Meanwhile the father at the wave of Tiber's flood was