Page:The Aeneid of Virgil JOHN CONINGTON 1917 V2.pdf/303

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swept over all alike—why do we merely falter on the
threshold? why are we seized with shivering ere the
trumpet blows? Many a man's weal has been restored
by time and the changeful struggles of shifting days: many
a man has Fortune, fair and foul by turns, made her sport 5
and then once more placed on a rock. Grant that we shall
have no help from the Ætolian and his Arpi: but we shall
from Messapus, and the blest Tolumnius, and all the
leaders that those many nations have sent us; nor small
shall be the glory which will wait on the flower of Latium 10
and the Laurentine land. Ay, and we have Camilla,[o] of
the noble Volscian race, with a band of horsemen at her
back and troops gleaming with brass. If it is I alone that
the Teucrians challenge to the fight, and such is your will,
and my life is indeed the standing obstacle to the good of 15
all, Victory has not heretofore fled with such loathing from
my hands that I should refuse to make my venture for a
hope so glorious. No, I will confront him boldly, though he
should prove great as Achilles, and don harness like his, the
work of Vulcan's art. To you and to my royal father-in-law 20
have I here devoted this my life, I, Turnus, second in
valour to none that went before me. 'For me alone Æneas
calls.' Vouchsafe that he may so call! nor let Drances
in my stead, if the issue be Heaven's vengeance, forfeit
his life, or, if it be prowess and glory, bear that prize 25
away!"

So were these contending over matters of doubtful debate:
Æneas was moving his army from camp to field.
See, there runs a messenger from end to end of the palace
amid wild confusion, and fills the town with a mighty 30
terror, how that in marching array the Trojans and the
Tuscan force are sweeping down from Tiber's stream
over all the plain. In an instant the minds of the people
are confounded, their bosoms shaken to the core, their
passions goaded by no gentle stings. They clutch at arms, 35
clamour for arms: arms are the young men's cry: the
weeping fathers moan and mutter. And now a mighty
din, blended of discordant voices, soars up to the skies,