The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour collated with the ms. volume of his poems, and containing several pieces hitherto unpublished; with illustrative notes, and an account of the life of the author. By James Paterson |
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THE EPISODE OF LAUSUS AND MEZENTIUS. |
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 | The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour |  |
THE EPISODE OF LAUSUS AND MEZENTIUS.
Now Jove inflames Mezentius, great in arms,
His ardour rouses, and his courage warms;
Fired by the god, to Turnus he succeeds;
Beneath his arm the Trojan battle bleeds:
The Tuscan troops invade their common foe,
Alike in hate, their kindling bosoms glow
Fierce to destroy, on him alone they pour
Darts following darts, a thick continued shower:
But he undaunted, all the storm sustains,
And scorns the united fury of the plains:
As some huge rock high towering midst the waves,
Of seas and skies the mingling tumult braves,
On its eternal basis fixed is found,
Though tempests rage, and oceans foam around.
First by his arm unhappy Hebrus bled,
The issue of famed Dolicaon's bed;
Then Latagus submits to fate, his way
Adverse he took, the chief, with furious sway,
Upreared a ponderous rock, the shattered brain,
Confused with blood and gore, o'erspreads the plain.
At flying Palmus next his dart he threw,
The speedy dart o'ertook him, as he flew,
Full in the ham, he feels the smarting wound,
Left by the victor grovelling on the ground:
His arms surround his Lausus' manly breast,
The waving plume adorns his shining crest;
Evas and Mimas, both of Trojan seed,
By the same arm were mingled with the dead;
Mimas, companion of the youthful cares
Of Paris, and the equal of his years:
For, big with fancied flames, when Phrygia's queen
Brought forth the cause of woes but ill foreseen,
To extend his blooming race, that self-same night,
The spouse of Amycus, Theano bright—
That night so fatal to the peace of Troy—
Blest her loved husband with a parent's joy:
But fate to different lands their deaths decreed,
This in his father's town was doomed to bleed;
Unthinking Mimas, by Mezentius slain,
Now rolls his carcass o'er the Latian plain.
And as a tusky boar, whom dogs invade,
Of Vesulus bred in the piny shade,
Or near Laurentia's lake, with forest mast,
His feasts obscene, supplied in wild repast;
Roused from his savage haunt—a deep retreat—
A length of years his unmolested seat;
When once in toils enclosed, no flight appears,
Turns sudden, foaming fierce, his bristles rears;
All safe at distance stand, and none is found
Whose valour dares inflict a nearer wound:
Dreadless, meanwhile, to every side he turns,
His teeth he gnashes, and with rage he burns;
The united vengeance of the field derides,
A forest rattles as he shakes his sides;
So fare the Tuscan troops; with noisy rage
And shouts in the mixed tumult they engage;
All from afar their missive weapons throw,
Fearful in equal arms to meet the foe.
Next Grecian Acron rushed into the plain,
Who came from Coritus's ancient reign:
Him thirst of fame to warlike dangers led,
The joys untasted of the bridal bed;
From far Mezentius eyed him with delight,
In arms refulgent, as he mixed in fight;
Full o'er his breast, in gold and purple known,
The tokens of his love conspicuous shone.
Then, as a lion thirsting after blood,
(For him persuades the keen desire of food),
If, or a frisking goat he chance to view,
Or branching stag, that leads the stately crew;
Rejoices, gaping wide, he makes his way
Furious, and clings incumbent on the prey,
That helpless pants beneath his horrid paws,
The blood o'erflowing laves his greedy jaws:
So keen Mezentius rushes on each foe,
Unhappy Acron sinks beneath his blow.
Mad in the pangs of death, he spurns the ground,
The blood distains the broken spear around.
Then fled Orodes shameful from the fight,
The victor scorned the advantage of his flight;
But fired with rage, through cleaving ranks he ran,
And face to face opposed, and man to man;
Not guileful from behind his spear to throw
A wound unseen, but strikes an adverse blow.
Then with his foot his dying foe he pressed,
Leaned on his lance, and thus his friends addressed:
Lo! where Orodes gasps upon the sand,
His death was due to this victorious hand,
Large portion of the war! Exulting cries
Ascend amain, and ring along the skies.
To whom the vanquished, with imperfect sound,
All weak and faint, and dying of the wound:
Nor long my ghost shall unrevenged repine,
Nor long the triumph of my fall be thine;
Thee equal fates, insulting man, remain,
Thee death yet waits, and this the fatal plain.
Him, as he rolled in death, Mezentius spied,
He smiled severe, and thus contemptuous cried:
Die thou the first; as he thinks fit, for me,
The sire of heaven and earth, let Jove decree.
He said, and pulled the weapon from the wound,
The purple life ebbed out upon the ground;
Death's clay-cold hand shut up the sinking light,
And o'er his closing eyes drew the dark mist of night.
His ardour rouses, and his courage warms;
Fired by the god, to Turnus he succeeds;
Beneath his arm the Trojan battle bleeds:
77
Alike in hate, their kindling bosoms glow
Fierce to destroy, on him alone they pour
Darts following darts, a thick continued shower:
But he undaunted, all the storm sustains,
And scorns the united fury of the plains:
As some huge rock high towering midst the waves,
Of seas and skies the mingling tumult braves,
On its eternal basis fixed is found,
Though tempests rage, and oceans foam around.
First by his arm unhappy Hebrus bled,
The issue of famed Dolicaon's bed;
Then Latagus submits to fate, his way
Adverse he took, the chief, with furious sway,
Upreared a ponderous rock, the shattered brain,
Confused with blood and gore, o'erspreads the plain.
At flying Palmus next his dart he threw,
The speedy dart o'ertook him, as he flew,
Full in the ham, he feels the smarting wound,
Left by the victor grovelling on the ground:
His arms surround his Lausus' manly breast,
The waving plume adorns his shining crest;
Evas and Mimas, both of Trojan seed,
By the same arm were mingled with the dead;
Mimas, companion of the youthful cares
Of Paris, and the equal of his years:
For, big with fancied flames, when Phrygia's queen
Brought forth the cause of woes but ill foreseen,
To extend his blooming race, that self-same night,
The spouse of Amycus, Theano bright—
That night so fatal to the peace of Troy—
Blest her loved husband with a parent's joy:
But fate to different lands their deaths decreed,
This in his father's town was doomed to bleed;
Unthinking Mimas, by Mezentius slain,
Now rolls his carcass o'er the Latian plain.
And as a tusky boar, whom dogs invade,
Of Vesulus bred in the piny shade,
Or near Laurentia's lake, with forest mast,
His feasts obscene, supplied in wild repast;
Roused from his savage haunt—a deep retreat—
A length of years his unmolested seat;
When once in toils enclosed, no flight appears,
Turns sudden, foaming fierce, his bristles rears;
All safe at distance stand, and none is found
Whose valour dares inflict a nearer wound:
Dreadless, meanwhile, to every side he turns,
His teeth he gnashes, and with rage he burns;
The united vengeance of the field derides,
A forest rattles as he shakes his sides;
78
And shouts in the mixed tumult they engage;
All from afar their missive weapons throw,
Fearful in equal arms to meet the foe.
Next Grecian Acron rushed into the plain,
Who came from Coritus's ancient reign:
Him thirst of fame to warlike dangers led,
The joys untasted of the bridal bed;
From far Mezentius eyed him with delight,
In arms refulgent, as he mixed in fight;
Full o'er his breast, in gold and purple known,
The tokens of his love conspicuous shone.
Then, as a lion thirsting after blood,
(For him persuades the keen desire of food),
If, or a frisking goat he chance to view,
Or branching stag, that leads the stately crew;
Rejoices, gaping wide, he makes his way
Furious, and clings incumbent on the prey,
That helpless pants beneath his horrid paws,
The blood o'erflowing laves his greedy jaws:
So keen Mezentius rushes on each foe,
Unhappy Acron sinks beneath his blow.
Mad in the pangs of death, he spurns the ground,
The blood distains the broken spear around.
Then fled Orodes shameful from the fight,
The victor scorned the advantage of his flight;
But fired with rage, through cleaving ranks he ran,
And face to face opposed, and man to man;
Not guileful from behind his spear to throw
A wound unseen, but strikes an adverse blow.
Then with his foot his dying foe he pressed,
Leaned on his lance, and thus his friends addressed:
Lo! where Orodes gasps upon the sand,
His death was due to this victorious hand,
Large portion of the war! Exulting cries
Ascend amain, and ring along the skies.
To whom the vanquished, with imperfect sound,
All weak and faint, and dying of the wound:
Nor long my ghost shall unrevenged repine,
Nor long the triumph of my fall be thine;
Thee equal fates, insulting man, remain,
Thee death yet waits, and this the fatal plain.
Him, as he rolled in death, Mezentius spied,
He smiled severe, and thus contemptuous cried:
Die thou the first; as he thinks fit, for me,
The sire of heaven and earth, let Jove decree.
He said, and pulled the weapon from the wound,
The purple life ebbed out upon the ground;
Death's clay-cold hand shut up the sinking light,
And o'er his closing eyes drew the dark mist of night.
79
By Cædicus' great arm Alcathous fell;
Sacrator sent Hydaspes down to hell;
Parthenius dies by Rapo slain in fight;
And Orses vast, of more than mortal might.
Next sunk two warriors, Clonius the divine,
And Ericetes of Lycaon's line;
The issue of the god, their deaths renowned,
Whose forked trident rules the deep profound.
His courser, inobedient to the rein,
Great Ericetes tumbled to the plain.
Prone as he lay, swift fled the thirsty dart,
And found the mortal passage to his heart.
Then lights the victor from his lofty steed,
And foot to foot engaged, made Clonius bleed.
Then Lycian Agis, boastful of his might,
Provoked the bravest foe to single fight;
Him boldly Tuscan Valerus assailed,
And in the virtues of his sire prevailed.
By Salius' arm, the swift Antronius bled;
Nealces' javelin struck the victor dead;
Nealces, skilled the sounding dart to throw,
And wing the treacherous arrow to the foe.
Mars, raging god, and stern, the war confounds,
Equals the victor's shouts and dying sounds.
Encountering various on the embattled field,
Now fierce they rush, now fierce retreating yield.
With equal rage each adverse battle glows,
Nor flight is known to these, nor known to those.
Tysiphone enjoys the direful sight,
Pale, furious, fell, and storms amidst the fight.
The gods, from Jove's immortal dome, survey
Each army toiling through the dreadful day;
With tender pity touched, lament the pain
That human life is destined to sustain:
On either side two deities are seen,
Jove's awful consort, and soft Beauty's queen;
The wife of Jove the conqueror's palm implores,
Soft Beauty's queen her Trojan's loss deplores.
Sacrator sent Hydaspes down to hell;
Parthenius dies by Rapo slain in fight;
And Orses vast, of more than mortal might.
Next sunk two warriors, Clonius the divine,
And Ericetes of Lycaon's line;
The issue of the god, their deaths renowned,
Whose forked trident rules the deep profound.
His courser, inobedient to the rein,
Great Ericetes tumbled to the plain.
Prone as he lay, swift fled the thirsty dart,
And found the mortal passage to his heart.
Then lights the victor from his lofty steed,
And foot to foot engaged, made Clonius bleed.
Then Lycian Agis, boastful of his might,
Provoked the bravest foe to single fight;
Him boldly Tuscan Valerus assailed,
And in the virtues of his sire prevailed.
By Salius' arm, the swift Antronius bled;
Nealces' javelin struck the victor dead;
Nealces, skilled the sounding dart to throw,
And wing the treacherous arrow to the foe.
Mars, raging god, and stern, the war confounds,
Equals the victor's shouts and dying sounds.
Encountering various on the embattled field,
Now fierce they rush, now fierce retreating yield.
With equal rage each adverse battle glows,
Nor flight is known to these, nor known to those.
Tysiphone enjoys the direful sight,
Pale, furious, fell, and storms amidst the fight.
The gods, from Jove's immortal dome, survey
Each army toiling through the dreadful day;
With tender pity touched, lament the pain
That human life is destined to sustain:
On either side two deities are seen,
Jove's awful consort, and soft Beauty's queen;
The wife of Jove the conqueror's palm implores,
Soft Beauty's queen her Trojan's loss deplores.
Again his javelin huge Mezentius wields,
Again tumultuous he invades the fields;
Large as Orion, when the giant stalks,
A bulk immense! through Nereus midmost walks;
Secure he cleaves his way, the billows braves,
His sinewy shoulders tower above the waves:
Bearing an ash, increased in strength with years,
That huge upon the mountain's height appears;
He strides along, each step the earth divides,
In clouds obscure his lofty head resides;
In stature huge, amidst the war's alarms,
Such shone the tyrant in gigantic arms.
Him, as exulting in the ranks he stood,
At distance seen, and rioting in blood,
Æneas hastes to meet, in all his might
He stands collected, and awaits the fight;
First measuring, as he stood in act to throw,
With nice survey, the distance of his foe:
This arm, this spear, he cried, assert my might;
These are my gods, and these assist in fight;
His armour from the boastful robber won,
Shall tower a trophy to my conquering son.
He said, and flings the dart with dreadful force,
The dart drove on unerring from the course;
It reached the shield, the shield the blow repelled,
Nor fell the javelin guiltless on the field;
But piercing 'twixt the side and bowels, tore
The famed Anthores, and deep drank the gore:
He, in his lusty years, from Argos sent
With famed Alcides, on his labours went;
Tired with his toils, a length of woes o'erpast,
In the Evandrian realm he fixed at last;
Called back again to war, where glory calls,
Unhappy, by a death unmeant, he falls:
To heaven his mournful eyes the dying throws;
In his last thoughts his native Argos rose;
Straight then his beaming lance the Trojan threw,
Swift, hissing on the wind, the weapon flew;
The plates of threefold brass were forced to yield,
And three bull's hides that bound the solid shield:
Deep in his lower groin, an arm so strong
Drove the sharp point, but brought not death along.
Then joyful, as the Trojan hero spied
The spouting blood pour down his wounded side,
Like lightning, from his thigh his sword he drew,
And furious on the astonished warrior flew.
Again tumultuous he invades the fields;
Large as Orion, when the giant stalks,
A bulk immense! through Nereus midmost walks;
Secure he cleaves his way, the billows braves,
His sinewy shoulders tower above the waves:
Bearing an ash, increased in strength with years,
That huge upon the mountain's height appears;
He strides along, each step the earth divides,
In clouds obscure his lofty head resides;
In stature huge, amidst the war's alarms,
Such shone the tyrant in gigantic arms.
80
At distance seen, and rioting in blood,
Æneas hastes to meet, in all his might
He stands collected, and awaits the fight;
First measuring, as he stood in act to throw,
With nice survey, the distance of his foe:
This arm, this spear, he cried, assert my might;
These are my gods, and these assist in fight;
His armour from the boastful robber won,
Shall tower a trophy to my conquering son.
He said, and flings the dart with dreadful force,
The dart drove on unerring from the course;
It reached the shield, the shield the blow repelled,
Nor fell the javelin guiltless on the field;
But piercing 'twixt the side and bowels, tore
The famed Anthores, and deep drank the gore:
He, in his lusty years, from Argos sent
With famed Alcides, on his labours went;
Tired with his toils, a length of woes o'erpast,
In the Evandrian realm he fixed at last;
Called back again to war, where glory calls,
Unhappy, by a death unmeant, he falls:
To heaven his mournful eyes the dying throws;
In his last thoughts his native Argos rose;
Straight then his beaming lance the Trojan threw,
Swift, hissing on the wind, the weapon flew;
The plates of threefold brass were forced to yield,
And three bull's hides that bound the solid shield:
Deep in his lower groin, an arm so strong
Drove the sharp point, but brought not death along.
Then joyful, as the Trojan hero spied
The spouting blood pour down his wounded side,
Like lightning, from his thigh his sword he drew,
And furious on the astonished warrior flew.
As Lausus saw, full sore he heaved the sigh;
The ready tear stood trembling in his eye;
His father's danger touched the youthful chief,
With pious haste he ran to his relief:
Nor shall thou sink unnoted to the tomb,
Unsung thy noble deed and early doom;
If future times to such a deed will give
Their faith, to future times thy name shall live.
Disabled, trembling for a death so near,
The father, slow receding, drags the spear;
Just in that moment, as, suspended high,
The flaming sword shone adverse to the sky,
The daring youth rushed in and fronts the foe,
And from his father turns the impending blow:
His friends, with joyful shouts, reply around,
Through all their echoes all the hills resound;
As, wondering, they beheld the wounded sire,
Protected by the son, from fight retire.
A dark'ning flight of singing shafts annoy,
From every quarter poured, the Prince of Troy;
He stands against the fury of the field,
And rages, covered with his mighty shield.
And as when stormy winds encountering loud,
Burst with rude violence the bellowing cloud;
Precipitate to earth, the tempest pours
The vexing hailstones, thick in sounding showers:
The deluged plains then every ploughman flies,
And every hind and traveller sheltered lies;
Or, where the rock high overarched impends,
Or, where the river's shelving bank defends,
That, powerful o'er the storm, when bright the ray
Shines forth, they each may exercise the day.
Loud sounds the gathered storm, o'er all the field
The cloud of war pours thundering on his shield;
Yet still he tried, with friendly care, to save
The unhappy youth, unfortunately brave!
Ah! whither dost thou urge thy fatal course,
In daring deeds, unequal to thy force?
Too pious in thy love, thy love betrays,
Nor such the vigour crowns thy youthful days.
Not thus advised, the youth still fronts the foe,
Exulting, and provokes the lingering blow:
For now, his martial bosom all on fire,
The Trojan leader's tide of rage swelled higher;
For now, the sisters viewed the fatal strife,
And wound up the last threads of Lausus' life;
Deep plunged the shining falchion in his breast,
Pierced his thin armour and embroidered vest,
That, rich in ductile gold, his mother wove
With her own hands, the witness of her love.
His breast was filled with blood, then sad and slow,
Through air resolved, the spirit fled below:
As, ghastly pale, the chief the dying spied,
His hands he stretched to heaven, and pitying sighed;
His sire Anchises rose, an image dear,
Sad in his soul, and forced the tender tear.
What praise, O youth! unhappy in thy fate,
What can Æneas yield to worth so great?
Worth that distinguished in thy deed appears,
Ripe in thy youth and early in thy years?
Thy arms, once pleasing objects of thy care,
Inviolate from hostile spoil I spare;
Thy breathless body on thy friends bestow,
To mitigate thy pensive spirit's woe;
If aught below the separate soul can move,
Solicitous of what is done above.
(Yet in the grave, perhaps, from every care
Released, nor knowledge nor device is there),
That, gathered to thy sires, thy friends may mourn
Thy hapless fall, and dust to dust return:
This to thy solace in the world below,
'Twas I, the great Æneas, struck the blow.
He said, and beckoning, chides his friends' delay,
And pious to assist, directs the way,
To rear him from the ground, with friendly care,
Dishonoured foul with blood his comely hair.
The ready tear stood trembling in his eye;
His father's danger touched the youthful chief,
With pious haste he ran to his relief:
Nor shall thou sink unnoted to the tomb,
Unsung thy noble deed and early doom;
If future times to such a deed will give
Their faith, to future times thy name shall live.
Disabled, trembling for a death so near,
The father, slow receding, drags the spear;
Just in that moment, as, suspended high,
The flaming sword shone adverse to the sky,
The daring youth rushed in and fronts the foe,
And from his father turns the impending blow:
His friends, with joyful shouts, reply around,
Through all their echoes all the hills resound;
81
Protected by the son, from fight retire.
A dark'ning flight of singing shafts annoy,
From every quarter poured, the Prince of Troy;
He stands against the fury of the field,
And rages, covered with his mighty shield.
And as when stormy winds encountering loud,
Burst with rude violence the bellowing cloud;
Precipitate to earth, the tempest pours
The vexing hailstones, thick in sounding showers:
The deluged plains then every ploughman flies,
And every hind and traveller sheltered lies;
Or, where the rock high overarched impends,
Or, where the river's shelving bank defends,
That, powerful o'er the storm, when bright the ray
Shines forth, they each may exercise the day.
Loud sounds the gathered storm, o'er all the field
The cloud of war pours thundering on his shield;
Yet still he tried, with friendly care, to save
The unhappy youth, unfortunately brave!
Ah! whither dost thou urge thy fatal course,
In daring deeds, unequal to thy force?
Too pious in thy love, thy love betrays,
Nor such the vigour crowns thy youthful days.
Not thus advised, the youth still fronts the foe,
Exulting, and provokes the lingering blow:
For now, his martial bosom all on fire,
The Trojan leader's tide of rage swelled higher;
For now, the sisters viewed the fatal strife,
And wound up the last threads of Lausus' life;
Deep plunged the shining falchion in his breast,
Pierced his thin armour and embroidered vest,
That, rich in ductile gold, his mother wove
With her own hands, the witness of her love.
His breast was filled with blood, then sad and slow,
Through air resolved, the spirit fled below:
As, ghastly pale, the chief the dying spied,
His hands he stretched to heaven, and pitying sighed;
His sire Anchises rose, an image dear,
Sad in his soul, and forced the tender tear.
What praise, O youth! unhappy in thy fate,
What can Æneas yield to worth so great?
Worth that distinguished in thy deed appears,
Ripe in thy youth and early in thy years?
Thy arms, once pleasing objects of thy care,
Inviolate from hostile spoil I spare;
Thy breathless body on thy friends bestow,
To mitigate thy pensive spirit's woe;
If aught below the separate soul can move,
Solicitous of what is done above.
82
Released, nor knowledge nor device is there),
That, gathered to thy sires, thy friends may mourn
Thy hapless fall, and dust to dust return:
This to thy solace in the world below,
'Twas I, the great Æneas, struck the blow.
He said, and beckoning, chides his friends' delay,
And pious to assist, directs the way,
To rear him from the ground, with friendly care,
Dishonoured foul with blood his comely hair.
The wretched father now, by Tiber shore,
Washed from his streaming thigh the crimson gore:
Pained with his wound, and weary from the fight,
A tree's broad trunk supports his drooping weight;
A bough, his helmet beaming far, sustains;
His heavier armour rests along the plains:
Panting and sick, his body downward bends,
And to his breast his length of beard descends:
He leans his careful head upon his hand;
Around him wait a melancholy band:
Much of his Lausus asks, and many sent
To warn him back—a father's kind intent:
How vainly sent! for, breathless from the field
They bear the youth, extended on his shield!
Loud wailing, mourned him slain in early bloom,
Mighty, and by a mighty wound o'ercome.
Washed from his streaming thigh the crimson gore:
Pained with his wound, and weary from the fight,
A tree's broad trunk supports his drooping weight;
A bough, his helmet beaming far, sustains;
His heavier armour rests along the plains:
Panting and sick, his body downward bends,
And to his breast his length of beard descends:
He leans his careful head upon his hand;
Around him wait a melancholy band:
Much of his Lausus asks, and many sent
To warn him back—a father's kind intent:
How vainly sent! for, breathless from the field
They bear the youth, extended on his shield!
Loud wailing, mourned him slain in early bloom,
Mighty, and by a mighty wound o'ercome.
Far off the sounds of woe the father hears;
He trembles in the foresight of his fears:
With dust, the hoary honours of his head
Sad he deforms, and cleaves unto the dead.
Then both his hands to heaven aloft he spread,
And thus, in fulness of his sorrows, said:
Could then this lust of life so warp my mind,
That I could think of leaving thee behind
Whom I begot, unhappy in my stead
To meet the warrior, and for me to bleed?
Now fate severe has struck too deep a blow;
Now first I feel a wretched exile's woe.
And is it thus I draw this wretched breath,
Saved by thy wound, and living by thy death?
I too, my son, with horrid guilt profaned
Thy sacred virtues, and their lustre stained;
Outcast! abandoned by the care of heaven!
From empire and paternal sceptres driven!
My people's hatred and insulting scorn,
The merit of my crimes I've justly born:
To thousand deaths this wicked soul could give,
Since now 'tis crime enough that I can live—
Can yet sustain the light, and human race!
Wretched as I am!—But short shall be the space.
He said, and as he said, he reared from ground
His fainting limbs, yet staggering from the wound;
But whole and undiminished still remains
His strength of soul, unbroke with toil and pains.
He calls his steed, successful from each fight,
With whom he marched, his glory and delight;
With words like these his conscious steed addressed,
That mourned as with his master's ills oppressed:
Rhæbus, we long have lived, in arms combined,
If long the frail possessions of mankind;
This day thou shalt bring back, to crown our toils,
The Trojan hero's head and glittering spoils;
Torn from the bloody man, with me shall take
A dear revenge, for murdered Lausus' sake:
If strength shall fail to ope the destined way,
Together fall, and press the Latian clay;
For after me, I trust, thou wilt disdain
A Trojan leader, and an alien rein.
He said; the steed receives his wonted weight,
The tyrant armed, and furious for the fight:
His blazing helmet formidably graced
With nodding horse-hair bright'ning o'er the crest:
With deathful javelins next he fills his hands,
And spurs his steed, and seeks the fighting bands:
Grief mixed with madness, shame of former flight,
And love by rage enflamed to desperate height,
And conscious knowledge of his valour, wrought
Fierce in his breast, and boiled in every thought.
He calls Æneas thrice; Æneas heard
The welcome sound, and thus his prayer preferred:
May Jove, supreme of gods, who rules on high,
And he to whom 'tis given to gild the sky,
Far-shooting king! inspire thee to draw near
Swift to thy fate, and grant thee to my spear.
But he—my Lausus ravished from my sight—
Me with vain words, O cruel! would'st affright;
With age, with watchings, and with labours worn,
Death is below my fear, and gods I scorn!
I come resolved to die; but ere I go,
Receive this dart, the present of a foe!
He said; the javelin hissed along the skies,
Another after, and another flies,
Thick and incessant, as he rides the field,
Still all the storm sustains the golden shield.
Firm as Æneas stood, thrice rode he round,
Urging his darts, the compass of the ground;
Thrice wheeled Æneas, thrice his buckler bears
About, a brazen wood of rising spears:
Pressed in unrighteous fight, with just disdain
To wrench so many darts, and wrench in vain,
Much pondering in his mind, the chief revolved
Each rising thought; at last he springs resolved.
Full at the warrior steed the hostile wood
He threw, that pierced his brain and drank the blood:
Stung with the pain, the steed upreared on high
His sounding hoofs, and lashed the yielding sky;
Prone fell the warrior from his lofty height,
His shoulders broad received the courser's weight.
From host to host the mingling shouts rebound,
Deep echoing, all in fire, the heavens resound;
Unsheathed his flaming blade, Æneas flies,
And thus addressed the warrior as he lies:
Say, where is now Mezentius, great and bold,
That haughty spirit, fierce and uncontrolled?
To whom the Tuscan, with recovered breath,
As faint he viewed the skies, recalled from death:
Dost thou the stroke, insulting man! delay?
Haste, let thy vengeance take its destined way;
Death never can disgrace the warrior's fame,
Who dies in fight; nor conquest was my aim;
Slain, savage, by thy hand in glorious strife,
Not so my Lausus bargained for my life;
Deprived of him, sole object of my love,
I seek to die—for joy is none above!
Yet, piteous of my fate, this grace allow—
If pity to the vanquished foe be due—
Suffer my friends my gathered bones to burn,
And decent lay me in the funeral urn:
Full well I know, my people's hate, decreed
Against the living, will pursue the dead;
My breathless body from their fury save!
And grant my son the partner of my grave.
He said; and stedfast eyed the victor foe,
Then gave his breast undaunted to the blow.
The rushing blood distained his arms around;
The soul indignant sought the shades profound!
He trembles in the foresight of his fears:
With dust, the hoary honours of his head
Sad he deforms, and cleaves unto the dead.
Then both his hands to heaven aloft he spread,
And thus, in fulness of his sorrows, said:
Could then this lust of life so warp my mind,
That I could think of leaving thee behind
Whom I begot, unhappy in my stead
To meet the warrior, and for me to bleed?
Now fate severe has struck too deep a blow;
Now first I feel a wretched exile's woe.
And is it thus I draw this wretched breath,
Saved by thy wound, and living by thy death?
I too, my son, with horrid guilt profaned
Thy sacred virtues, and their lustre stained;
Outcast! abandoned by the care of heaven!
From empire and paternal sceptres driven!
My people's hatred and insulting scorn,
The merit of my crimes I've justly born:
To thousand deaths this wicked soul could give,
Since now 'tis crime enough that I can live—
Can yet sustain the light, and human race!
Wretched as I am!—But short shall be the space.
83
His fainting limbs, yet staggering from the wound;
But whole and undiminished still remains
His strength of soul, unbroke with toil and pains.
He calls his steed, successful from each fight,
With whom he marched, his glory and delight;
With words like these his conscious steed addressed,
That mourned as with his master's ills oppressed:
Rhæbus, we long have lived, in arms combined,
If long the frail possessions of mankind;
This day thou shalt bring back, to crown our toils,
The Trojan hero's head and glittering spoils;
Torn from the bloody man, with me shall take
A dear revenge, for murdered Lausus' sake:
If strength shall fail to ope the destined way,
Together fall, and press the Latian clay;
For after me, I trust, thou wilt disdain
A Trojan leader, and an alien rein.
He said; the steed receives his wonted weight,
The tyrant armed, and furious for the fight:
His blazing helmet formidably graced
With nodding horse-hair bright'ning o'er the crest:
With deathful javelins next he fills his hands,
And spurs his steed, and seeks the fighting bands:
Grief mixed with madness, shame of former flight,
And love by rage enflamed to desperate height,
And conscious knowledge of his valour, wrought
Fierce in his breast, and boiled in every thought.
He calls Æneas thrice; Æneas heard
The welcome sound, and thus his prayer preferred:
May Jove, supreme of gods, who rules on high,
And he to whom 'tis given to gild the sky,
Far-shooting king! inspire thee to draw near
Swift to thy fate, and grant thee to my spear.
But he—my Lausus ravished from my sight—
Me with vain words, O cruel! would'st affright;
With age, with watchings, and with labours worn,
Death is below my fear, and gods I scorn!
I come resolved to die; but ere I go,
Receive this dart, the present of a foe!
He said; the javelin hissed along the skies,
Another after, and another flies,
Thick and incessant, as he rides the field,
Still all the storm sustains the golden shield.
Firm as Æneas stood, thrice rode he round,
Urging his darts, the compass of the ground;
Thrice wheeled Æneas, thrice his buckler bears
About, a brazen wood of rising spears:
Pressed in unrighteous fight, with just disdain
To wrench so many darts, and wrench in vain,
84
Each rising thought; at last he springs resolved.
Full at the warrior steed the hostile wood
He threw, that pierced his brain and drank the blood:
Stung with the pain, the steed upreared on high
His sounding hoofs, and lashed the yielding sky;
Prone fell the warrior from his lofty height,
His shoulders broad received the courser's weight.
From host to host the mingling shouts rebound,
Deep echoing, all in fire, the heavens resound;
Unsheathed his flaming blade, Æneas flies,
And thus addressed the warrior as he lies:
Say, where is now Mezentius, great and bold,
That haughty spirit, fierce and uncontrolled?
To whom the Tuscan, with recovered breath,
As faint he viewed the skies, recalled from death:
Dost thou the stroke, insulting man! delay?
Haste, let thy vengeance take its destined way;
Death never can disgrace the warrior's fame,
Who dies in fight; nor conquest was my aim;
Slain, savage, by thy hand in glorious strife,
Not so my Lausus bargained for my life;
Deprived of him, sole object of my love,
I seek to die—for joy is none above!
Yet, piteous of my fate, this grace allow—
If pity to the vanquished foe be due—
Suffer my friends my gathered bones to burn,
And decent lay me in the funeral urn:
Full well I know, my people's hate, decreed
Against the living, will pursue the dead;
My breathless body from their fury save!
And grant my son the partner of my grave.
He said; and stedfast eyed the victor foe,
Then gave his breast undaunted to the blow.
The rushing blood distained his arms around;
The soul indignant sought the shades profound!
| The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour | |