Vergil, Aeneid 10.841-871

At Lausum sociī exanimem super arma ferēbant

flentēs, ingentem atque ingentī vulnere victum.

agnōvit longē gemitum praesāga malī mens.

cānitiem multō dēformat pulvere et ambās

ad caelum tendit palmās et corpore inhaeret.

“tantane mē tenuit vīvendī, nāte, voluptās,

ut prō mē hostīlī paterer succēdere dextrae

quem genuī? tuane haec genitor per vulnera servor

morte tuā vīvens? heu, nunc miserō mihi dēmum

exitium infēlix, nunc altē vulnus adactum!

īdem ego, nāte, tuum maculāvī crimine nōmen,

pulsus ob invidiam soliō sceptrīsque paternīs.

dēbueram patriae poenās odiīsque meōrum:

omnīs per mortīs animam sontem ipse dedissem!

nunc vīvō neque adhūc hominēs lūcemque relinquō.

sed linquam”. simul hōc dīcens attollit in aegrum

sē femur et, quamquam vīs altō vulnere tardat,

haud dēiectus equum dūcī iubet. hōc decus illī,

hōc sōlāmen erat, bellīs hōc victor abībat

omnibus. alloquitur maerentem et tālibus infit:

“Rhaebe, diū, rēs sī qua diū mortālibus ulla est,

viximus. aut hodiē victor spolia illa cruentī

et caput Aenēae referēs Lausīque dolōrum

ultor eris mēcum, aut, aperit sī nulla viam vīs,

occumbēs pariter; neque enim, fortissime, crēdō,

iussa aliēna patī et dominōs dignābere Teucrōs”.

dixit, et exceptus tergō consuēta locāvit

membra manūsque ambās iaculīs onerāvit acūtīs,

aere caput fulgens cristāque hirsūtus equīnā.

sīc cursum in mediōs rapidus dedit. aestuat ingens

ūnō in corde pudor mixtōque insānia lūctū.

Behold, his mournful followers bear him slain!

O'er his broad shield still gush'd the yawning wound,

And drew a bloody trail along the ground.

Far off he heard their cries, far off divin'd

The dire event, with a foreboding mind.

With dust he sprinkled first his hoary head;

Then both his lifted hands to heav'n he spread;

Last, the dear corpse embracing, thus he said:

"What joys, alas! could this frail being give,

That I have been so covetous to live?

To see my son, and such a son, resign

His life, a ransom for preserving mine!

And am I then preserv'd, and art thou lost?

How much too dear has that redemption cost!

'Tis now my bitter banishment I feel:

This is a wound too deep for time to heal.

My guilt thy growing virtues did defame;

My blackness blotted thy unblemish'd name.

Chas'd from a throne, abandon'd, and exil'd

For foul misdeeds, were punishments too mild:

I ow'd my people these, and, from their hate,

With less resentment could have borne my fate.

And yet I live, and yet sustain the sight

Of hated men, and of more hated light:

But will not long". With that he rais'd from ground

His fainting limbs, that stagger'd with his wound;

Yet, with a mind resolv'd, and unappall'd

With pains or perils, for his courser call'd

Well-mouth'd, well-manag'd, whom himself did dress

With daily care, and mounted with success;

His aid in arms, his ornament in peace.

Soothing his courage with a gentle stroke,

The steed seem'd sensible, while thus he spoke:

"O Rhoebus, we have liv'd too long for me-

If life and long were terms that could agree!

This day thou either shalt bring back the head

And bloody trophies of the Trojan dead;

This day thou either shalt revenge my woe,

For murther'd Lausus, on his cruel foe;

Or, if inexorable fate deny

Our conquest, with thy conquer'd master die:

For, after such a lord, rest secure,

Thou wilt no foreign reins, or Trojan load endure".

He said; and straight th' officious courser kneels,

To take his wonted weight. His hands he fills

With pointed jav'lins; on his head he lac'd

His glitt'ring helm, which terribly was grac'd

With waving horsehair, nodding from afar;

Then spurr'd his thund'ring steed amidst the war.

Love, anguish, wrath, and grief, to madness wrought.

Trans. John Dryden

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