Our Trojan comrades, one and all,
Cry loud, Æneas to recall,
And where, they say, the men to go
And let him of our peril know?
Now, if the meed I ask they swear
To give you—nay, I claim no share,
Content with bare renown—
Meseems, beside yon grassy heap
The way I well might find and keep
To Pallanteum’s town.’
The youth returns, while thirst of praise
Infects him with a strange amaze:
‘Can Nisus aim at heights so great,
Nor take his friend to share his fate?
Shall I look on, and let you go
Alone to venture ’mid the foe?
Not thus my sire Opheltes, versed
In war’s rude toil, my childhood nursed,
When Argive terror filled the air
And Troy was battling with despair:
Nor such the lot my youth has tried,
In hardship ever at your side,
Since, great Æneas’ liegeman sworn,
I followed Fortune to her bourne:
Here, here within this bosom burns
A soul that mere existence spurns,
And holds the fame you seek to reap,
Though bought with life, were bought full cheap.’
‘To wound you with so base a dread:
So may great Jove, or whosoe’er
Marks with just eyes how mortals fare,
Protect me going, and restore
In triumph to your arms once more.
But if—for many a chance, you wis,
Besets an enterprise like this—
If accident or power divine
The scheme to adverse end incline,
Your life at least I would prolong:
Death does your years a deeper wrong.
Leave me a friend to tomb my clay,
Rescued or ransomed, which you may;
Or, e’en that boon should chance refuse,
To pay the absent funeral dues.
Nor let me cause so dire a smart
To that devoted mother’s heart,
Who, sole of all the matron train,
Attends her darling o’er the main,
Nor cares like others to sit down
An inmate of Acestes’ town.’
He answers brief: ‘Your pleas are naught:
Firm stands the purpose of my thought:
Come, stir we: why so slow?’
Then calls the guards to take their place,
Moves on by Nisus, pace with pace,
And to the prince they go.
Were stretched in sleep, forgetting care:
Troy’s chosen chiefs in high debate
Were pondering o’er the reeling state,
What means to try, or whom to speed
To warn Æneas of their need.
There stand they, midway in the field,
Still hold the spear, still grasp the shield:
When Nisus and his comrade brave
With eager tones admittance crave;
The matter high; though time be lost,
The occasion well were worth the cost.
Iulus hails the impatient pair,
Bids Nisus what they wish declare.
Then spoke the youth: ‘Chiefs! lend your ears,
Nor judge our proffer by our years.
The Rutules, sunk in wine and sleep,
Have ceased their former watch to keep:
A stealthy passage have we spied
Where on the sea the gate opes wide:
The line of fires is scant and broke,
And thick and murky rolls the smoke.
Give leave to seek, in these dark hours,
Æneas at Evander’s towers,
Soon will you see us here again
Decked with the spoils of slaughtered men.
Nor strange the road: ourselves have seen
The city, hid by valleys green,
Just dimly dawning, and explored
In hunting all the river-board.’
Out spoke Aletes, old and grey:
‘Ye gods, who still are Ilium’s stay,
No, no, ye mean not to destroy
Down to the ground the race of Troy,
When such the spirit of her youth,
And such the might of patriot truth.’
Then, as the tears roll down his face,
He clasps them both in strict embrace:
‘Brave warriors! what reward so great,
For worth like yours to compensate?
From Heaven and from your own true heart
Expect the largest, fairest part:
The rest, and at no distant day,
The good Æneas shall repay,
Nor he, the royal youth, forget
Through all his life the mighty debt.’
‘Nay, hear me too,’ Ascanius cried,
‘Whose life is with my father’s tied:
O Nisus! by the home-god powers
We jointly reverence, yours and ours,
The god of ancient Capys’ line,
And Vesta’s venerable shrine,
By these dread sanctions I appeal
To you, the masters of my weal;
O bring me back my sire again!
Restore him, and I feel no pain.
Two massy goblets will I give;
Rich sculptures on the silver live;
The plunder of my sire,
What time he took Arisba’s hold;
Two chargers, talents twain of gold,
A bow beside of antique mould
By Dido brought from Tyre.
Then too, if ours the lot to reign
Or Italy, by conquest ta’en,
And each man’s spoil assign,—
Saw ye how Turnus rode yestreen,
His horse and arms of golden sheen?
That horse, that shield and glowing crest
I separate, Nisus, from the rest
And count already thine.
Twelve female slaves, at your desire,
Twelve captives with their arms entire,
My sire shall give you, and the plain
That forms Latinus’ own domain.
But you, dear youth, of worth divine,
Whose blooming years are nearer mine,
Here to my heart I take, and choose
My comrade for whate’er ensues.
No glory will I e’er pursue,
Unmotived by the thought of you:
Let peace or war my state befall,
Thought, word, and deed, you share them all.’
The youth replied: ‘No after day
This hour’s fair promise shall betray,
Be Fate but kind. Yet let me claim
One favour, more than all you name:
A mother in the camp is mine,
Derived from Priam’s ancient line:
No home in Sicily or Troy
Has kept her from her darling boy.
She knows not, she, the paths I tread:
I leave her now, no farewell said;
By Night and this your hand I swear,
A parent’s tears I could not bear.
Vouchsafe your pity, and engage
To solace her unchilded
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