Behold Murranus, boasting his high birthfrom far-descended sires of storied name,the line of Latium's kings! Aeneas nowwith mountain-boulder lays him low in dust,smitten with whirlwind of the monster stone;and o'er him fallen under yoke and reinroll his own chariot wheels, while with swift treadthe mad hoofs of his horses stamp him down,not knowing him their lord. But Turnus foundproud Hyllus fronting him with frantic rage,and at his golden helmet launched the shaftthat pierced it; in his cloven brain it clung.Nor could thy sword, O Cretheus, save thee thenfrom Turnus, though of bravest Greeks the peer;nor did Cupencus' gods their priest defendagainst Aeneas, but his breast he gaveunto the hostile blade; his brazen shielddelayed no whit his miserable doom.Thee also, Aeolus, Laurentum sawspread thy huge body dying on the ground;yea, dying, thou whom Greeks in serried armssubdued not, nor Achilles' hand that hurledthe throne of Priam down: here didst thou touchthy goal of death; one stately house was thineon Ida's mountain, at Lyrnessus, one;Laurentum's hallowed earth was but thy grave.Now the whole host contends; all Latium meetsall Ilium; Mnestheus and Serestus bold;Messapus, the steed-breaker, and high-souredAsilas; Tuscans in a phalanx proud;Arcadian riders of Evander's train:each warrior lifts him to his height supremeof might and skill; no sloth nor lingering now,but in one far-spread conflict all contend.

His goddess-mother in Aeneas' mindnow stirred the purpose to make sudden wayagainst the city-wall, in swift advanceof all his line, confounding Latium sowith slaughter and surprise. His roving glance,seeking for Turnus through the scattered linesthis way and that, beholds in distant viewthe city yet unscathed and calmly freefrom the wide-raging fight. Then on his soulrushed the swift vision of a mightier war.Mnestheus, Sergestus, and Serestus brave,his chosen chiefs, he summons to his side,and stands upon a hillock, whither throngthe Teucrian legions, each man holding fasthis shield and spear. He, towering high,thus from the rampart to his people calls:“Perform my bidding swiftly: Jove's own handsustains our power. Be ye not slack, becausethe thing I do is sudden. For this dayI will pluck out th' offending root of war,—yon city where Latinus reigns. Unlessit bear our yoke and heed a conqueror's will,will lay low in dust its blazing towers.Must I wait Turnus' pleasure, till he deignto meet my stroke, and have a mind once more,though vanquished, to show fight? My countrymen,see yonder stronghold of their impious war!Bring flames; avenge the broken oath with fire!”Scarce had he said, when with consenting souls,they speed them to the walls in dense array,forming a wedge. Ladders now leap in air,and sudden-blazing fires. In various warsome troops run charging at the city-gates,and slay the guards; some fling the whirling spearand darken heaven with arrows. In their van,his right hand lifted to the wails and towers,Aeneas, calling on the gods to hear,loudly upbraids Latinus that once moreconflict is thrust upon him; that once moreItalians are his foes and violatetheir second pledge of peace. So blazes forthdissension 'twixt the frighted citizens:some would give o'er the city and fling wideits portals to the Trojan, or drag forththe King himself to parley; others flyto arms, and at the rampart make a stand.'T is thus some shepherd from a caverned cragstirs up the nested bees with plenteous fumeof bitter smoke; they, posting to and fro,fly desperate round the waxen citadel,and whet their buzzing fury; through their hallsthe stench and blackness rolls; within the cavesnoise and confusion ring; the fatal cloudpours forth incessant on the vacant air.