Book 12
to the hard, clinging root. Anchises' son
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bent o'er it, and would wrench his weapon free,
and follow with a far-flung javelin
the swift out-speeding foe. But Turnus then,
bewildered and in terror, cried aloud:
“O Faunus, pity me and heed my prayer!
Hold fast his weapon, O benignant Earth!
If ere these hands have rendered offering due,
where yon polluting Teucrians fight and slay.”
He spoke; invoking succor of the god,
with no Iost prayer. For tugging valiantly
and laboring long against the stubborn stem,
Aeneas with his whole strength could but fail
to Ioose the clasping tree. While fiercely thus
he strove and strained, Juturna once again,
wearing the charioteer Metiscus' shape,
ran to her brother's aid, restoring him
his own true sword. But Venus, wroth to see
what license to the dauntless nymph was given,
herself came near, and plucked from that deep root
the javelin forth. So both with lofty mien
strode forth new-armed, new-hearted: one made bold
by his good sword, the other, spear in hand,
uptowered in wrath, and with confronting brows
they set them to the war-god's breathless game.
Meanwhile th' Olympian sovereign supreme
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to Juno speaks, as from an amber cloud
the strife she views: “My Queen, what end shall be?
What yet remains? Thou seest Aeneas' name
numbered with tutelary gods of power;
and well thou know'st what station in the sky
his starward destiny intends. What scheme
vexes thy bosom still? What stubborn hope,
fostered in cloud and cold? O, was it well
to desecrate a god with mortal wound;
or well (what were a nymph unhelped by thee?)
to give back Turnus his lost sword, and lend
strength unavailing to the fallen brave?
Give o'er, and to our supplication yield;
let not such grief thy voiceless heart devour;
