|Do not fly Iberia
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translated by Theodore C. Williams
Book XII Chapter 34: The duel
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Aeneas now is near; and waving wide
a spear like some tall tree, he called aloud
with unrelenting heart: What stays thee now?
Or wherefore, Turnus, backward fly? Our work
is not a foot-race, but the wrathful strife
of man with man. Aye, hasten to put on
tricks and disguises; gather all thou hast
of skill or courage; wish thou wert a bird
to fly to starry heaven, or hide thy head
safe in the hollow ground! The other then
shook his head, saying: It is not thy words,
not thy hot words, affright me, savage man!
Only the gods I fear, and hostile Jove.
Silent he stood, and glancing round him saw
a huge rock lying by, huge rock and old,
a landmark justly sundering field from field,
which scarce six strong men's shoulders might upraise,
such men as mother Earth brings forth to-day:
this grasped he with impetuous hand and hurled,
stretched at full height and roused to all his speed,
against his foe. Yet scarcely could he feel
it was himself that ran, himself that moved
with lifted hand to fling the monster stone;
for his knees trembled, and his languid blood
ran shuddering cold; nor could the stone he threw,
tumbling in empty air, attain its goal
nor strike the destined blow. But as in dreams,
when helpless slumber binds the darkened eyes,
we seem with fond desire to tread in vain
along a lengthening road, yet faint and fall
when straining to the utmost, and the tongue
is palsied, and the body's wonted power
obeys not, and we have no speech or cry:
so unto Turnus, whatsoever way
his valiant spirit moved, the direful Fiend
stopped in the act his will. Swift-changing thoughts
rush o'er his soul; on the Rutulian host,
then at the town he glares, shrinks back in fear,
and trembles at th' impending lance ; nor sees
what path to fly, what way confront the foe: --
no chariot now, nor sister-charioteer!
Note 1: mother Earth = Gaea
Aeneas instat contra telumque coruscat
ingens arboreum, et saeuo sic pectore fatur:
'quae nunc deinde mora est? aut quid iam, Turne, retractas?
non cursu, saeuis certandum est comminus armis.
uerte omnis tete in facies et contrahe quidquid
siue animis siue arte uales; opta ardua pennis
astra sequi clausumque caua te condere terra.'
ille caput quassans: 'non me tua feruida terrent
dicta, ferox; di me terrent et Iuppiter hostis.'
nec plura effatus saxum circumspicit ingens,
saxum antiquum ingens, campo quod forte iacebat,
limes agro positus litem ut discerneret aruis.
uix illum lecti bis sex ceruice subirent,
qualia nunc hominum producit corpora tellus;
ille manu raptum trepida torquebat in hostem
altior insurgens et cursu concitus heros.
sed neque currentem se nec cognoscit euntem
tollentemue manu saxumue immane mouentem;
genua labant, gelidus concreuit frigore sanguis.
tum lapis ipse uiri uacuum per inane uolutus
nec spatium euasit totum neque pertulit ictum.
ac uelut in somnis, oculos ubi languida pressit
nocte quies, nequiquam auidos extendere cursus
uelle uidemur et in mediis conatibus aegri
succidimus; non lingua ualet, non corpore notae
sufficiunt uires nec uox aut uerba sequuntur:
sic Turno, quacumque uiam uirtute petiuit,
successum dea dira negat. tum pectore sensus
uertuntur uarii; Rutulos aspectat et urbem
cunctaturque metu letumque instare tremescit,
nec quo se eripiat, nec qua ui tendat in hostem,
nec currus usquam uidet aurigamue sororem.