Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/332

308 Cowed by the shock, the Rutules bold

No more engage in fight blindfold,

But with a missile tempest strive

The foeman from his wall to drive.

Elsewhere Mezentius, grim to see,

Wields Tuscan pine-stock, tall as he,

And heads the desperate attack

With torch-fire vapours, pitchy black:

While bold Messapus, Neptune's seed,

Imperious tamer of the steed,

Tears down the palisade, and calls

For ladders to ascend the walls.

Now grant, Calliope, thine aid;

Ye Muses, prompt my lay

To tell what havoc Turnus made

On that too bloody day,

What gallant chiefs were hurled below

And what the hands that dealt the blow.

Be near, and help me to unrol

In length and breadth the martial scroll.

Linked by strong bridges to the wall

There rose a lofty tower:

Italia's warriors, one and all,

Assail it, bent to work its fall,

With utmost strain of power:

The sons of Troy with stones defend,

And through the narrowed eyelets send

A furious steely shower.

Fierce Turnus first a firebrand flings:

It strikes the side, takes hold, and clings:

The freshening breezes spread the blaze,

And soon on plank and beam it preys.

The inmates flutter in dismay

And vainly wish to fly: