Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/332

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: