And here heroic youth, 'tis here I must
To thy immortal memory be just,
And sing an act so noble and so new,
Posterity will scarce believe 'tis true.

Book XI.

THE HISTORY AND DEATH OF CAMILLA.

MEANTIME, Latonian Phoebe, from the skies,

Pain'd with the wound, and useless for the Beheld th' approaching war with hateful eyes,

fight,

The father sought to save himself by flight:
Encumber'd, slow he dragg'd the spear along.
Which pierc'd his thigh, and in his buckler hung.
The pious youth, resolv'd on death, below
The lifted sword, springs forth to face the foe;
Protects his parent, and prevents the blow,
Shouts of applause ran ringing through the field,
To see the son the vanquish'd father shield.
All fir'd with gen'rons indignation, strive,
And, with a storm of darts, to distance drive
The Trojan chief, who, held at bay from far,
On his Vulcanian orb sustain'd the war.

As, when thick hail comes rattling in the wind,
The ploughman, passenger, and lab'ring hind,
For shelter to the neighb'ring covert fly,
Or, hons'd, or safe in hollow caverns, lie;
But, that o'erblown, when heaven above them
smiles,

Return to travail, and renew their toils:
Æneas, thus o'erwhelm'd on every side,
The storm of darts, undaunted, did abide;
And thus to Lausus loud with friendly threat'ning
cried:

And call'd the light-foot Opis to her aid,
Her most belov'd and ever-trusty maid;
Then with a sigh began: "Camilla goes
To meet her death amidst her fatal foes-
The nymph I lov'd of all my mortal train
Invested with Diana's arms in vain.
Nor is my kindness for the virgin new:
'Twas born with her; and with her years it grew.
Her father Metabus, when forc'd away
From old Privernum, for tyrannic sway,
Snatch'd up, and sav'd from his prevailing foes,
This tender babe, companion of his woes.
Casmilla was her mother: but he drown'd,
One hissing letter in a softer sound,
And call'd Camilla. Through the woods he flies;
Wrapp'd in his robe, the royal infant lies.
His foes in sight, he mends his weary pace;
With shouts and clamours they pursue the chase.
The banks of Amasene at length he gains:
The raging flood his further flight restrains,
Rais'd o'er the borders with unusual rains.
Prepar'd to plunge into the stream, he fears,
Not for himself, but for the charge he bears.
Anxious, he stops a while, and thinks in haste,

Why wilt thou rush to certain death, and rage, Then, desp'rate in distress, resolves at last.
In such attempts, beyond thy tender age,
Betray'd by pious love?"-Nor, thus forborn
The youth desists, but with insulting scorn
Provokes the ling ring prince, whose patience
tir'd,

Gave place; and all his breast with fury fir'd.
For now the Fates prepar'd their sharpen'd
shears;

And lifted high the flaming sword appears,
Which, full descending, with a frightful sway,
Through shield and corslet forc'd the impetuous
way,

And buried deep in his fair bosom lay.
The purple streams through the thin armour
strove,

A knotty lance of well-boil'd oak he bore:
The middle part with cork he cover'd o'er:
He clos'd the child within the hollow space,
With twigs of bending osier bound the case.
Then pois'd the spear, heavy with human weight,
And thus invok'd my favour for the freight:
Accept, great goddess of the woods,' he said,
'Sent by her sire, this dedicated maid!
Through air she flies, a suppliant to thy shrine;
And the first weapons that she knows, are thine.'
He said; and with full force the spear he threw:
Above the sounding waves Camilla flew.
Then, press'd by foes, he stemm'd the stormy tide,
And gain'd, by stress of arms, the farther side.
His fasten'd spear he pull'd from out the ground,

And drench'd the embroider'd coat his mother And, victor of his vows, his infant nymph un

Wove;

And life at length forsook his heaving heart,

Loth from so sweet a mansion to depart.

bound:

Nor, after that, in towns which walls enclose,
Would trust his hunted life amidst his foes;

But when, with blood and paleness all o'er- But, rough, in open air he chose to lie:

spread,

The pious prince beheld young Lausus dead,
He griev'd, he wept; (the sight an image brought
Of his own filial love-a sadly pleasing thought)
Then stretch'd his hand to hold him up, and
said:

"Poor hapless youth! what praises can be paid
To love so great, to such transcendant store
Of early worth, and sure presage of more?
Accept whate'er Æneas can afford:
Untouch'd thy arms, untaken be thy sword;
And all that pleas'd the living, still remain
Inviolate, and sacred to the slain.
Thy body on thy parents I bestow,

To rest thy soul, at least, if shadows know,
Or have a sense of human things below.

Earth was his couch; his covering was the sky.
On hills unshorn, or in a desert den,
He shunn'd the dire society of men.
A shepherd's solitary life he led:
His daughter with the milk of mares he fed ;
The dugs of bears, and ev'ry savage beast,
He drew, and through her lips the liquor press'd.
The little Amazon could scarcely go-
He loads her with a quiver and a bow;
And, that she might her stagg`ring steps com-
mand,

He with a slender jav'lin fills her hand.
Her flowing hair no golden fillet bound;
Nor swept her trailing robe the dusty ground.
Instead of these, a tiger's hide o'erspread
Her back and shoulders, fasten'd to her head.

The flying dart she first attempts to fling,
And round her tender temples toss'd the sling;
Then, as her strength with years increas'd, began
To pierce aloft in air the soaring swan,

But in a narrower ring she makes the race;
And then he flies, and she pursues the chase.
Gath ring at length on her deluded foe,
She swings her axe, and rises to the blow:

And from the clouds to fetch the heron and the Full on the helin behind, with such a sway

crane.

The Tuscan matrons with each other vied
To bless their rival sons with such a bride:
But she disdains their love, to share with me
The sylvan shades, and vow'd virginity.
And, oh! I wish, contented with my cares
Of savage spoils, she had not sought the wars:
Then had she been of my celestial train,
And shunn'd the fate that dooms her to be slain.
But since, opposing heaven's decree, she goes
To find her death among forbidden foes,
Haste with these arms, and take thy steepy flight,
Where with the gods averse, the Latians fight.
This bow to thee, this quiver, I bequeath,
This chosen arrow to revenge her death:
By whate'er hand Camilla shall be slain,
Or of the Trojan or Italian train,

Let him not pass unpunish'd from the plain.
Then, in a hollow cloud, myself will aid
To bear the breathless body of my maid.
Unspoil'd shall be her arms, and unprofan'd
Her holy limbs with any human hand,
And in a marble tomb laid in her native land."
She said. The faithful nymph descends from
high

With rapid flight, and cuts the sounding sky:
Black clouds and stormy winds around her body
fly.

The weapon falls, the riven steel gives way:
He groans, he roars, he sues in vain for grace;
Brains, mingled with his blood, besmear his face.
Astonish'd Aunus just arrives by chance,
To see his fall, nor further dares advance;
But, fixing on the horrid maid his eye,
He stares, and shakes, and finds it vain to fly;
Yet, like a true Ligurian, born to cheat,
(At least while Fortune favour'd his deceit)
Cries out aloud, "What courage have you shown,
Who trust your courser's strength, and not your

own?

Forego the 'vantage of your horse, alight;
And then on equal terms begin the fight:
It shall be seen, weak woman, what you can,
When, foot to foot, you combat with a man.”
He said. She glows with anger and disdain,
Dismounts with speed to dare him on the plain,
And leaves her horse at large among her train;
With her drawn sword defies him to the field,
And, marching, lifts aloft her maiden shield.
The youth, who thought his cunning did succeed,
Reins round his horse, and urges all his speed,
Adds the remembrance of the spur, and hides
The goring rowels in his bleeding sides.
"Vain fool, and coward!" said the lofty maid,
"Caught in the train, which thou thyself hast laid!
On others practise thy Ligurian arts:
Thin stratagems, and tricks of little hearts,
Are lost on me: nor shalt thou safe retire,
With vaunting lies to thy fallacious sire."

Resistless, through the war Camilla rode,
In danger unappall'd, and pleas'd with blood.
One side was bare for her exerted breast;
One shoulder with her painted quiver press'd.
Now from afar her fatal jav'lins play:
Now with her axe's edge she hews her way.
Diana's arms upon her shoulder sound;
And when too closely press'd, she quits the Trusses, in middle air, the trembling dove,

ground,

From her bent bow she sends a backward wound.
Her maids, in martial pomp, on either side,
Larina, Tulla, fierce Tarpeia, ride—
Italians all-in peace, their queen's delight,
In war, the bold companions of the fight,

So march'd the Thracian Amazons of old,
When Thermodon with bloody billows roll'd;
Such troops as these in shining arms were seen,
When Theseus met in fight their maiden queen:
Such to the field Penthesilea led,

From the fierce virgin when the Grecians fled;
With such return'd triumphant from the war,
Her maids with cries attend the lofty car;
They clash with manly force their moony shields;
With female shouts resound the Phrygian fields.

Then Butes and Orsilochus she slew,
The bulkiest bodies of the Trojan crew-
But Butes breast to breast: the spear descends
Above the gorget, where his helmet ends,
And o'er the shield which his left side defends.
Orsilochus, and she, their coursers ply;
He seems to follow, and she seems to fly.

At this, so fast her flying feet she sped,
That soon she strain'd beyond his horse's head:
Then turning short, at once she seiz'd the rein,
And laid the boaster grov'ling on the plain.
Not with more ease the falcon from above,

Then plumes the prey, in her strong pounces bound:

The feathers, foul with blood, come tumbling to
the ground.

Then Arruns, doom'd to death, his arts essay'd,
To murder, unespied, the Volscian maid:
This way and that, his winding course he bends,
And, wheresoe'er she turns, her steps attends,
When she retires victorious from the chase,
He wheels about with care, and shifts his place:
When, rushing on, she seeks her foes in fight,
He keeps aloof, and keeps her still in sight:
He threats and trembles, trying ev'ry way
Unseen to kill, and safely to betray.

Chloreus, the priest of Cybele, from far,
Glittering in Phrygian arms amidst the war,
Was by the virgin view'd. The steed he press'd
Was proud with trappings, and his brawny chest
With scales of gilded brass was cover'd o'er:
A robe of Tyrian dye the rider wore.
With deadly wounds he gall'd the distant foe;
Gnossian his shafts, and Lycian was his bow:
A golden helm his front and head surrounds;
A gilded quiver from his shoulder sounds.

Now stern Æneas waves his weighty spear Against his foe, and thus upbraids his fear: "What further subterfuge can Turnus find? What empty hopes are harbour'd in his mind? 'Tis not thy swiftness can secure thy flight: Not with their feet, but hands, the valiant fight.

Through flames unsing'd we march, and tread Vary thy shape in thousand forms, and dare

Astonish'd while he stands, and fix'd with fear, |
Aim'd at his shield, he sees th' impending spear.
The hero measur'd first, with narrow view,
The destin'd mark; and, rising as he threw,
With its full swing the fatal weapon flew.
Not with less rage the rattling thunder falls,
Or stones from batt'ring-engines break the walls,
Swift as a whirlwind, from an arm so strong,
The lance drove on, and bore the death along:
Nought could his seven-fold shield the prince
avail,

Nor aught beneath his arms, the coat of mail:
It pierc'd through all, and with a grisly wound
Transfix'd his thigh, and doubled him to ground.
With groans the Latins rend the vaulted sky:
Woods, hills, and valleys, to the voice reply.

Now, low on earth, the lofty chief is laid, With eyes cast upwards, and with arms display'd,

And, recreant, thus to the proud victor pray'd.
"I know my death deserv'd, nor hope to live:
Use what the gods and thy good fortune give.
Yet think, oh! think, if mercy may be shown,
(Thou hadst a father once, and hast a son)—
Pity my sire, now sinking to the grave.
And for Anchises' sake, old Daunus save!

Or, if thy vow'd revenge pursue my death,
Give to my friends my body void of breath!
The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life:
Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife:
Against a yielded man, 'tis mean, ignoble
strife."

In deep suspense, the Trojan seem'd to stand,
And, just prepar'd to strike, repress'd his hand.
He roll'd his eyes, and ev'ry moment felt
His manly soul with more compassion melt;
When, casting down a casual glance, he spied
The golden belt that glitter'd on his side,
The fatal spoil which haughty Turnus tore
From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore.
Then rous'd anew to wrath, he loudly cries,
(Flames while he spoke, came flashing from his
eyes,)

"Traitor! dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend,
Clad as thou art, in trophies of my friend?
To his sad soul a grateful off'ring go!
'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow."
He rais'd his arm aloft, and at the word,
Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword.
The streaming blood distain'd his arms around;
And the disdainful soul came rushing through
the wound.

HORACE.

[Born 65,-Died 8, B. C.]

QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS was the son of introduced him into the best society of Rome. a freedman and taxgatherer, and was born at Amongst the most intimate of his new friends i Venusium on the frontiers of Apulia and Luca- were Virgil and Varius, by whom he was renia. His father, an excellent man of whom the commended to Mecenas and, through him, to son was justly proud, spared neither pains nor Augustus himself. From this period Horace expense in his education, placing him under the seems to have led a life of uninterrupted enjoybest masters in Rome, and sending him after- ment and repose, mingling with the wise and wards to complete his studies at Athens. Quit- great on terms of the most perfect independence, ting Athens at twenty-three, he attached himself and living at the tables of his illustrious patrons, .to Brutus, received from him the rank of military Augustus and Mecenas, as if he were in his own tribune, and was present at the battle of Phi- house. He died in his fifty-seventh year, only lippi.*-On the fall of his noble leader, he lost three weeks after the decease of the latter, whom all his little patrimony which, like that of his he had loved with the most disinterested affecfriend Virgil, was allotted to the soldiers of the tion, and whose loss he had, on more than one Triumvirate. Being thus thrown on his own re- occasion, declared his inability to survive. sources, he sought a subsistence from literature, The works of Horace have been always num-[Paupertas impulit audax ut versus faceret]-bered amongst the most valuable remains of anand acquired for himself a name, which soon tiquity. In his Odes there is a “Curiosa Felici

At Philippi he lost his shield, which has given occasion to many writers to bring against him the charge of cowardice-a charge, in no way warranted by the circumstances of the case. Had Horace been really the coward he is represented, he would have been the last person to allude to the battle in the manner he has done. See Book II. Ode VII.

tas," a delicacy, an elegance of expression, almost unrivalled in Roman literature, while the good sense, sound morality, and true philosophy, of his satires and epistles have become quite prover

bial.

Horace was buried on the Esquiline hill, in .. a tomb next to that of his beloved Mecœnas.

WHAT slender youth, bedew'd with liquid odours, ing some votive tablet or picture to the god by whose Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,