Down from the steep of heav’n Cyllenius flies, And cleaves with all his wings the yielding skies.
Then Mnestheus bears with Gyas, and outflies: The ship, without a pilot, yields the prize.
Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound, He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies, And with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies.
He hews apace; the double bars at length Yield to his ax and unresisted strength.
I yield, I follow where Heav’n shews the way.
Thus having said, against the steed he threw His forceful spear, which, hissing as flew, Pierc’d thro’ the yielding planks of jointed wood, And trembling in the hollow belly stood.
I yield to Fate, unwillingly retire, And, loaded, up the hill convey my sire.
To their united force it yields, tho’ late, And mourns with mortal groans th’ approaching fate: The roots no more their upper load sustain; But down she falls, and spreads a ruin thro’ the plain.
Thou, mighty walls for mighty nations build; Nor let thy weary mind to labors yield: But change thy seat; for not the Delian god, Nor we, have giv’n thee Crete for our abode.
The captive thus releas’d, away she flies, And beats with clapping wings the yielding skies.
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The youth in military shouts arise, And the loud trumpets break the yielding skies.
How fierce a blaze his flaming pile shall yield!
He takes the cowards’ last relief away; For fly they cannot, and, constrain’d to stay, Must yield unfought, a base inglorious prey.
Thinkist thou I can my share of glory yield, Or send thee unassisted to the field?
We saw their stern distorted looks, from far, And one-eyed glance, that vainly threaten’d war: A dreadful council, with their heads on high; (The misty clouds about their foreheads fly;) Not yielding to the tow’ring tree of Jove, Or tallest cypress of Diana’s grove.
He said (his tears a ready passage find), Devouring what he saw so well design’d, And with an empty picture fed his mind: For there he saw the fainting Grecians yield, And here the trembling Trojans quit the field, Pursued by fierce Achilles thro’ the plain, On his high chariot driving o’er the slain.
This seen, Apollo, from his Actian height, Pours down his arrows; at whose winged flight The trembling Indians and Egyptians yield, And soft Sabaeans quit the wat’ry field.
Then, gazing up, repeated peals they hear; And, in a heav’n serene, refulgent arms appear: Redd’ning the skies, and glitt’ring all around, The temper’d metals clash, and yield a silver sound.
Such were his looks, so gracefully he spoke, That, were I not resolv’d against the yoke Of hapless marriage, never to be curst With second love, so fatal was my first, To this one error I might yield again; For, since Sichaeus was untimely slain, This only man is able to subvert The fix’d foundations of my stubborn heart.
While they debate, nor these nor those will yield, Aeneas draws his forces to the field, And moves his camp.
Their leader lost, the Volscians quit the field, And, unsustain’d, the chiefs of Turnus yield.
By Caedicus, Alcathous was slain; Sacrator laid Hydaspes on the plain; Orses the strong to greater strength must yield; He, with Parthenius, were by Rapo kill’d.
O citizens, we wage unequal war, With men not only Heav’n’s peculiar care, But Heav’n’s own race; unconquer’d in the field, Or, conquer’d, yet unknowing how to yield.
Now Turnus doubts, and yet disdains to yield, But with slow paces measures back the field, And inches to the walls, where Tiber’s tide, Washing the camp, defends the weaker side.
Thus equal deaths are dealt with equal chance; By turns they quit their ground, by turns advance: Victors and vanquish’d, in the various field, Nor wholly overcome, nor wholly yield.
Him the fierce Trojan follow’d thro’ the field: The holy coward fell; and, forc’d to yield, The prince stood o’er the priest, and, at one blow, Sent him an off’ring to the shades below.
Like them, their dauntless men maintain the field; And hearts are pierc’d, unknowing how to yield: They blow for blow return, and wound for wound; And heaps of bodies raise the level ground.
While he triumphs, and while the Trojans yield, The wounded prince is forc’d to leave the field: Strong Mnestheus, and Achates often tried, And young Ascanius, weeping by his side, Conduct him to his tent.
A lance of tough ground ash the Trojan threw, Rough in the rind, and knotted as it grew: With his full force he whirl’d it first around; But the soft yielding air receiv’d the wound: Imperial Juno turn’d the course before, And fix’d the wand’ring weapon in the door.
As wintry winds, contending in the sky, With equal force of lungs their titles try: They rage, they roar; the doubtful rack of heav’n Stands without motion, and the tide undriv’n: Each bent to conquer, neither side to yield, They long suspend the fortune of the field.
But, if we still have fresh recruits in store, If our confederates can afford us more; If the contended field we bravely fought, And not a bloodless victory was bought; Their losses equal’d ours; and, for their slain, With equal fires they fill’d the shining plain; Why thus, unforc’d, should we so tamely yield, And, ere the trumpet sounds, resign the field?
His own Praeneste sends a chosen band, With those who plow Saturnia’s Gabine land; Besides the succor which cold Anien yields, The rocks of Hernicus, and dewy fields, Anagnia fat, and Father AmaseneA num’rous rout, but all of naked men: Nor arms they wear, nor swords and bucklers wield, Nor drive the chariot thro’ the dusty field, But whirl from leathern slings huge balls of lead, And spoils of yellow wolves adorn their head; The left foot naked, when they march to fight, But in a…
A cloud of foot succeeds, and fills the fields With swords, and pointed spears, and clatt’ring shields; Of Argives, and of old Sicanian bands, And those who plow the rich Rutulian lands; Auruncan youth, and those Sacrana yields, And the proud Labicans, with painted shields, And those who near Numician streams reside, And those whom Tiber’s holy forests hide, Or Circe’s hills from the main land divide; Where Ufens glides along the lowly lands, Or the black water of Pomptina stands.
…Queen of Air, Propitious now, and reconcil’d by pray’r; Thou, God of War, whose unresisted sway The labors and events of arms obey; Ye living fountains, and ye running floods, All pow’rs of ocean, all ethereal gods, Hear, and bear record: if I fall in field, Or, recreant in the fight, to Turnus yield, My Trojans shall encrease Evander’s town; Ascanius shall renounce th’ Ausonian crown: All claims, all questions of debate, shall cease; Nor he, nor they, with force infringe the peace.
Eryx, accept a nobler sacrifice; Take the last gift my wither’d arms can yield: Thy gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field."
The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life; Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife: Against a yielded man, ’t is mean ignoble strife."
Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars, Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores, Ent’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign, And plowing frothy furrows in the main; When, lab’ring still with endless discontent, The Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent: "Then am I vanquish’d? must I yield?" said she, "And must the Trojans reign in Italy?