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Browsing named entities in P. Vergilius Maro, Aeneid (ed. Theodore C. Williams). You can also browse the collection for Tiber (Italy) or search for Tiber (Italy) in all documents.
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Next Ocnus summoned forth
a war-host from his native shores, the son
of Tiber, Tuscan river, and the nymph
Manto, a prophetess: he gave good walls,
O Mantua, and his mother's name, to thee,—
to Mantua so rich in noble sires,
but of a blood diverse, a triple breed,
four stems in each; and over all enthroned
she rules her tribes: her strength is Tuscan born.
Hate of Mezentius armed against his name
five hundred men: upon their hostile prow
was Mincius in a cloak of silvery sedge,—
Lake Benacus the river's source and sire.
Last good Aulestes smites the depths below,
with forest of a hundred oars: the flood
like flowing marble foams; his Triton prow
threatens the blue waves with a trumpet-shell;
far as the hairy flanks its form is man,
but ends in fish below—the parting waves
beneath the half-brute bosom break in foam.
Such chosen chiefs in thirty galleys ploughed
the salt-wave, bringing help to Trojan
Meanwhile Mezentius by the Tiber's wave
with water staunched his wound, and propped his weight
against a tree; upon its limbs above
his brazen helmet hung, and on the sward
his ponderous arms lay resting. Round him watched
his chosen braves. He, gasping and in pain,
clutched at his neck and let his flowing beard
loose on his bosom fall; he questions oft
of Lausus, and sends many a messenger
to bid him back, and bear him the command
of his sore-grieving sire. But lo! his peers
bore the dead Lausus back upon his shield,
and wept to see so strong a hero quelled
by stroke so strong. From long way off the sire,
with soul prophetic of its woe, perceived
what meant their wail and cry. On his gray hairs
the dust he flung, and, stretching both his hands
to heaven, he cast himself the corpse along.
“O son,” he cried, “was life to me so sweet,
that I to save myself surrendered o'er
my own begotten to a foeman's steel?
Saved by these gashes shall thy father be,
and living by thy death? O wretched<
Thus in their doubtful cause the chieftains strove.
Meanwhile Aeneas his assaulting line
moved forward. The ill tidings wildly sped
from royal hall to hall, and filled the town
with rumors dark: for now the Trojan host
o'er the wide plains from Tiber's wave was spread
in close array of war. The people's soul
was vexed and shaken, and its martial rage
rose to the stern compulsion. Now for arms
their terror calls; the youthful soldiery
clamor for arms; the sires of riper days
weep or repress their tears. On every side
loud shouts and cries of dissonant acclaim
trouble the air, as when in lofty grove
legions of birds alight, or by the flood
of Padus' fishy stream the shrieking swans
far o'er the vocal marish fling their song.
Then, seizing the swift moment, Turnus cried:
“Once more, my countrymen,—ye sit in parle,
lazily praising peace, while yonder foe
speeds forth in arms our kingdom to obtain.”
He spoke no more, but hied him in hot haste,
and from the housetop called, “Volusus, go!
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