Aen. 9.473Intereā pavidam volitāns pennāta per urbem
nūntia Fāma ruit mātrisque adlābitur aurīs
475Euryalī.Meanwhile winged Rumour, the messenger, flying through the fearful town, rushes along and glides to the ears of Euryalus' mother. Aen. 9.475At subitus miserae calor ossa relīquit,
excussī manibus radiī revolūtaque pēnsa.But at once the warmth left the poor woman's bones; the shuttle was struck from her hands and the skeins unrolled. Aen. 9.477Ēvolat īnfēlīx et fēmineō ululātū,
scissa comam, mūrōs āmēns atque agmina cursū
prīma petit, nōn illa virum, nōn illa perīclī
480tēlōrumque memor;The unhappy woman flies out, and with a woman's wailing, tearing her hair, out of her mind, she runs for the walls and the front ranks, heedless of men, heedless of danger and weapons; Aen. 9.480caelum dehinc questibus implet:
Hunc ego tē, Euryale, aspiciō?then she fills the sky with laments: 'Is it you I see like this, Euryalus? Aen. 9.481Tūne illa senectae
sēra meae requiēs, potuistī linquere sōlam,
crūdēlis?You, the late comfort of my old age, could you leave me alone, cruel one? Aen. 9.483Nec tē, sub tanta perīcula missum,
adfārī extrēmum miserae data cōpia mātrī?And when you were sent into such great dangers, was your poor mother given no chance to speak to you for the last time?
Aen. 9.485Heu, terrā ignōtā canibus data praeda Latīnīs
ālitibusque iacēs, nec tē, tua fūnera māter
prōdūxī pressīve oculōs aut volnera lāvī,
veste tegēns, tibi quam noctēs festīna diēsque
urgēbam et tēlā cūrās sōlābar anīlīs.Alas, you lie in an unknown land, given as prey to the Latin dogs and birds; nor did I, your mother, lead out your funeral or close your eyes or wash your wounds, covering you with the robe which I was hurrying on for you night and day, soothing an old woman's cares at the loom. Aen. 9.490Quō sequar, aut quae nunc artūs āvolsaque membra
et fūnus lacerum tellūs habet?Where shall I follow? Or what land now holds your limbs, your severed members and mangled corpse? Aen. 9.491Hoc mihi dē tē,
nāte, refers?Is this what you bring back to me of yourself, my son? Aen. 9.492Hoc sum terrāque marīque secūta?Is this what I followed over land and sea? Aen. 9.493Fīgite mē, Sīqua est pietās, in mē omnia tēla
conicite, ō Rutulī, mē prīmam absūmite ferrō:
495aut tū, magne pater dīvom, miserēre tuōque
invīsum hoc dētrūde caput sub Tartara tēlō,
quandō aliter nequeō crūdēlem abrumpere vītam.Pierce me, if you have any pity, hurl all your weapons at me, Rutulians, destroy me first with the sword: or you, great father of the gods, have pity, and with your bolt thrust down beneath Tartarus this hated head, since I cannot otherwise break off my cruel life.' Aen. 9.498Hōc flētū concussī animī, maestusque per omnīs
it gemitus: torpent īnfrāctae ad proelia vīrēs.Their hearts were shaken by this weeping, and a sad groan goes through them all: their strength is numbed, broken for battle.
Aen. 9.500Illam incendentem lūctūs Īdaeus et Actor
Īllioneī monitū et multum lacrimantis Iūlī
corripiunt interque manūs sub tēcta repōnunt.As she kindles their grief, Idaeus and Actor, at the bidding of Ilioneus and of Iulus, weeping much, seize her and carry her in their arms back indoors.