Then to the king:—"Your empty vaunts forbear;
Success I hope, and fate I cannot fear.
Alive, or dead, I shall deserve a name;
Jove is impartial, and to both the same."
He said, and to the void advanced his pace:
Pale horror sat on each Arcadian face.
Then Turnus, from his chariot leaping light,
Addressed himself on foot to single fight.
And, as a lion—when he spies from far
A bull that seems to meditate the war,