LIII. It struck the shield of Sulmo at his side;
There broke the shaft and splintered. Down he rolled
Pierced through the midriff, and his life's warm tide
Poured from his bosom, and the long sobs told
Its heavings, ere the stiffening limbs grew cold.
All look around and tremble, when again
The youth another javelin, waxing bold,
Aimed from his ear-tip. Through the temples twain		469
Of Tagus whizzed the steel, and warmed within the brain.
LIV. Fierce Volscens raves with anger, nor espies
The wielder of the weapon, nor which way
To rush, aflame with fury. "Thou," he cries,
"Thy blood meanwhile the penalty shall pay
For both," and with his falchion bared to slay
Springs at Euryalus. Then, wild with fear,
Poor Nisus shouts, in frenzy of dismay,
Nor longer in the dark can hide, nor bear		478
A pang of grief so keen—to lose a friend so dear,
LV. "Me—me, behold the doer! mine the deed!
Kill me, Rutulians. By this hand they fell.
He could not—durst not. By the skies I plead,
By yon bright stars, that witnessed what befell,
He only loved his hapless friend too well."
Vain was his prayer; the weapon, urged amain,
Pierced through his ribs and snowy breast. Out swell
Dark streams of gore his lovely limbs to stain;		487
The sinking neck weighs o'er the shoulders of the slain.
LVI. So doth the purple floweret, dying, droop,
Smit by the ploughshare. So the poppy frail
On stricken stalk its languid head doth stoop,
And bows o'erladen with the drenching hail.
But onward now, through thickest ranks of mail,
Rushed Nisus. Volscens only will he slay;
He waits for none but Volscens. They assail
From right and left, and crowd his steps to stay.		496
He whirls his lightning brand, and presses to his prey.
LVII. Ere long he meets him clamouring, and down
His throat he drives the griding sword amain,
And takes his life, ere laying down his own.
Then, pierced he sinks upon his comrade slain,
And death's long slumber puts an end to pain.
O happy pair! if aught my verse ensure,
No length of time shall make your memory wane,
While, throned upon the Capitol secure,		505
The Æneian house shall reign, and Roman rule endure.

LVIII. Weeping, the victors took the spoils and prey,
And back dead Volscens to their camp they bore.
Nor less the wailing in the camp that day,
Brave Rhamnes found, and many a captive more,
Numa, Serranus, weltering in their gore.
Thick round the dead and dying, where the plain
Reeks freshly with the frothing blood, they pour.
Sadly they know Messapus' spoils again,		514
The trappings saved with sweat, the helmet of the slain.
LIX. Now, rising from Tithonus' saffron couch,
The Goddess of the dawn with orient ray
Sprinkled the earth, and 'neath the wakening touch
Of sunlight, all things stand revealed to-day.
Turnus himself, accoutred for the fray,
Wakes up his warriors with the morning light.
At once each captain marshals in array
His company, in brazen arms bedight,		523
And rumours whet their rage, and prick them to the fight.
LX. Nay more, aloft upon the javelin's end,
With shouts they bear—a miserable sight!—
The heads, the heads of Nisus and his friend.
On the walls' left—the river flanked their right—
The sturdy Trojans stand arrayed for fight,
And line the trenches and each lofty tower,
Sad, while the foemen, clamorous with delight,
March onward, with the heroes' heads before,		532
Well known—alas! too well—and dropping loathly gore.
LXI. Now Fame, winged herald, through the wildered town
Swift to Euryalus' mother speeds her way.
Life's heat forsakes her; from her hand drops down
The shuttle, and the task-work rolls away.
Forth with a shriek, like women in dismay,
Rending her hair, in frantic haste she flies,
And seeks the ramparts and the war's array,
Heedless of darts and dangers and surprise,		541
Heedless of armèd men, and fills the heaven with cries.