LIX. On press the rearmost, crowding on the van,
So thick, that neither hand can stir, nor spear
Be wielded; each one struggles as he can.
Here Pallas, there brave Lausus, charge and cheer,
Two foes, in age scarce differing by a year.
Both fair of form. Stern Fate to each forbade
His home return. But Jove allowed not here
A meeting; he who great Olympus swayed,		523
Awhile for mightier foes their destined doom delayed.

LX. Warned by his gracious sister, Turnus flies
To take the place of Lausus. Driving through
The ranks, "Stand off," he shouts to his allies,
"I fight with Pallas; Pallas is my due.
Would that his sire were here himself to view!"
All clear the field. Then, pondering with surprise
The proud command, as back the crowd withdrew,
The youth, amazed at Turnus, rolls his eyes		532
And scans his giant foe, and thus in scorn replies:
LXI. "Or kingly spoils shall make me famed to-day,
Or glorious death. Whatever end remain,
My sire can bear it. Put thy threats away."
Then forth he stepped; cold horror chills his train.
Down from his car, close combat to darrain,
Leapt Turnus. As a lion, who far away
Has marked a bull, that butts the sandy plain
For battle, springs to grapple with his prey;		541
So dreadful Turnus looks, advancing to the fray.
LXII. Him, deemed within his spear-throw, undismayed
The youth prevents, if chance the odds should square,
And aid his daring. To the skies he prayed,
"O thou, my father's guest-friend, wont whilere
A stranger's welcome at his board to share,
Aid me, Alcides, prosper my emprise;
Let Turnus fall, and, falling, see me tear
His blood-stained arms, and may his swooning eyes		550
Meet mine, and bear the victor's image, when he dies."
LXIII. Alcides heard, and, stifling in his breast
A deep groan, poured his unavailing grief.
Whom thus the Sire with kindly words addressed:
"Each hath his day; irreparably brief
Is mortal life, and fading as the leaf.
'Tis valour's part to bid it bloom anew
By deeds of fame. Dead many a godlike chief,
Dead lies my son Sarpedon. Turnus too		559
His proper Fates demand; his destined hour is due."
LXIV. So saying, he turned, and shunned the scene of death.
Forth Pallas hurled the spear with all his might,
And snatched the glittering falchion from the sheath.
Where the shield's top just matched the shoulders' height,
Clean through the rim, the javelin winged its flight,
And grazed the flesh. Then Turnus, poising slow
His oakbeam, tipt with iron sharp and bright,
Took aim, and, hurling, shouted to his foe,		568
"See, now, if this my lance can deal a deadlier blow."
LXV. He spake, and through the midmost shield, o'erlaid
With bull-hide, brass, and iron, welded hard,
Whizzed the keen javelin, nor its course delayed,
But pierced the broad breast through the corslet's guard.
He the warm weapon, in the wound embarred,
Wrenched, writhing in his agony; in vain;
Out gushed the life and life-blood. O'er him jarred
His clanging armour, as he rolled in pain.		577
Dying, with bloody mouth he bites the hostile plain.
LXVI. Then Turnus, standing o'er the dead, "Go to,
Arcadians, hear and let Evander know,
I send back Pallas, handled as was due.
If aught of honour can a tomb bestow,
If earth's cold lap yield solace to his woe,
I grant it. Dearly will his Dardan guest
Cost him, I trow." Then, trampling on the foe,
His left foot on the lifeless corpse he pressed,		586
And tore the ponderous belt in triumph from his breast;