CII. Up run her friends, the fainting queen to aid,
More scared than all, in fear and joy amain,
False Aruns flies, nor dares to face the maid,
Or trust the venture of his spear again.
As guilty wolf, some steer or shepherd slain,
Slinks to the hills, ere hostile darts pursue,
And clasps his tail between his thighs, full fain
To seek the woods, so Aruns shrank from view,		910
Sore scared and glad to fly, and in the crowd withdrew.
CIII. With dying hand she strives to pluck the spear:
Deep 'twixt the rib-bones in the wound it lies.
Bloodless she faints; her features, late so fair,
Fade, as the crimson from the pale cheeks flies,
And cold and misty wax the drooping eyes.
Then, with quick gasps, and groaning from her breast,
She calls to faithful Acca, ere she dies,—
Acca, her truest comrade and her best,		919
The partner of her cares,—and breathes a last request.
CIV. "Sister, 'tis past; the bitter shaft apace
Consumes me; all is growing dark. Go, tell
This news to Turnus; bid him take my place,
And keep these Trojans from the town. Farewell."
So saying, she dropped the bridle, as she fell.
Death's creeping chills the loosened limbs o'erspread.
Down dropped the weapons she had borne so well,
The neck drooped, slackened; and she bowed her head,		928
And the disdainful soul went groaning to the dead.
CV. Up rose a shout, Camilla fall'n, that beat
The golden stars, and fiercer waxed the fray.
On press the host, in serried ranks complete,
Trojans, Arcadians, Tuscans in array.
High on a hill, fair Opis watched the day,
Set there by Trivia, undisturbed till now,
When, lo, amid the tumult far away
She sees Camilla, in the dust laid low,		937
Deep from her breast she sighs, and thus in words of woe:
CVI. "Cruel, too cruel, is thy forfeit paid,
Poor maiden, who the Trojan arms would'st dare;
Nor aught availed thee, in the woodland glade
To serve Diana, and her arms to wear.
Yet not unhonoured in thy death, nor bare
Of fame she leaves thee; nor in after day
Shall vengeance fail thy prowess to declare.
Whoso hath dared thy sacred form to slay,		946
His blood shall rue the deed, and fit atonement pay."
CVII. Beneath the hill a barrow chanced to stand,
Heaped there of old, and holm-oaks frowned beside
Dercennus' tomb, who ruled Laurentum's land.
Here, lightning swift, the lovely Nymph espied,
In shining arms, and puffed with empty pride,
False Aruns. "Caitiff! dost thou think to flee?
Why keep aloof? Turn hitherward!" she cried,
"Come here, and die! Camilla claims her fee.		955
Must Cynthia waste her shafts on worthless knaves like thee?"

CVIII. Plucking the arrow from her case, she drew
The bow, full-stretched, till both the horns unite.
Both arms raised level, ere the missile flew,
Her left hand touched the iron point, the right,
Pressed to her nipple, strained the bow-string tight.
He hears the arrow whistle as it flies,
And feels the wound. Sweeping on amain, [[word missing]]
Forsakes him. Groaning, with a gasp, he dies.		964
Upsoars the gladdening Nymph, and seeks the Olympian skies.

CIX. First flies Camilla's troop, their mistress slain,
Then, routed, the Rutulian ranks give way,
And fierce Atinas gallops from the plain,
And scattered chiefs and squadrons in dismay
Spur towards the town for shelter from the fray.
None dares that murderous onset of the foe
To stem with javelins, nor their charge to stay.
Slack from their fainting shoulders hangs the bow,		973
The clattering horse-hoofs shake the crumbling ground below.