LXII. So wheels in turn Æneas to and fro,
And tracks his man, and through the war's wild tide
Calls him aloud. Oft as he marks his foe,
And, running, tries to match the coursers' stride,
So oft Juturna wheels the team aside.
What shall he do? While wavering thus in vain,
As diverse thoughts his doubtful mind divide,
A steel-tipt dart Messapus—one of twain—		550
Aims true, and hurls it forth, uprunning on the plain.

LXIII. Æneas paused, behind his buckler bent.
On came the javelin, and the cone was shorn
From off his helmet, and the plume was rent.
Foiled by this treachery, as he marked with scorn
The steeds and chariot from the combat borne,
He blazed with ire, and, calling on again
Jove and the altars of the truce forsworn,
Rushed on, thrice terrible, and o'er the plain		559
Dealt indiscriminate death, and gave his wrath the rein.
LXIV. What heavenly muse can sing, what god can say
The scenes of horror wrought on either side,
The varied slaughter of that fatal day,
What chiefs were chased along the field, and died,
As Turnus now, and now the Trojan plied
His murderous sword? Jove, could'st thou deem it right
So dire a broil such peoples should divide,
Two jarring nations met in deadly fight,		568
Whom leagues of lasting love were destined to unite?
LXV. Æneas first (that fight 'twas first that stayed
The Teucrian rout) caught Suero on the side.
Where death is quickest, 'twixt the ribs his blade,
Deep in the framework of the breast, he plied.
Then Turnus slew Diores; close beside,
His brother Amycus from his steed he tore;
One by the spear, one by the sword-cut died.
Their severed heads the ruthless victor bore,		577
Fixt to his flying car, and dripping with the gore.
LXVI. Talus, and Tanais, and Cethegus there
Æneas smote, and poor Onytes slew,
Whom Peridia to Echion bare.
Turnus two Lycian brethren next o'erthrew
From Phoebus' fields, and young Menoetes too
From Arcady, who loathed the war in vain.
Poor was his home, nor rich men's doors he knew.
By fishful Lerna he had earned his gain,		586
Hired was the scanty glebe his father sowed with grain.
LXVII. Lo, as fierce flames drive in from left and right
Through woodlands parched and groves of crackling bay,
As sweep impetuous from a mountain height
Loud, foaming torrents, that withouten stay
Cleave to the sea their devastating way:
So, while in each full tides of anger flow,
Rush Turnus and Æneas to the fray:
Their tameless breasts with bursting valour glow,		595
On, on they speed amain, nor fear the opposing blow.
LXVIII. There stands Murranus, vaunting in vain joy
His sires, and grandsires, he the princely son
Of Latin monarchs. Him the chief of Troy
Smites with the whirlwind of a monstrous stone,
Huge as a rock. Down from his chariot thrown,
'Twixt reins and yoke, he tumbles on the sward.
The fierce wheels, thundering onward, beat him down;
His starting steeds, to shun the victor's sword,		604
Tread on his trampled limbs, unmindful of their lord.

LXIX. Here, fronting Hyllus, as he rushed amain,
Fierce Turnus stood; his levelled spear-head clave
The golden casque, and quivered in his brain.
Nor thee, poor Creteus, though of Greeks most brave,
From Turnus had thy prowess power to save.
Nor aught availed [Cupencus'] gods to aid
Against the dread Æneas, as he drave.
Squaring his breast, he met the glittering blade,		613
Nor long his brazen shield the mortal stroke delayed.