LXXIX. The women heard; Lavinia first of all,
Her golden locks, her rosy cheeks doth tear.
All rave around, and wailings fill the hall.
Fast flies the news, and shakes the town with fear.
Then rends his robes Latinus in despair,
His town in ruins and his consort dead,
And, scattering dust upon his hoary hair,
Himself he blames, that ne'er in Turnus' stead		703
The Dardan prince he chose, his dear-lov'd child to wed.
LXXX. Meanwhile, in chase of distant stragglers, speeds
Fierce Turnus. Slacker is his car's career,
And less he glories in his conquering steeds,
When lo, the breezes from Laurentum bear
The sound of shouting, and the shrieks of fear,
And a dull murmur, as of men that groan,—
The city's roar—strikes on his listening ear.
"Ah me! what clamour on the winds is blown?		712
What noise of grief," he cries, "comes rolling from the town?"
LXXXI. He spake, and madly pulled the rein. Then she,
His sister, like Metiscus changed in view,
Who ruled the chariot, "Forward, Turnus! See
The path that victory points thee to pursue.
This way—this way to chase the Trojan crew!
Others there are, who can the walls defend,
See here Æneas, how he storms. We, too,
Our foes, Troy's varlets, to their graves can send,		721
Nor thee less tale of slain, nor scantier praise attend."
LXXXII. Then quickly answered Turnus, glancing round,
"Sister, long since I knew thee—knew thee plain,
When first thy cunning did the league confound,
And sent thee forth, fierce battle to darrain;
And now thou think'st to cheat me, but in vain,
Albeit a goddess. But what power on high
Hath willed thee, sent from the Olympian reign,
Such toils to suffer, and such tasks to try?		730
Cam'st thou, forsooth, to see thy wretched brother die?
LXXXIII. "What can I do? What pledge of safety more
Doth Fortune give? what better hopes remain?
Myself beheld, these very eyes before,
Murranus die, the dearest of our train,
Stretched by a huge wound hugely on the plain.
I saw, how, backward as his comrades reeled,
Poor Ufens, sooner than behold such stain,
Sank low in death; himself, his sword and shield		739
The Teucrian victors hold, their trophies of the field.
LXXXIV. "What, shall I see our houses wrapt in flame,—
Last wrong of all—and coward-like, stand by,
Nor make this arm put Drances' taunts to shame?
Shall Turnus run, and Latins see him fly?
And is it then so terrible to die?
Be kind, dread spirits of the world below!
To you, since envious are the powers on high,
Worthy my ancestors of long ago,		748
Free from the coward's blame, a sacred shade I go."
LXXXV. Scarce spake he; through the midmost foes apace
Comes Saces, borne upon his foaming steed,
A flying shaft had scored him in the face.
"Turnus," he cries, "sole champion in our need,
Help us, have pity on thy friends who bleed.
See there, Æneas threatens in his ire
To raze our towers, and with a storm-cloud's speed
Thunders in arms, and roofward flies the fire,		757
To thee the Latins turn, thee Latin hopes require.
LXXXVI. "Himself, the king, is wavering, whom to call
His new allies, and whom his kingdom's heir.
Dead is the queen, thy faithfullest of all,
Self-plunged from light, in terror and despair.
Scarce fierce Atinas and Messapus there,
Beside the town-gates standing, hold their own.
Dense hosts surround them, and with falchions bare,
War's harvest bristles, by the walls upgrown;		766
Thou on the empty sward art charioting alone."
LXXXVII. Stunned and bewildered by the changeful scene
Stood Turnus, gazing speechless and oppressed.
Shame, rage, and sorrow, and revengeful spleen,
And frenzied love, and conscious worth confessed
Boil from the depths of his tumultuous breast.
Now, when the shadows from his mind withdrew,
And light, returning, to his thoughts gave rest,
Back from his chariot towards the walls he threw		775
His eyes, aflame with wrath, and grasped the town in view.
LXXXVIII. From floor to floor, behold, a tower upblazed,—
The tower, with bridge above and wheels below,
Himself with beams and mortised planks had raised.
"Sister," he cries, "Fate conquers; let us go
The way which Heaven and cruel fortune show.
I stand to meet Æneas in the fray,
And die; if death be bitter, be it so.
No more dishonoured shalt thou see me, nay,		784
O sister, let me vent this fury, while I may."