| CXV. | But fierce Æneas on his foeman pressed. His tree-like spear he poises for the fray, And pours the pent-up fury of his breast. "Why stay'st thou, Turnus? Wherefore this delay? Fierce arms, not swiftness, must decide the day. Shift as thou wilt, and every shape assume; Exhaust thy courage and thy craft, and pray For wings to soar with, or in earth's dark womb | 1027 | |
| Sink low thy recreant head, and hide thee from thy doom." | |||
| CXVI. | Thus he; but Turnus shook his head, and said, "Ruffian! thy threats are but as empty sound; They daunt not Turnus; 'tis the gods I dread, And Jove my enemy." Then, glancing round, He marked a chance-met boulder on the ground, Huge, grey with age, set there in ancient days To clear disputes,—a barrier and a bound. Scarce twelve picked men the ponderous mass could raise, | 1036 | |
| Such men as Earth brings forth in these degenerate days. | |||
| CXVII. | That stone the Daunian lifted, straining hard With hurrying hand, and all his height updrew, And at Æneas hurled the monstrous shard; So heaving, and so running, scarce he knew His running, or how huge a weight he threw. Cold froze his blood; beneath his trembling frame The weak knees tottered. Through the void air flew The stone, nor all the middle space o'ercame, | 1045 | |
| Short of its mark it fell, nor answered to its aim. | |||
| CXVIII. | As oft in dreams, when drowsy night doth load The slumbering eyes, still eager, but in vain, We strive to race along a lengthening road, And faint and fall, amidmost of the strain; The feeble limbs their wonted aid disdain, Mute is the tongue, nor doth the voice obey, Nor words find utterance; so with fruitless pain Poor Turnus strives; but, struggle as he may, | 1054 | |
| The baffling fiend is there, and mocks the vain essay. | |||
| CXIX. | Then, tost with diverse passions, dazed with fear, Towards friends and town he throws an anxious glance. No car he sees, no sister-charioteer. Desperate of flight, nor daring to advance, Aghast, and shuddering at the lifted lance, He falters. Then Æneas poised at last His spear, and hurled it, as he marked his chance. Less loud the stone from battering engine cast, | 1063 | |
| Less loud through ether bursts the levin-bolt's dread blast. | |||
| CXX. | Like a black whirlwind flew the deadly spear, Right thro' the rim the sevenfold shield it rent And breastplate's edge, nor stayed its onset ere Deep in the thigh its hissing course was spent. Down on the earth, his knees beneath him bent, Great Turnus sank: Rutulia's host around Sprang up with wailing and with wild lament: From neighbouring hills their piercing cries rebound, | 1072 | |
| And every wooded steep re-echoes to the sound. | |||
| CXXI. | Then, looking up, his pleading hands he rears: "Death I deserve, nor death would I delay. Use, then, thy fortune. If a father's tears Move thee, for old Anchises' sake, I pray, Pity old Daunus. Me, or else my clay, If so thou wilt, to home and kin restore. Thine is the victory. Latium's land to-day Hath seen her prince the victor's grace implore. | 1081 | |
| Lavinia now is thine; the bitter feud give o'er." | |||
| CXXII. | Wrathful in arms, with rolling eyeballs, stood Æneas, and his lifted arm withdrew; And more and more now melts his wavering mood, When lo, on Turnus' shoulder—known too true— The luckless sword-belt flashed upon his view; And bright with gold studs shone the glittering prey, Which ruthless Turnus, when the youth he slew, Stripped from the lifeless Pallas, as he lay, | 1090 | |
| And on his shoulders wore, in token of the day. | |||
| CXXIII. | Then terribly Æneas' wrath upboils, His fierce eyes fixt upon the sign of woe. "Shalt thou go hence, and with the loved one's spoils? 'Tis Pallas—Pallas deals the deadly blow. And claims this victim for his ghost below." He spake, and mad with fury, as he said, Drove the keen falchion through his prostrate foe. The stalwart limbs grew stiff with cold and dead, | 1099 | |
| And, groaning, to the shades the scornful spirit fled. | |||