Soon Turnus, reckless of the risk, leaped forth, upreached his whole height to his lifted sword, and struck: the Trojans and the Latins pale cried mightily, and all eyes turned one way expectant. But the weak, perfidious sword broke off, and as the blow descended, failed its furious master, whose sole succor now was flight; and swifter than the wind he flew. But, lo! a hilt of form and fashion strange lay in his helpless hand. For in his haste, when to the battle-field his team he drove, his father's sword forgotten (such the tale), he snatched Metiscus' weapon. This endured to strike at Trojan backs, as he pursued, but when on Vulcan's armory divine its earthly metal smote, the brittle blade broke off like ice, and o'er the yellow sands in flashing fragments scattered. Turnus now takes mad flight o'er the distant plain, and winds in wavering gyration round and round; for Troy 's close ring confines him, and one way a wide swamp lies, one way a frowning wall. But lo! Aeneas—though the arrow's wound still slackens him and oft his knees refuse their wonted step—pursues infuriate his quailing foe, and dogs him stride for stride. As when a stag-hound drives the baffled roe to torrent's edge (or where the flaunting snare of crimson feathers fearfully confines) and with incessant barking swift pursues; while through the snared copse or embankment high the frightened creature by a thousand ways doubles and turns; but that keen Umbrian hound with wide jaws, undesisting, grasps his prey, or, thinking that he grasps it, snaps his teeth cracking together, and deludes his rage, devouring empty air: then peal on peal the cry of hunters bursts; the lake and shore reecho, and confusion fills the sky:— such was the flight of Turnus, who reviled the Rutules as he fled, and loudly sued of each by name to fetch his own lost sword. Aeneas vowed destruction and swift death to all who dared come near, and terrified their trembling souls with menace that his power would raze their city to the ground. Straightway, though wounded, he gave chase, and five times round in circles ran; then winding left and right coursed the swift circles o'er. For, lo! the prize is no light laurel or a youthful game: for Turnus' doom and death their race is run. But haply in that place a sacred tree, a bitter-leaved wild-olive, once had grown, to Faunus dear, and venerated oft by mariners safe-rescued from the waves, who nailed their gifts thereon, or hung in air their votive garments to Laurentum's god. But, heeding not, the Teucrians had shorn the stem away, to clear the field for war. 'T was here Aeneas' lance stuck fast; its speed had driven it firmly inward, and it clave to the hard, clinging root. Anchises' son bent o'er it, and would wrench his weapon free, and follow with a far-flung javelin the swift out-speeding foe. But Turnus then, bewildered and in terror, cried aloud: “O Faunus, pity me and heed my prayer! Hold fast his weapon, O benignant Earth! If ere these hands have rendered offering due, where yon polluting Teucrians fight and slay.” He spoke; invoking succor of the god, with no Iost prayer. For tugging valiantly and laboring long against the stubborn stem, Aeneas with his whole strength could but fail to Ioose the clasping tree. While fiercely thus he strove and strained, Juturna once again, wearing the charioteer Metiscus' shape, ran to her brother's aid, restoring him his own true sword. But Venus, wroth to see what license to the dauntless nymph was given, herself came near, and plucked from that deep root the javelin forth. So both with lofty mien strode forth new-armed, new-hearted: one made bold by his good sword, the other, spear in hand, uptowered in wrath, and with confronting brows they set them to the war-god's breathless game. Meanwhile th' Olympian sovereign supreme to Juno speaks, as from an amber cloud the strife she views: “My Queen, what end shall be? What yet remains? Thou seest Aeneas' name numbered with tutelary gods of power; and well thou know'st what station in the sky his starward destiny intends. What scheme vexes thy bosom still? What stubborn hope, fostered in cloud and cold? O, was it well to desecrate a god with mortal wound; or well (what were a nymph unhelped by thee?) to give back Turnus his lost sword, and lend strength unavailing to the fallen brave? Give o'er, and to our supplication yield; let not such grief thy voiceless heart devour; nor from thy sweet lips let thy mournful care so oft assail my mind. For now is come the last decisive day. Thy power availed to vex the Trojans upon land and sea, to wake abominable war, bring shame upon a royal house, and mix the songs of marriage and the grave: but further act I thee refuse.” Such was the word of Jove. Thus Saturn's daughter answered, drooping low her brows divine: “Because, great Jove, I knew thy pleasure, I from yonder earth retired and Turnus' cause, tho, with unwilling mind. Else shouldst thou not behold me at this hour Upon my solitary throne of air enduring fair and foul; I should be found flame-girded on the battle's deadly verge, tempting the Teucrians to a hated war. Yea, 't was my motion thrust Juturna forth to help her hapless brother. I approved— to save his life—that she should be too bold; but bade no whirl of spear nor bending bow: I swear it by th' inexorable fount whence flow the Stygian rivers, the sole seat where gods of light bow down in awful prayer. I yield me now; heart-sick I quit the war. But ask one boon, which in the book of fate is not denied; for Latium 's good I sue, and high prerogatives of men that be thy kith and kin: when happy wedlock vows (aye, be it so!) shall join them by strong laws of chartered peace, let not the Latins Iose their ancient, native name. Bid them not pass for Trojans, nor be hailed as Teucer's sons; no alien speech, no alien garb impose. Let it be Latium ever; let the lords of Alba unto distant ages reign; let the strong, master blood of Rome receive the manhood and the might of Italy . Troy perished: let its name and glory die!” The Author of mankind and all that is, smiling benignant, answered thus her plea: “Jove's sister true, and Saturn's second child, what seas of anger vex thy heart divine! But come, relinquish thy rash, fruitless rage: I give thee this desire, and yield to thee free submission. The Ausonian tribes shall keep the speech and customs of their sires; the name remains as now; the Teucrian race, abiding in the land, shall but infuse the mixture of its blood. I will bestow a league of worship, and to Latins give one language only. From the mingled breed a people shall come forth whom thou shalt see surpass all mortal men and even outvie the faithfulness of gods; for none that live shall render to thy name an equal praise.” So Juno bowed consent, and let her will be changed, as with much comfort in her breast she left Olympus and her haunt of cloud. After these things Jove gave his kingly mind to further action, that he might forthwith cut off Juturna from her brother's cause. Two plagues there be, called Furies, which were spawned at one birth from the womb of wrathful Night with dread Megaera, phantom out of hell; and of their mother's gift, each Fury wears grim-coiling serpents and tempestuous wings. These at Jove's throne attend, and watch the doors of that stern King—to whet the edge of fear for wretched mortals, when the King of gods hurls pestilence and death, or terrifies offending nations with the scourge of war. 'T was one of these which Jove sent speeding down from his ethereal seat, and bade her cross the pathway of Juturna for a sign. Her wings she spread, and earthward seemed to ride upon a whirling storm. As when some shaft, with Parthian poison tipped or Cretan gall, a barb of death, shoots cloudward from the bow, and hissing through the dark hastes forth unseen: so earthward flew that daughter of the night. Soon as she spied the Teucrians in array and Turnus' lines, she shrivelled to the shape of that small bird which on lone tombs and towers sits perching through the midnight, and prolongs in shadow and deep gloom her troubling cry. In such disguise the Fury, screaming shrill, flitted in Turnus' face, and with her wings smote on his hollow shield. A strange affright palsied his every limb; each several hair lifted with horror, and his gasping voice died on his lips. But when Juturna knew from far the shrieking fiend's infernal wing, she loosed her tresses, and their beauty tore, to tell a sister's woe; with clenching hands she marred her cheeks and beat her naked breast. “What remedy or help, my Turnus, now is in a sister's power? What way remains for stubborn me? Or with what further guile thy life prolong? What can my strength oppose to this foul thing? I quit the strife at last. Withdraw thy terror from my fearful eyes, thou bird accurst! The tumult of thy wings I know full well, and thy death-boding call. The harsh decrees of that large-minded Jove I plainly see. Is this the price he pays for my lost maidenhood? Why flatter me with immortality, and snatch away my property of death? What boon it were to end this grief this hour, and hie away to be my brother's helpmeet in his grave! I, an immortal? O, what dear delight is mine, sweet brother, living without thee? O, where will earth yawn deep enough and wide to hide a goddess with the ghosts below?” She spoke; and veiled in glistening mantle gray her mournful brow; then in her stream divine the nymph sank sighing to its utmost cave.