Aeneas now is near; and waving widea spear like some tall tree, he called aloudwith unrelenting heart: “What stays thee now?Or wherefore, Turnus, backward fly? Our workis not a foot-race, but the wrathful strifeof man with man. Aye, hasten to put ontricks and disguises; gather all thou hastof skill or courage; wish thou wert a birdto fly to starry heaven, or hide thy headsafe in the hollow ground!” The other thenshook his head, saying: “It is not thy words,not thy hot words, affright me, savage man!Only the gods I fear, and hostile Jove.”Silent he stood, and glancing round him sawa huge rock Iying by, huge rock and old,a landmark justly sundering field from field,which scarce six strong men's shoulders might upraise,such men as mother-Earth brings forth to-day:this grasped he with impetuous hand and hurled,stretched at full height and roused to all his speed,against his foe. Yet scarcely could he feelit was himself that ran, himself that movedwith lifted hand to fling the monster stone;for his knees trembled, and his languid bloodran shuddering cold; nor could the stone he threw,tumbling in empty air, attain its goalnor strike the destined blow. But as in dreams,when helpless slumber binds the darkened eyes,we seem with fond desire to tread in vainalong a lengthening road, yet faint and fallwhen straining to the utmost, and the tongueis palsied, and the body's wonted powerobeys not, and we have no speech or cry:so unto Turnus, whatsoever wayhis valiant spirit moved, the direful Fiendstopped in the act his will. Swift-changing thoughtsrush o'er his soul; on the Rutulian host,then at the town he glares, shrinks back in fear,and trembles at th' impending lance; nor seeswhat path to fly, what way confront the foe:—no chariot now, nor sister-charioteer!

Above his faltering terror gleams in airAeneas' fatal spear; whose eye perceivedthe moment of success, and all whose strengthstruck forth: the vast and ponderous rock outflungfrom engines which make breach in sieged wallsnot louder roars nor breaks in thunder-soundmore terrible; like some black whirlwind flewthe death-delivering spear, and, rending widethe corselet's edges and the heavy rimof the last circles of the seven-fold shield,pierced, hissing, through the thigh. Huge Turnus sinkso'erwhelmed upon the ground with doubling knee.Up spring the Rutules, groaning; the whole hillroars answering round them, and from far and widethe lofty groves give back an echoing cry.Lowly, with suppliant eyes, and holding forthhis hand in prayer: “I have my meed,” he cried,“Nor ask for mercy. Use what Fate has given!But if a father's grief upon thy hearthave power at all,—for Sire Anchises onceto thee was dear,—I pray thee to show graceto Daunus in his desolate old age;and me, or, if thou wilt, my lifeless clay,to him and his restore. For, lo, thou artmy conqueror! Ausonia's eyes have seenme suppliant, me fallen. Thou hast madeLavinia thy bride. Why further urgeour enmity?”With swift and dreadful armsAeneas o'er him stood, with rolling eyes,but his bare sword restraining; for such wordsmoved on him more and more: when suddenly,over the mighty shoulder slung, he sawthat fatal baldric studded with bright goldwhich youthful Pallas wore, what time he fellvanquished by Turnus' stroke, whose shoulders nowcarried such trophy of a foeman slain.Aeneas' eyes took sure and slow surveyof spoils that were the proof and memoryof cruel sorrow; then with kindling rageand terrifying look, he cried, “Wouldst thou,clad in a prize stripped off my chosen friend,escape this hand? In this thy mortal wound't is Pallas has a victim; Pallas takesthe lawful forfeit of thy guilty blood!”He said, and buried deep his furious bladein the opposer's heart. The failing limbssank cold and helpless; and the vital breath with moan of wrath to darkness fled away.