Thus having said, involv’d in clouds, she flies, And drives a storm before her thro’ the skies. Swift she descends, alighting on the plain, Where the fierce foes a dubious fight maintain. Of air condens’d a spectre soon she made; And, what Aeneas was, such seem’d the shade. Adorn’d with Dardan arms, the phantom bore His head aloft; a plumy crest he wore; This hand appear’d a shining sword to wield, And that sustain’d an imitated shield. With manly mien he stalk’d along the ground, Nor wanted voice belied, nor vaunting sound. (Thus haunting ghosts appear to waking sight, Or dreadful visions in our dreams by night.) The spectre seems the Daunian chief to dare, And flourishes his empty sword in air. At this, advancing, Turnus hurl’d his spear: The phantom wheel’d, and seem’d to fly for fear. Deluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled, And with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed. “Whether, O coward?” (thus he calls aloud, Nor found he spoke to wind, and chas’d a cloud,) “Why thus forsake your bride! Receive from me The fated land you sought so long by sea.” He said, and, brandishing at once his blade, With eager pace pursued the flying shade. By chance a ship was fasten’d to the shore, Which from old Clusium King Osinius bore: The plank was ready laid for safe ascent; For shelter there the trembling shadow bent, And skipp’t and skulk’d, and under hatches went. Exulting Turnus, with regardless haste, Ascends the plank, and to the galley pass’d. Scarce had he reach’d the prow: Saturnia’s hand The haulsers cuts, and shoots the ship from land. With wind in poop, the vessel plows the sea, And measures back with speed her former way. Meantime Aeneas seeks his absent foe, And sends his slaughter’d troops to shades below.