The guileful phantom now forsook the shroud, And flew sublime, and vanish’d in a cloud. Too late young Turnus the delusion found, Far on the sea, still making from the ground. Then, thankless for a life redeem’d by shame, With sense of honour stung, and forfeit fame, Fearful besides of what in fight had pass’d, His hands and haggard eyes to heav’n he cast; “O Jove!” he cried, “for what offence have I Deserv’d to bear this endless infamy? Whence am I forc’d, and whether am I borne? How, and with what reproach, shall I return? Shall ever I behold the Latian plain, Or see Laurentum’s lofty tow’rs again? What will they say of their deserting chief The war was mine: I fly from their relief; I led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave; And ev’n from hence their dying groans receive. Here, overmatch’d in fight, in heaps they lie; There, scatter’d o’er the fields, ignobly fly. Gape wide, O earth, and draw me down alive! Or, O ye pitying winds, a wretch relieve! On sands or shelves the splitting vessel drive; Or set me shipwreck’d on some desert shore, Where no Rutulian eyes may see me more, Unknown to friends, or foes, or conscious Fame, Lest she should follow, and my flight proclaim.” Thus Turnus rav’d, and various fates revolv’d: The choice was doubtful, but the death resolv’d. And now the sword, and now the sea took place, That to revenge, and this to purge disgrace. Sometimes he thought to swim the stormy main, By stretch of arms the distant shore to gain. Thrice he the sword assay’d, and thrice the flood; But Juno, mov’d with pity, both withstood. And thrice repress’d his rage; strong gales supplied, And push’d the vessel o’er the swelling tide. At length she lands him on his native shores, And to his father’s longing arms restores. Meantime, by Jove’s impulse, Mezentius arm’d, Succeeding Turnus, with his ardour warm’d His fainting friends, reproach’d their shameful flight, Repell’d the victors, and renew’d the fight. Against their king the Tuscan troops conspire; Such is their hate, and such their fierce desire Of wish’d revenge: on him, and him alone, All hands employ’d, and all their darts are thrown. He, like a solid rock by seas inclos’d, To raging winds and roaring waves oppos’d, From his proud summit looking down, disdains Their empty menace, and unmov’d remains.