Meanwhile the sister of Turnus brought him warning, _Lausus needs aid!_ So, with his car, he drove Swift through the ranks. “Break off, and give me room,” He cried, “Room for my duel. I am bound To battle Pallas; Pallas is my prize, My prize alone. I only wish his father Were here to watch!” Obedient, his comrades Gave place, and as they yielded, Pallas stood Astonished at this arrogance, this giant: He took the whole scene in, undaunted, proud, Fierce, high in spirit, with a ready answer For Turnus’ taunting:--“Either I win my praise For kingly spoils or glorious death, and soon: My father can face either: spare the threats!” And he moved forward, and the blood ran chill In all Arcadian hearts. Down from his car Jumps Turnus; he comes nearer, like a lion Who sees far-off a bull, intent on battle, And stalks, and rushes; even so came Turnus, Came within spear-throw; Pallas, watching, knew it, Took a step forward, and, that chance might favor However uneven his strength, prayed to the heavens:-- “If ever my father entertained a stranger Who proved a god, and gave him food and greeting, Aid me, O Hercules! Let Turnus see me Taking the bloody armor from his body, And his dying eyes behold me, Pallas, victor.” The young prayer touched the god: his grief was stifled Deep in his heart, and tears were vain; his father Spoke to him kindly:--“Every man, my son, Has his appointed time; life’s day is short For all men; they can never win it back, But to extend it further by noble deeds Is the task set for valor. Even my son, My own, and sons of other gods have fallen Under Troy’s lofty walls. Sarpedon, Turnus, Fate calls alike: the years for each are measured, The goal in sight.” Jupiter, having spoken, Shifted his eyes from the Rutulian landscape.