To trade death for renown. I too, dear father, Toss no mean dart, swing no mean sword, and blood Follows the wounds I give. His goddess-mother Will not be there, this time, to hide him, running To the folds of her gown and cloud and empty shadows.” But Queen Amata, sick and almost dying From fear of the new battle-chance, was weeping; He was the son she wanted; she would not let him Risk that heroic life, and, clinging to him, She made her plea:--“Turnus, our only hope, Our only comfort in our sad old age, The pride and honor of Latinus’ kingdom Rest in your keeping, and our sinking house Depends on you to shore it up from ruin. If tears of mine can move you, if my daughter Merits the least devotion, I implore you, I beg one favor: do not fight the Trojan! Whatever danger waits you in that duel Awaits me also, Turnus; I shall leave The hateful light when you do, I shall never Be such a captive as to see Aeneas Come to my home as son-in-law.” Lavinia Listened and wept and blushed, her maiden features Suffused with color, as the stain of crimson Adds hue to Indian ivory, or lilies Lose something of their whiteness, mixed with roses. And Turnus, troubled enough, was troubled further Watching the girl, and burned the more for battle, And spoke, however briefly, to Amata:-- “Do not, O mother, follow me with tears Or any such omen as I go to battle. Turnus can not delay his death.” He turned To Idmon, then, and told him:--“Be my herald: Deliver to that Phrygian usurper These words from me--I know that he will hate them-- When dawn to-morrow, riding in the heaven In crimson chariot, glows and reddens, let him Hold back his Trojans, let their weapons and ours Have rest, let us end the war, two of us only; There let Lavinia be sought, her husband The victor on that field!”