Soon as he judged his foe would be within reach of his spear-throw, Pallas begins the combat, in hope that Fortune 35 may help the venture of unequal powers, and utters these words to the mighty heaven: “By my sire’s hospitality and the board where thou satest as a stranger, I pray thee, Alcides, stand by me in my great endeavour. Let Turnus see me strip the bloody arms from his dying frame, and may his glazing eyes endure the sight of a conqueror.” Alcides heard the youth, and stifled a heavy groan deep down in his breast, and shed forth unavailing 5 tears. Then the Almighty Father bespeaks his son with kindly words: “Each has his fixed day: short and irretrievable is the span of all men; but to propagate glory by great deeds, this is what worth can do. Think of those many sons of gods who fell beneath Troy’s 10 lofty walls: among whom died even Sarpedon, my own offspring. For Turnus, too, the call of his destiny has gone forth, and he has reached the term of his allotted days.” So he speaks, and turns away his eyes from the Rutulian plain. 15 But Pallas with a mighty effort sends forth his spear, and plucks from the hollow scabbard his flashing sword. On flies the weapon, strikes where the margin of the harness rises toward the shoulder, and forcing its way through the buckler’s edge, at last even grazed the mighty 20 frame of Turnus. Then Turnus, long poising his beam with its point of sharp steel, hurls it at Pallas, with these words: “See whether our weapon be not the keener.” So he: while cleaving those many plates of iron and brass, spite of the bull-hides wound oft and oft about, 25 the point strikes through the shield’s midst with quivering impact, and pierces the corselet’s barrier and the mighty breast beyond. In vain the youth tears the reeking dart from the wound: as it parts, blood and life follow on its track. He falls forward on his wound: his 30 arms resound upon him, and with his bloody jaws in death he bites the hostile earth. Standing over him, Turnus began: “Men of Arcady, take heed and carry my words to Evander: I send back Pallas handled as his sire deserves. If there be any honour in a tomb, any solace in 35 burial, let him take it freely; his welcome of Æneas will be costly notwithstanding.” Then with his left foot as he spoke, he trod on the dead, tearing away the belt’s huge weight and the crime thereon engraved[o]: that band of youths slain foully all on one wedding night, and the chambers dabbled with blood: Clonus Eurytides had chased it on the broad field of gold: and now Turnus triumphs in the prize, and exults in his winning. Blind 5 are the eyes of man’s soul to destiny and doom to be, nor knows it to respect the limit, when upborne by prosperous