fortune! Turnus shall see the day when he will fain have paid a high price for Pallas unharmed, when he will hate the spoils and the hour he won them! But Pallas’ 10 followers, with many a groan and tear, are bearing off their chief on his shield in long procession. Oh, vision of sorrow and great glory, soon to meet thy father’s eye! this day first gave thee to battle, this day withdraws the gift, yet vast are the heaps thou leavest of Rutulian 15 carnage! And now not the mere rumour of a blow so dreadful, but surer intelligence flies to Æneas, that his army is but a hand-breadth’s remove from death—that it is high time to succour the routed Teucrians. With his sword he 20 mows down all that crosses him, and all on fire hews a broad pathway through the ranks with the steel, seeking thee, Turnus, fresh flushed with slaughter. Pallas, Evander, the whole scene stands before his eyes—the board where he had first sate as a stranger, the outstretched 25 hands of fellowship. At once he takes alive four youths born of Sulmo, and other four reared by Ufens, that he may offer them as victims to the dead, and sprinkle the funeral flame with their captive gore. Next he had levelled his spear from afar at Magus. Magus deftly runs 30 beneath, while the quivering spear flies over his head, and clasping the enemy’s knees, utters these words of suppliance: “By your dead father’s soul, and the dawning promise of Iulus, I pray you spare my poor life for my son and my sire. I have a lofty palace: deep in its 35 vaults lie talents of chased silver; masses of gold are mine, wrought and unwrought both. The victory of Troy hangs not on my fortunes, nor can a single life make difference so great.” He spoke, and Æneas thus makes reply: “Those many talents you name of silver and gold, keep them for your sons. Turnus was the first to put an end to such trading usages of war at the moment when he slew Pallas. My sire Anchises’ ghost, and my son Iulus, 5 speak their thoughts through me.” This said, with his left hand he grasps the helmet and drives his sword hilt-deep through the suppliant’s back-drawn neck. Hard by was Hæmonides, priest of Phœbus and Trivia, his temples wreathed with the fillet’s sacred band, glittering all over 10 with gay raiment and goodly armour. Him he meets, drives over the plain, stands over him fallen, sacrifices the victim, and whelms him in a mighty shade; the arms are stripped and carried off on Serestus’ shoulders, a trophy to thee, royal Gradivus. The ranks are rallied by Cæculus, 15 scion of Vulcan’s stock, and Umbro, who comes from the Volscian hills. The Dardan chief puts forth his rage against them. Already had he mowed down with his sword Anxur’s left hand and the whole orb of the shield