Soon as Lausus saw, he gave a heavy groan of tenderness for the sire he loved, and tears trickled down his face. And here, gallant youth, neither the cruel chance 25 of thy death, nor thy glorious deeds, if antiquity may gain credence for so great a sacrifice, nor thine own most worthy memory shall be unsung through fault of mine. The father, dragging back his foot, disabled and entangled, was quitting the field, his enemy’s spearshaft trailing 30 from his buckler. Forth dashed the youth and mingled in the duel, and even as Æneas was rising with hand and body and bringing down a blow from above, met the shock of the sword, and gave the swordsman pause; his comrades second him with a mighty shout, covering the 35 father’s retreat as sheltered by his son’s shield he withdraws from the fray, hurl a rain of darts, and strive with distant missiles to dislodge the foe. Æneas glows with anger, and keeps within the covert of his arms. Even as on a time when storm-clouds sweep down in a burst of hail, every ploughman, every husbandman has fled scattering from the field, and the traveller lies hid in a stronghold of safety, either some river bank or vault of lofty 5 rock, while the rain is pelting on the lands, in the hope that with the returning sun they may task the day once more; even so, stormed on by javelins from all sides, Æneas endures the thunder-cloud of war till all its artillery be spent, and keeps chiding Lausus and threatening 10 Lausus: “Whither are you rushing on your death, with aims beyond your strength? Your duteous heart blinds your reckless valour.” Yet he bates not a jot in his frantic onslaught: and now the Dardan leader’s wrath surges into fury, and the fatal sisters are gathering up 15 Lausus’ last thread, for Æneas drives his forceful blade sheer through the youth’s body, and buries it wholly within him. Pierced is the shield by the edge, the light armour he carried so threateningly, and the tunic embroidered by his mother with delicate golden thread, and 20 his bosom is deluged with blood; and anon the life flits through the air regretfully to the shades and the body is left tenantless. But when the son of Anchises saw the look and countenance of the dying—the countenance with its strange and varying hues of pallor—heavily he 25 groaned for pity and stretched forth his hand, and the portraiture of filial love stood before his soul. “What now, hapless boy, what shall the good Æneas give you worthy of your merit and of a heart like yours? Let the arms wherein you took pride be your own still; yourself 30 I restore to the company of your ancestors, their shades and their ashes, if that be aught to you now. This at least, ill-starred as you are, shall solace the sadness of