quails at the threatening spear: how to escape he knows 15 not, nor how to front the foe, nor sees he anywhere his car or the sister who drives it. Full in that shrinking face Æneas shakes his fatal weapon, taking aim with his eye, and with an effort of his whole frame hurls it forth. Never stone flung from 20 engine of siege roars so loud, never peal so rending follows the thunderbolt. On flies the spear like dark whirlwind with fell destruction on its wing, pierces the edge of the corslet, and the outermost circle of the seven-fold shield, and with a rush cleaves through the thigh. Down with 25 his knee doubled under him comes Turnus to earth, all his length prostrated by the blow. Up start the Rutulians, groaning as one man: the whole mountain round rebellows, and the depths of the forest send back the sound far and wide. He in lowly suppliance lifts up eye 30 and entreating hand: “It is my due,” he cries, “and I ask not to be spared it: take what fortune gives you. Yet, if you _can_ feel for a parent’s misery—your father, Anchises was once in like plight—have mercy on Daunus’ hoary hairs, and let me, or if you choose my breathless 35 body, be restored to my kin. You are conqueror: the Ausonians have seen my conquered hands outstretched: the royal bride is yours: let hatred be pressed no further.” Æneas stood still, a fiery warrior, his eyes rolling, and checked his hand: and those suppliant words were working more and more on his faltering purpose, when, alas! the ill-starred belt was seen high on the shoulder, and light flashed from the well-known studs—the belt of 5 young Pallas, whom Turnus conquered and struck down to earth, and bore on his breast the badge of triumphant enmity. Soon as his eyes caught the spoil and drank in the recollection of that cruel grief, kindled into madness and terrible in his wrath: “What, with my friend’s 10 trophies upon you, would you escape my hand? It is Pallas, Pallas, who with this blow makes you his victim, and gluts his vengeance with your accursed blood.” With these words, fierce as flame, he plunged the steel into the breast that lay before him. That other’s frame grows 15 chill and motionless, and the soul,[287] resenting its lot, flies groaningly to the shades. FOOTNOTES [A] “Like footsteps upon wool.”—Tennyson, _Œnone_. [B] Mr. Conington has missed a line, which may be rendered thus: “who knowest the divine will of Apollo—his tripods and his laurels.”—[E. S. S.] [C] Another line omitted in the translation:—“huge as Greek shield or sun-god’s torch.”—[E. S. S.] [D] A caret in the Ms. notes the omission of _Urbis opus_: “A city in itself.”—[E. S. S.]