XCI. Prone falls the giant in a heap. Earth groans, His shield above him thunders. Such the roar, When falls the solid pile of quarried stones, Sunk in the sea off Baiae's echoing shore; So vast the ruin, when the waves close o'er, And the black sands mount upward, as the block, Dashed headlong, settles on the deep-sea floor, And Prochyta and Arime's steep rock, Piled o'er Typhoeus, quake and tremble with the shock. XCII. Now Mars armipotent the Latins lends Fresh heart and strength, but Fear and black Dismay And Flight upon the Teucrian troops he sends. From right and left they hurry to the fray, And o'er each spirit comes the War-God's sway. But when brave Pandarus saw his brother's fate, And marked the swerving fortune of the day, He set his broad-built shoulders to the gate; The groaning hinges yield, and backward rolls the weight. XCIII. Full many a friend without the camp he leaves, Sore straitened in the combat; these, the rest, Saved like himself, he rescues and receives. Madman! who, blind to Turnus, as he pressed Among them, made the dreaded foe his guest. Fierce as a tiger in the fold, he preys. Loud ring his arms; his helmet's blood-red crest Waves wide; strange terrors from his eyes outblaze, And on his dazzling shield the living lightning plays. XCIV. That hated form, those giant limbs too plain The Trojans see, and stand aghast with fear. Then, fired with fury for his brother slain, Forth leaping, shouts huge Pandarus with a jeer, "No Queen Amata's bridal halls are here; No Ardea this; around the camps the foe. No flight for thee." He, smiling, calm of cheer, "Come, if thou durst; full soon shall Priam know Thou too hast found a new Achilles to thy woe." XCV. He spake. Then Pandarus a javelin threw, Cased in its bark, with hardened knots and dried. The breezes caught the missile as it flew; Saturnian Juno turned the point aside, And fixed it in the gate. "Ha! bravely tried! Not so _this_ dart shalt thou escape; not so Send I the weapon and the wound." He cried, And, sword in hand, uprising to the blow, Between the temples clave the forehead of his foe. XCVI. The beardless cheeks, so fearful was the gash, Gape wide. Aloud his clanging arms resound. Earth groans beneath, as prone, amid the splash Of blood and brains, he sprawls upon the ground, And right and left hangs, severed by the wound, His dying head. In terror, strewn afar, The Trojans fly. Then, then had Turnus found Time and the thought to burst the town-gate's bar, That day had seen the last of Trojans and the war.