AEneas is about to spare his life, when he sees upon his shoulder the spoils of Pallas, and kills him (1027-1107). I. When Turnus saw the Latins faint and fly, Crushed by the War-God, and his pledge reclaimed, Himself the mark of every scornful eye, Rage unappeasable his pride inflamed. As when a lion, in the breast sore maimed In Punic fields, uprousing, shakes his mane, And snaps the shaft that felon hands had aimed, His mouth all bloody, as he roars with pain, So Turnus blazed with wrath, as thus in scornful strain II. He hailed the king: "Not Turnus stops the way; No cause have these their challenge to forego, Poor Trojan cowards; I accept the fray, Sire, be the compact hallowed; be it so. Or I, while Latins sit and see the show, Will hurl to Hell this Dardan thief abhorred, This Asian runaway, and on the foe Refute the common slander with the sword, Or he, as victor, reign and be Lavinia's lord." III. Then, calm of soul, Latinus made reply, "O gallant youth, the more thy heart is fain In fierceness to excel, the more should I Weigh well the risks and measure loss with gain. To thee belong thy father Daunus' reign And captured towns. Good will have I and gold, And other maids our Latin homes contain, Of noble birth and lovely to behold. Hear now, and let plain speech the thankless truth unfold. IV. "To none of former suitors was I free To wed my daughter, so the voice ordained Of gods and men consenting. Love for thee, And sympathy for kindred blood hath gained The mastery, and a weeping wife constrained. I robbed the husband of the bride he wooed, Took impious arms, and plighted faith disdained. Ah me! what wars, what bitter fates ensued, Thou, Turnus, know'st too well, who first hast felt the feud. V. "Scarce now, twice worsted in the desperate fray, Our walls can guard what Latin hopes remain, And, choked with Latin corpses, day by day, Old Tiber's stream runs purple to the main, And Latin bones are whitening all the plain. Why shifts my frenzied purpose to and fro? Why change and change? If, maugre Turnus slain, I deign to welcome as a friend his foe, Why not, while Turnus lives, the needless strife forego? VI. "What will Rutulian kinsmen, what will all Italia say, if (Chance the deed forefend!) I leave thee, cheated of my care, to fall, The daughter's lover, and the father's friend? O, weigh the risks that on the war attend; Pity the parent in his sad, old age, Left at far Ardea to lament thine end." Thus he; but naught fierce Turnus can assuage; The healing hand but chafes, and words augment his rage.