"Now shall I win me praise of men for spoiling of a King, Or for a glorious death: my sire may outface either thing: 450 Forbear thy threats." He spake, and straight amid the war-field drew; But cold in that Arcadian folk therewith the heart-blood grew; While Turnus from his war-wain leapt to go afoot to fight: And as a lion sees afar from off his watch burg's height A bull at gaze amid the mead with battle in his thought, And flies thereto, so was the shape of coming Turnus wrought. But now, when Pallas deemed him come within the cast of spear, He would be first, if Fate perchance should help him swift to dare, And his less might, and thus he speaks unto the boundless sky: "Now by my father's guesting-tide and board thou drew'st anigh, 460 A stranger, O Alcides, help this great deed I begin! His bloody gear from limbs half-dead let Turnus see me win; And on the dying eyes of him be victor's image pressed." Alcides heard the youth, and 'neath the inmost of his breast He thrust aback a heavy groan, and empty tears he shed: But to his son in kindly wise such words the Father said: "His own day bideth every man; short space that none may mend Is each man's life: but yet by deeds wide-spreading fame to send, Man's valour hath this work to do: 'neath Troy's high-builded wall How many sons of God there died: yea there he died withal, 470 Sarpedon my own progeny. Yea too and Turnus' Fates Are calling him: he draweth nigh his life's departing-gates." He spake and turned his eyes away from fields of Rutuli: But Pallas with great gathered strength the spear from him let fly, And drew therewith from hollow sheath his sword all eager-bright. The spear flew gleaming where the arms rise o'er the shoulder's height, Smote home, and won its way at last through the shield's outer rim, And Turnus' mighty body reached and grazed the flesh of him. Long Turnus shook the oak that bore the bitter iron head, Then cast at Pallas, and withal a word he cast and said: 480 "Let see now if this shaft of mine may better win a pass!" He spake; for all its iron skin and all its plates of brass, For all the swathing of bull-hides that round about it went, The quivering spear smote through the shield and through its midmost rent And through the mailcoat's staying fence the mighty breast did gain. Then at the spear his heart-blood warmed did Pallas clutch in vain; By one way and the same his blood and life, away they fare; But down upon the wound he rolled, and o'er him clashed his gear, And dying there his bloody mouth sought out the foeman's sod: Whom Turnus overstrides and says: 490