But unto him from quiet soul Latinus spake again: "Great-hearted youth, by e'en so much as thou in valorous might Dost more excel, by so much I must counsel me aright, 20 And hang all haps that may betide in those sad scales of mine. Thine are thy father Daunus' realms, a many towns are thine, Won by thine hand: Latinus too his gold and goodwill yields; But other high-born maids unwed dwell in Laurentine fields Or Latin land,--nay, suffer me to set all guile apart, And say a hard thing--do thou take this also to thine heart: To none of all her wooers of old my daughter may I wed; This warning word of prophecy all men and Gods have sped. But by thy kindred blood o'ercome, and by the love of thee, And by my sad wife's tears, I broke all bonds and set me free. 30 From son-in-law I rapt his bride, I drew a godless sword. What mishaps and what wrack of peace have been my due reward Thou seest, Turnus, and what grief I was the first to bear. Twice beaten in a woeful fight, scarce is our city here Held by the hope of Italy: still Tiber-flood rolls by, Warm with our blood, and 'neath our bones wide meadows whitening lie. But whither waver I so oft? what folly shifts my mind? If I am ready, Turnus dead, peace with these men to bind, Shall I not rather while thou liv'st cast all the war away? What shall my kindred Rutuli, what shall Italia say, 40 If I deliver thee to death, (Fate thrust the words aside!) Thee, who hast wooed me for thy sire, my daughter for thy bride? Look on the wavering hap of war, pity thy father's eld, Now far from thee in sorrow sore by ancient Ardea held." But not a whit might all these words the wrath of Turnus bend. Nay, worser waxed he, sickening more by medicine meant to mend: And e'en so soon as he might speak, such words were in his mouth: "Thy trouble for my sake, best lord, e'en for my sake forsooth, Lay down, I prithee; let me buy a little praise with death. I too, O father, sow the spear, nor weak hand scattereth 50 The iron seed, with me afield: the blood-springs know my stroke. Nor here shall be his Goddess-dame with woman's cloud to cloak A craven king, and hide herself in empty mirky shade." But now the Queen, by this new chance of battle sore afraid, Fell weeping, as her fiery son she held with dying eyes: "O Turnus, by these tears, by what of worship for me lies Anigh thy heart; O, only hope of this my latter tide, Sole rest from sorrow! thou, in whom all worship doth abide, All glory of the Latin name, our falling house-wall stay! Set not thine hand to Teucrian war; this thing alone I pray. 60 Whatever lot abideth thee, O Turnus, mid the fight, Abideth me, and I with thee will leave the loathed light; Nor will I, made Æneas' thrall, behold him made my son."