"Due doom it is; I pray no ruth; use what hath chanced to fall. Yet, if a wretched father's woe may touch thine heart at all, I pray thee--since Anchises once was even such to thee,-- Pity my father Daunus' eld, and send me, or, maybe, My body stripped of light and life, back to my kin and land. Thou, thou hast conquered: Italy has seen my craven hand Stretched forth to pray a grace of thee; Lavinia is thy wife: Strain not thine hatred further now!" Fierce in the gear of strife Æneas stood with rolling eyes, and held back hand and sword, 939 And more and more his wavering heart was softening 'neath the word-- When lo, upon the shoulder showed that hapless thong of war! Lo, glittering with familiar boss the belt child Pallas bore, Whom Turnus with a wound overcame and laid on earth alow, And on his body bore thenceforth those ensigns of his foe. But he, when he awhile had glared upon that spoil of fight, That monument of bitter grief, with utter wrath alight, Cried terrible: "And shalt thou, clad in my beloved one's prey, Be snatched from me?--Tis Pallas yet, 'tis Pallas thus doth slay, And taketh of thy guilty blood atonement for his death!" Deep in that breast he driveth sword e'en as the word he saith: 950 But Turnus,--waxen cold and spent, the body of him lies, And with a groan through dusk and dark the scornful spirit flies. THE END. Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co. Edinburgh & London