And various cares revolving in his mind: Rage, boiling from the bottom of his breast, And sorrow mixed with shame, his soul oppressed; And conscious worth lay labouring in his thought, And love by jealousy to madness wrought. By slow degrees his reason drove away The mists of passion, and resumed her sway. Then, rising on his car, he turned his look, And saw the town involved in fire and smoke. A wooden tower with flames already blazed, Which his own hands on beams and rafters raised, And bridges laid above to join the space, And wheels below to roll from place to place. "Sister! the Fates have vanquished: let us go The way which heaven and my hard fortune show. The fight is fixed; nor shall the branded name Of a base coward blot your brother's fame. Death is my choice; but suffer me to try My force, and vent my rage before I die." He said: and leaping down without delay, Through crowds of scattered foes he freed his way. Striding he passed, impetuous as the wind, And left the grieving goddess far behind. As, when a fragment, from a mountain torn By raging tempests, or by torrents borne, Or sapped by time, or loosened from the roots-- Prone through the void the rocky ruin shoots, Rolling from crag to crag, from steep to steep; Down sink, at once, the shepherds and their sheep: Involved alike, they rush to nether ground; Stunned with the shock they fall, and stunned from earth rebound: So Turnus, hasting headlong to the town, Shouldering and shoving, bore the squadrons down. Still pressing onward, to the walls he drew, } Where shafts and spears and darts promiscuous flew, } And sanguine streams the slippery ground embrue. } First stretching out his arm, in sign of peace, He cries aloud, to make the combat cease:-- "Rutulians, hold! and Latin troops, retire! The fight is mine; and me the gods require. 'Tis just that I should vindicate alone The broken truce, or for the breach atone. This day shall free from wars the Ausonian state, Or finish my misfortunes in my fate." Both armies from their bloody work desist, And, bearing backward, form a spacious list. The Trojan hero, who received from fame The welcome sound, and heard the champion's name, Soon leaves the taken works and mounted walls: Greedy of war where greater glory calls, He springs to fight, exulting in his force; His jointed armour rattles in the course. Like Eryx, or like Athos, great he shows, Or father Apennine, when, white with snows, His head divine obscure in clouds he hides, And shakes the sounding forest on his sides. The nations, overawed, surcease the fight; Immoveable their bodies, fixed their sight. Even death stands still; nor from above they throw Their darts, nor drive their battering-rams below.