Once more he pauses, and looks out again, And seeks the goddess charioteer in vain. Trembling he views the thundering chief advance, And brandishing aloft the deadly lance: Amazed he cowers beneath his conquering foe, Forgets to ward, and waits the coming blow. Astonished while he stands, and fixed with fear, Aimed at his shield he sees the impending spear. The hero measured first, with narrow view, } The destined mark; and, rising as he threw, } With its full swing the fatal weapon flew. } Not with less rage the rattling thunder falls, Or stones from battering-engines break the walls: Swift as a whirlwind, from an arm so strong, The lance drove on, and bore the death along. Nought could his sevenfold shield the prince avail, Nor aught, beneath his arms, the coat of mail: It pierced through all, and with a grisly wound Transfixed his thigh, and doubled him to ground. With groans the Latins rend the vaulted sky: Woods, hills, and valleys, to the voice reply. Now low on earth the lofty chief is laid, } With eyes cast upwards, and with arms displayed, } And, recreant, thus to the proud victor prayed:-- } "I know my death deserved, nor hope to live: Use what the gods and thy good fortune give. Yet think, oh! think, if mercy may be shown, (Thou hadst a father once, and hast a son,) Pity my sire, now sinking to the grave; And, for Anchises' sake, old Daunus save! Or, if thy vowed revenge pursue my death, Give to my friends my body void of breath! The Latian chiefs have seen me beg my life: } Thine is the conquest, thine the royal wife: } Against a yielded man, 'tis mean ignoble strife." } In deep suspense the Trojan seemed to stand, And, just prepared to strike, repressed his hand. He rolled his eyes, and every moment felt His manly soul with more compassion melt; When, casting down a casual glance, he spied The golden belt that glittered on his side, The fatal spoil which haughty Turnus tore From dying Pallas, and in triumph wore. Then, roused anew to wrath, he loudly cries, (Flames, while he spoke, came flashing from his eyes) "Traitor! dost thou, dost thou to grace pretend, Clad, as thou art, in trophies of my friend? To his sad soul a grateful offering go! 'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives this deadly blow." He raised his arm aloft, and, at the word, Deep in his bosom drove the shining sword. The streaming blood distained his arms around, And the disdainful soul came rushing through the wound. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 13: Note I.] [Footnote 14: Note IV.] NOTES ON ÆNEÏS, BOOK XII. Note I. _At this, a flood, of tears Lavinia shed; } A crimson blush her beauteous face o'erspread, } P. 146. Varying her cheeks by turns with white and red._ }