The Phrygian troops escaped the Greeks in vain: They, and their mixed allies, now load the plain. To the rude shock of war both armies came; Their leaders equal, and their strength the same. The rear so pressed the front, they could not wield Their angry weapons, to dispute the field. Here Pallas urges on, and Lausus there: } Of equal youth and beauty both appear, } But both by fate forbid to breathe their native air. } Their congress in the field great Jove withstands-- Both doomed to fall, but fall by greater hands. Meantime Juturna warns the Daunian chief Of Lausus' danger, urging swift relief. With his driven chariot he divides the crowd, And, making to his friends, thus calls aloud:-- "Let none presume his needless aid to join; Retire, and clear the field; the fight is mine: To this right hand is Pallas only due; Oh! were his father here, my just revenge to view!" From the forbidden space his men retired. Pallas their awe, and his stern words, admired; Surveyed him o'er and o'er with wondering sight, Struck with his haughty mien, and towering height. Then to the king:--"Your empty vaunts forbear; Success I hope, and fate I cannot fear. Alive, or dead, I shall deserve a name; Jove is impartial, and to both the same." He said, and to the void advanced his pace: Pale horror sat on each Arcadian face. Then Turnus, from his chariot leaping light, Addressed himself on foot to single fight. And, as a lion--when he spies from far A bull that seems to meditate the war, Bending his neck, and spurning back the sand-- Runs roaring downward from his hilly stand: Imagine eager Turnus not more slow, To rush from high on his unequal foe. Young Pallas, when he saw the chief advance Within due distance of his flying lance, Prepares to charge him first--resolved to try If fortune would his want of force supply; And thus to heaven and Hercules addressed:-- "Alcides, once on earth Evander's guest! His son adjures thee by those holy rites, That hospitable board, those genial nights; Assist my great attempt to gain this prize, And let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes, His ravished spoils." 'Twas heard, the vain request; Alcides mourned, and stifled sighs within his breast. Then Jove, to sooth his sorrow, thus began:-- } "Short bounds of life are set to mortal man. } 'Tis virtue's work alone to stretch the narrow span. } So many sons of gods, in bloody fight Around the walls of Troy, have lost the light: My own Sarpedon fell beneath his foe; Nor I, his mighty sire, could ward the blow.[10] Even Turnus shortly shall resign his breath And stands already on the verge of death." This said, the god permits the fatal fight, But from the Latian fields averts his sight.