(Thus haunting ghosts appear to waking sight, Or dreadful visions in our dreams by night.) The spectre seems the Daunian chief to dare, And flourishes his empty sword in air. At this, advancing, Turnus hurled his spear: The phantom wheeled, and seemed to fly for fear. Deluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled, And with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed. "Whither, O coward?" (thus he calls aloud, Nor found he spoke to wind, and chased a cloud,) "Why thus forsake your bride! Receive from me The fated land you sought so long by sea." He said, and, brandishing at once his blade, With eager pace pursued the flying shade. By chance a ship was fastened to the shore, Which from old Clusium king Osinius bore: The plank was ready laid for safe ascent; } For shelter there the trembling shadow bent, } And skipped and skulked, and under hatches went. } Exulting Turnus, with regardless haste, Ascends the plank, and to the galley passed. Scarce had he reached the prow; Saturnia's hand The halsers cuts, and shoots the ship from land. With wind in poop, the vessel ploughs the sea, And measures back with speed her former way. Meantime Æneas seeks his absent foe, And sends his slaughtered troops to shades below. The guileful phantom now forsook the shroud, And flew sublime, and vanished in a cloud. Too late young Turnus the delusion found, Far on the sea, still making from the ground. Then, thankless for a life redeemed by shame, With sense of honour stung, and forfeit fame, Fearful besides of what in fight had passed, His hands and hagard eyes to heaven he cast:-- "O Jove!" he cried--"for what offence have I Deserved to bear this endless infamy? Whence am I forced, and whither am I borne? How, and with what reproach, shall I return? Shall ever I behold the Latian plain, Or see Laurentum's lofty towers again? What will they say of their deserting chief? The war was mine: I fly from their relief! I led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave; And even from hence their dying groans receive. Here, over-matched in fight, in heaps they lie, There, scattered o'er the fields, ignobly fly. Gape wide, O earth, and draw me down alive! } Or, oh! ye pitying winds, a wretch relieve! } On sands or shelves the splitting vessel drive; } Or set me shipwrecked on some desert shore, Where no Rutulian eyes may see me more-- Unknown to friends, or foes, or conscious fame, Lest she should follow, and my flight proclaim." Thus Turnus raved, and various fates revolved: The choice was doubtful, but the death resolved. And now the sword, and now the sea, took place-- That to revenge, and this to purge disgrace. Sometimes he thought to swim the stormy main, By stretch of arms the distant shore to gain.