And seeks his life, regardless of her own. This lucky moment the sly traitor chose; Then, starting from his ambush, up he rose, And threw, but first to heaven addressed his vows:-- "O patron of Soracte's high abodes! Phœbus, the ruling power among the gods! Whom first we serve: whole woods of unctuous pine Are felled for thee, and to thy glory shine; By thee protected, with our naked soles, Through flames unsinged we march, and tread the kindled coals. Give me, propitious power, to wash away The stains of this dishonourable day: Nor spoils, nor triumph, from the fact I claim, But with my future actions trust my fame. Let me, by stealth, this female plague o'ercome, And from the field return inglorious home." Apollo heard, and, granting half his prayer, Shuffled in winds the rest, and tossed in empty air. He gives the death desired: his safe return By southern tempests to the seas is borne. Now, when the javelin whizzed along the skies, Both armies on Camilla turned their eyes, Directed by the sound. Of either host, The unhappy virgin, though concerned the most, Was only deaf; so greedy was she bent On golden spoils, and on her prey intent; Till in her pap the winged weapon stood Infixed, and deeply drunk the purple blood. Her sad attendants hasten to sustain Their dying lady drooping on the plain. Far from their sight the trembling Arruns flies, With beating heart, and fear confused with joys; Nor dares he farther to pursue his blow, Or even to bear the sight of his expiring foe. As, when the wolf has torn a bullock's hide At unawares, or ranched a shepherd's side, Conscious of his audacious deed, he flies, And claps his quivering tail between his thighs: So, speeding once, the wretch no more attends, But, spurring forward, herds among his friends. She wrenched the javelin with her dying hands, But wedged within her breast the weapon stands: The wood she draws, the steely point remains; She staggers in her seat with agonizing pains; (A gathering mist o'erclouds her cheerful eyes, And from her cheeks the rosy colour flies;) Then turns to her, whom, of her female train, She trusted most, and thus she speaks with pain:-- "Acca, 'tis past! he swims before my sight, Inexorable Death; and claims his right. Bear my last words to Turnus: fly with speed, And bid him timely to my charge succeed, Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve:-- Farewell! and in this kiss my parting breath receive." She said, and, sliding, sunk upon the plain: Dying, her opened hand forsakes the rein; Short, and more short, she pants: by slow degrees Her mind the passage from her body frees. She drops her sword; she nods her plumy crest, Her drooping head declining on her breast: In the last sigh her struggling soul expires,