And at his temples aimed the deadly spear: So fatally the flying weapon sped, That through his brazen helm it pierced his head. Nor, Cisseus, could'st thou 'scape from Turnus' hand, In vain the strongest of the Arcadian band: Nor to Cupencus could his gods afford Availing aid against the Ænean sword, Which to his naked heart pursued the course; Nor could his plated shield sustain the force. Iölas fell, whom not the Grecian powers, Nor great subverter of the Trojan towers, Were doomed to kill, while heaven prolonged his date: But who can pass the bounds prefixed by Fate? In high Lyrnessus, and in Troy, he held Two palaces, and was from each expelled: Of all the mighty man, the last remains A little spot of foreign earth contains. And now both hosts their broken troops unite In equal ranks, and mix in mortal fight. Serestus and undaunted Mnestheus join The Trojan, Tuscan, and Arcadian line: Sea-born Messapus, with Atinas, heads The Latin squadrons, and to battle leads. They strike, they push, they throng the scanty space, } Resolved on death, impatient of disgrace; } And, where one falls, another fills his place. } The Cyprian goddess now inspires her son To leave the unfinished fight, and storm the town: For, while he rolls his eyes around the plain In quest of Turnus, whom he seeks in vain, He views the unguarded city from afar, In careless quiet, and secure of war. Occasion offers, and excites his mind To dare beyond the task he first designed. Resolved, he calls his chiefs: they leave the fight: Attended thus, he takes a neighbouring height: The crowding troops about their general stand, All under arms, and wait his high command. Then thus the lofty prince:--"Hear and obey, Ye Trojan bands, without the least delay. Jove is with us; and what I have decreed, Requires our utmost vigour, and our speed. Your instant arms against the town prepare, The source of mischief, and the seat of war. This day the Latian towers, that mate the sky, Shall, level with the plain, in ashes lie: The people shall be slaves, unless in time They kneel for pardon, and repent their crime. Twice have our foes been vanquished on the plain: Then shall I wait till Turnus will be slain? Your force against the perjured city bend; There it began, and there the war shall end; The peace profaned our rightful arms requires; Cleanse the polluted place with purging fires." He finished; and--one soul inspiring all-- Formed in a wedge, the foot approach the wall. Without the town, an unprovided train Of gaping gazing citizens are slain. Some firebrands, others scaling ladders, bear, And those they toss aloft, and these they rear: The flames now launched, the feathered arrows fly,