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from far-descended sires of storied name,
the line of Latium's kings! Aeneas now
with mountain-boulder lays him low in dust,
smitten with whirlwind of the monster stone;
and o'er him fallen under yoke and rein
roll his own chariot wheels, while with swift tread
the mad hoofs of his horses stamp him down,
not knowing him their lord. But Turnus found
proud Hyllus fronting him with frantic rage,
and at his golden helmet launched the shaft
that pierced it; in his cloven brain it clung.
Nor could thy sword, O Cretheus, save thee then
from Turnus, though of bravest Greeks the peer;
nor did Cupencus' gods their priest defend
against Aeneas, but his breast he gave
unto the hostile blade; his brazen shield
delayed no whit his miserable doom.
Thee also, Aeolus, Laurentum saw
spread thy huge body dying on the ground;
yea, dying, thou whom Greeks in serried arms
subdued not, nor Achilles' hand that hurled
the throne of Priam down: here didst thou touch
thy goal of death; one stately house was thine
on Ida's mountain, at Lyrnessus, one;
Laurentum's hallowed earth was but thy grave.
Now the whole host contends; all Latium meets
all Ilium; Mnestheus and Serestus bold;
Messapus, the steed-breaker, and high-soured
Asilas; Tuscans in a phalanx proud;
Arcadian riders of Evander's train:
each warrior lifts him to his height supreme
of might and skill; no sloth nor lingering now,
but in one far-spread conflict all contend.
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