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still slackens him and oft his knees refuse
their wonted step—pursues infuriate
his quailing foe, and dogs him stride for stride.
As when a stag-hound drives the baffled roe
to torrent's edge (or where the flaunting snare
of crimson feathers fearfully confines)
and with incessant barking swift pursues;
while through the snared copse or embankment high
the frightened creature by a thousand ways
doubles and turns; but that keen Umbrian hound
with wide jaws, undesisting, grasps his prey,
or, thinking that he grasps it, snaps his teeth
cracking together, and deludes his rage,
devouring empty air: then peal on peal
the cry of hunters bursts; the lake and shore
reecho, and confusion fills the sky:—
such was the flight of Turnus, who reviled
the Rutules as he fled, and loudly sued
of each by name to fetch his own lost sword.
Aeneas vowed destruction and swift death
to all who dared come near, and terrified
their trembling souls with menace that his power
would raze their city to the ground. Straightway,
though wounded, he gave chase, and five times round
in circles ran; then winding left and right
coursed the swift circles o'er. For, lo! the prize
is no light laurel or a youthful game:
for Turnus' doom and death their race is run.
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