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War will not save us? Fling that prophecy on the doomed Dardan's head, or on thy own, thou madman! Aye, with thy vile, craven soul disturb the general cause. Extol the power of a twice-vanquished people, and decry Latinus' rival arms. From this time forth let all the Myrmidonian princes cower before the might of Troy; let Diomed and let Achilles tremble; let the stream of Aufidus in panic backward flow from Hadria's wave. But hear me when I say that though his guilt and cunning feign to feel fear of my vengeance, much embittering so his taunts and insult—such a life as his my sword disdains. O Drances, be at ease! In thy vile bosom let thy breath abide! But now of thy grave counsel and thy cause, O royal sire, I speak. If from this hour thou castest hope of armed success away, if we be so unfriended that one rout o'erwhelms us utterly, if Fortune's feet never turn backward, let us, then, for peace offer petition, lifting to the foe our feeble, suppliant hands. Yet would I pray some spa
Fair Opis, keeping guard for Trivia in patient sentry on a lofty hill, beheld unterrified the conflict's rage. Yet when, amid the frenzied shouts of soldiery, she saw from far Camilla pay the doom of piteous death, with deep-drawn voice of sight she thus complained: “O virgin, woe is me! Too much, too much, this agony of thine, to expiate that thou didst lift thy spear for wounding Troy. It was no shield in war, nor any vantage to have kept thy vow to chaste Diana in the thorny wild. Our maiden arrows at thy shoulder slung availed thee not! Yet will our Queen divine not leave unhonored this thy dying day, nor shall thy people let thy death remain a thing forgot, nor thy bright name appear a glory unavenged. Whoe'er he be that marred thy body with the mortal wound shall die as he deserves.” Beneath that hill an earth-built mound uprose, the tomb of King Dercennus, a Laurentine old, by sombre ilex shaded: thither hied the fair nymph at full speed, and from the mound looked round for Arru
But Sire Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name, down the steep rampart from the citadel unlingering tried, all lesser task laid by, with joy exultant and dread-thundering arms. Like Athos' crest he loomed, or soaring top of Eryx, when the nodding oaks resound, or sovereign Apennine that lifts in air his forehead of triumphant snow. All eyes of Troy, Rutulia, and Italy were fixed his way; and all who kept a guard on lofty rampart, or in siege below were battering the foundations, now laid by their implements and arms. Latinus too stood awestruck to behold such champions, born in lands far-sundered, met upon one field for one decisive stroke of sword with sword. Swift striding forth where spread the vacant plain, they hurled their spears from far; then in close fight the brazen shields rang. Beneath their tread Earth groaned aloud, as with redoubling blows their falchions fell; nor could a mortal eye 'twixt chance and courage the dread work divide. As o'er Taburnus' top, or spacious hills of Sil
Soon Turnus, reckless of the risk, leaped forth, upreached his whole height to his lifted sword, and struck: the Trojans and the Latins pale cried mightily, and all eyes turned one way expectant. But the weak, perfidious sword broke off, and as the blow descended, failed its furious master, whose sole succor now was flight; and swifter than the wind he flew. But, lo! a hilt of form and fashion strange lay in his helpless hand. For in his haste, when to the battle-field his team he drove, his father's sword forgotten (such the tale), he snatched Metiscus' weapon. This endured to strike at Trojan backs, as he pursued, but when on Vulcan's armory divine its earthly metal smote, the brittle blade broke off like ice, and o'er the yellow sands in flashing fragments scattered. Turnus now takes mad flight o'er the distant plain, and winds in wavering gyration round and round; for Troy's close ring confines him, and one way a wide swamp lies, one way a frowning wall.