Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/369

Full many a godhead's son, beside
The walls of Troy, in combat died;
Nay, he, my own authentic seed,
Sarpedon, he was doomed to bleed.
Death waits for Turnus too: e'en now
He nears the bound his fates allow.'
So speaking, be averts his mien,
And turns him from the deathful scene.

Now Pallas hurls with all his might
His spear, and bares his falchion bright.
Where, rising high, the brazen coat
The shoulder guards, the javelin smote,
Pierced the broad shield with well-meant aim,
And grazed e'en Turnus' mighty frame.
Then, poising long the shaft, at last
His steel-tipped javelin Turnus cast,
And 'Let it now' he cries 'be seen
If this my dart be not more keen.'
So he: through all the metal plates,
The hides of bullocks dressed
That wrapped the shield in folds on folds,
The fatal point its passage holds,
The corslet's barrier penetrates
And cleaves his manly breast.
From, the wide wound he plucks in vain
The reeking weapon out;
The life-blood and the life amain
In mingled torrent spout.
He sinks collapsing on the wound;
About his limbs the arms resound;
And as he writhes in deadly pain
His fierce teeth bite the hostile plain.

Spanning the dead with haughty stride,
'Arcadians, hear me' Turnus cried: