Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/371

With brandished sword he storms along,
And hews a passage through the throng,
Still seeking Turnus, newly red
With slaughter of the mighty dead.
Pallas, Evander, all, they stand
Like life before his sight,
The board that welcomed him, the hand
In warm affiance plight.
Four hapless youths of Sulmo's breed
And four who Ufens call their sire
He takes alive, condemned to bleed
To Pallas' shade on Pallas' pyre.
At Magus then his spear he threw;
But Magus from the death withdrew,
Came crouching up, while o'er his head
The quivering lance through ether sped,
And clasped the victor's knees and said:
'By your great father's shade I pray,
By young Iulus' dawning day,
In pity deign my life to spare
For my gray sire, my youthful heir.
A lofty house is mine: a hoard
Of silver in its vaults is stored,
And piles of wrought and unwrought gold
Are treasured there, of weight untold.
Not here the crisis of the strife,
Nor victory hangs on one poor life.'
He ceased: immoveable and stern
Æneas thus made brief return:
'Nay, spare your gold and silver heap:
Those treasured hoards your heirs should keep.
Since Turnus shed out Pallas' gore,
The bartery of war is o'er:
So deems my gallant son, and so
My father's spirit down below:'