Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/471

Scarce twelve strong men of later mould
That weight could on their necks uphold,
To-day's degenerate sons:
He caught it up, and at his foe
Discharged it, rising to the throw
And straining as he runs.
But wildering fears his mind unman;
Running, he knew not that he ran,
Nor throwing that he threw:
Heavily move his sinking knees;
The streams of life wax dull and freeze:
The stone, as through the void it past,
Reached not the measure of its cast,
Nor held its purpose true.
E'en as in dreams, when on the eyes
The drowsy weight of slumber lies,
In vain to ply our limbs we think,
And in the helpless effort sink;
Tongue, sinews, all, their powers bely,
And voice and speech our call defy:
So, labour Turnus as he will,
The Fury mocks the endeavour still.
Dim shapes before his senses reel:
On host and town he turns his sight:
He quails, he trembles at the steel,
Nor knows to fly, nor knows to fight:
Nor to his pleading eyes appear
The car, the sister charioteer.

The deadly dart Æneas shakes:
His aim with stem precision takes,
Then hurls with all his frame:
Less loud from battering: engine cast
Roars the fierce stone; less loud the blast
Follows the lightning's flame.
On rushes as with whirlwind wings
The spear that dire destruction brings,