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Rh What should he do? what force employ

To rescue the beloved boy?

Plunge through the spears that line the wood,

And death and glory win with blood?

Not unresolved, he poises soon

A javelin, looking to the Moon:

'Grant, goddess, grant thy present aid,

Queen of the stars, Latonian maid,

The greenwood's guardian power;

If, grateful for success of mine,

With gifts my sire has graced thy shrine,

If e'er myself have brought thee spoil,

The tribute of my hunter's toil,

To ornament thy roof divine,

Or glitter on thy tower,

These masses give me to confound,

And guide through air my random wound.'

He spoke, and hurled with all his might;

The swift spear hurtles through the night:

Stout Sulmo's back the stroke receives:

The wood, though snapped, the midriff cleaves.

He falls, disgorging life's warm tide,

And long-drawn sobs distend his side.

All gaze around: another spear

The avenger levels from his ear,

And launches on the sky.

Tagus lies pierced through temples twain,

The dart deep buried in his brain.

Fierce Volscens storms, yet finds no foe,

Nor sees the hand that dealt the blow,

Nor knows on whom to fly.

'Your heart's warm blood for both shall pay'

He cries, and on his beauteous prey

With naked sword he sprang.

Scared, maddened, Nisus shrieks aloud:

No more he hides in night's dark shroud,

Nor bears the o'erwhelming pang: