Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/368

344 My sire is nerved for either fate:

Loud vaunts are empty breath.'

He spoke, and marched into the field;

Chill fear the Arcadian hearts congealed.

Down plunges Turnus from his car,

Prepared on foot to fight:

As when a lion from afar

Beholds a bull intending war,

Headlong he comes with furious bound;

So fierce, advancing o'er the ground,

Looks Turnus to the sight.

When Pallas saw his foe advance

Within the cover of his lance,

He steps in front, in hope that chance

His ill-matched powers may aid,

And thus with upraised countenance

To highest heaven he prayed:

'Now by the board whose homely fare,

A stranger, thou wast fain to share,

Assist me, Hercules, I pray,

In this my all too bold essay:

Let Turnus' eyes in dying brook

Upon a conqueror's face to look,

The while I spoil him as he lies

Of his stained arms, my gory prize.'

His votary's prayer Alcides hears;

His cheeks are bathed in fruitless tears,

And deep within his labouring breast

He heaves a stifled groan

Whom thus the Almighty Sire addressed

In grave and soothing tone:

'Each has his destined time: a span

Is all the heritage of man:

'Tis virtue's part by deeds of praise

To lengthen fame through after days.