Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/469

Rh Death-laden past the cure of art

Flies through the shade the hurtling dart,

So secret and so fleet.

E'en thus the deadly child of Night

Shot from the sky with earthward flight.

Soon as the armies and the town

Descending she descries,

She dwarfs her huge proportions down

To bird of puny size,

Which perched on tombs or desert towers

Hoots long and lone through darkling hours:

In such disguise, the monster wheeled

Round Turnus' head, and 'gainst his shield

Unceasing flapped her wings:

Strange chilly dread his limbs unstrung:

Upstands his hair: his voiceless tongue

To his parched palate clings.

But when from far Juturna heard

The whirring flight of that foul bird,

She rent her hair as sister mote,

Her cheeks she tore, her breast she smote

'Ah Turnus! what can sister now?

How other prove than cruel? how

Prolong your forfeit life?

Can goddess meet with fearless brow

A pest like this? At length I bow

And part me from the strife.

Nay, spare to aggravate my fear,

Ye birds of evil wing!

I know the sounds that stun mine ear:

That death-note speaks the bests severe

Of heaven's imperious king.

No meeter guerdon can he find

For maiden purity resigned?

Why gave he life to last for aye?

Why took the laws of death away?