Page:The Aeneid of Virgil JOHN CONINGTON 1917 V2.pdf/254

 vents her rage on the darts and flings herself deliberately on death, and springs from high on the line of spears, even thus the doomed youth rushes on the midst of the foe, making for where he sees the darts are thickest. But Lycus, far swifter of foot, winds among ranks of foes and            5 showers of steel and gains the wall, and strives to clutch the fabric's summit and reach the hands of his friends. Whom Turnus, following him at once with foot and javelin, taunts in victorious tone: "Dreamed you, poor fool, that you could escape my hands?" and with that he seizes him              10 as he hangs in air, and pulls him down with a great fragment of the wall; just as the bearer of Jove's thunder trusses in his hooked talons a hare or a snow-white swan and soars into the sky, or one of Mars' wolves snatches from the fold a lamb which its mother's bleatings reclaim            15 in vain. On all sides rises the war-shout. They rush on the trenches and fill them with shattered earthworks, while others fling brazen firebrands to the roofs. Ilioneus with a rock, broken from a mighty mountain, brings down Lucetius as he assails the gates and waves his torch. 20 Liger kills Emathion, Asilas Corynæus, one skilled with the javelin, one with the arrow that surprises from a distance. Cæneus slays Ortygius, Turnus the conqueror Cæneus, Turnus Itys and Clonius, Dioxippus and Promolus, and Sagaris, and Idas, who was standing on the turret's top. 25 Capys kills Privernus: Themilla's flying spear had grazed him first; he, poor fool, dropped his buckler and clapped his hand to the wound, so the arrow came on stealthy wing, and the hand was pinned to the left side, and the inmost seat of breath is rent asunder by the deadly wound. 30 There stood the son of Arcens in conspicuous armour, his scarf embroidered with needlework, in the glory of Hiberian purple, fair of form, sent to war by his father Arcens, who had reared him in his mother's grove by the streams of Symæthus, where stands Palicus' rich and                  35 gracious altar: flinging his spears aside, Mezentius whirled the strained thong of the whizzing sling thrice round his head, and with the molten bullet burst in twain