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 huge weight and the crime thereon engraved[o]: that band of youths slain foully all on one wedding night, and the chambers dabbled with blood: Clonus Eurytides had chased it on the broad field of gold: and now Turnus triumphs in the prize, and exults in his winning. Blind      5 are the eyes of man's soul to destiny and doom to be, nor knows it to respect the limit, when upborne by prosperous fortune! Turnus shall see the day when he will fain have paid a high price for Pallas unharmed, when he will hate the spoils and the hour he won them! But Pallas'        10 followers, with many a groan and tear, are bearing off their chief on his shield in long procession. Oh, vision of sorrow and great glory, soon to meet thy father's eye! this day first gave thee to battle, this day withdraws the gift, yet vast are the heaps thou leavest of Rutulian        15 carnage!

And now not the mere rumour of a blow so dreadful, but surer intelligence flies to Æneas, that his army is but a hand-breadth's remove from death—that it is high time to succour the routed Teucrians. With his sword he      20 mows down all that crosses him, and all on fire hews a broad pathway through the ranks with the steel, seeking thee, Turnus, fresh flushed with slaughter. Pallas, Evander, the whole scene stands before his eyes—the board where he had first sate as a stranger, the outstretched      25 hands of fellowship. At once he takes alive four youths born of Sulmo, and other four reared by Ufens, that he may offer them as victims to the dead, and sprinkle the funeral flame with their captive gore. Next he had levelled his spear from afar at Magus. Magus deftly runs     30 beneath, while the quivering spear flies over his head, and clasping the enemy's knees, utters these words of suppliance: "By your dead father's soul, and the dawning promise of Iulus, I pray you spare my poor life for my son and my sire. I have a lofty palace: deep in its       35 vaults lie talents of chased silver; masses of gold are mine, wrought and unwrought both. The victory of Troy hangs not on my fortunes, nor can a single life make