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 anger, and keeps within the covert of his arms. Even as on a time when storm-clouds sweep down in a burst of hail, every ploughman, every husbandman has fled scattering from the field, and the traveller lies hid in a stronghold of safety, either some river bank or vault of lofty     5 rock, while the rain is pelting on the lands, in the hope that with the returning sun they may task the day once more; even so, stormed on by javelins from all sides, Æneas endures the thunder-cloud of war till all its artillery be spent, and keeps chiding Lausus and threatening     10 Lausus: "Whither are you rushing on your death, with aims beyond your strength? Your duteous heart blinds your reckless valour." Yet he bates not a jot in his frantic onslaught: and now the Dardan leader's wrath surges into fury, and the fatal sisters are gathering up     15 Lausus' last thread, for Æneas drives his forceful blade sheer through the youth's body, and buries it wholly within him. Pierced is the shield by the edge, the light armour he carried so threateningly, and the tunic embroidered by his mother with delicate golden thread, and     20 his bosom is deluged with blood; and anon the life flits through the air regretfully to the shades and the body is left tenantless. But when the son of Anchises saw the look and countenance of the dying—the countenance with its strange and varying hues of pallor—heavily he     25 groaned for pity and stretched forth his hand, and the portraiture of filial love stood before his soul. "What now, hapless boy, what shall the good Æneas give you worthy of your merit and of a heart like yours? Let the arms wherein you took pride be your own still; yourself     30 I restore to the company of your ancestors, their shades and their ashes, if that be aught to you now. This at least, ill-starred as you are, shall solace the sadness of your death: it is great Æneas' hand that brings you low." Then without more ado he chides the slackness of his     35 comrades, and lifts their young chief from the earth, as he lay dabbling his trim locks with gore.

Meanwhile the father at the wave of Tiber's flood was