Page:The Aeneid of Virgil JOHN CONINGTON 1917 V2.pdf/342

 he is running or moving, lifting up or stirring the enormous stone: his knees totter under him, and his blood chills and freezes: and so the mass from the warrior's hand, whirled through the empty void, passed not through all the space between nor carried home the blow. Even                5 as in dreams, at night, when heavy slumber has weighed down the eyes, we seem vainly wishing to make eager progress forward and midway in the effort fail helplessly; our tongue has no power, our wonted strength stands not our frames in stead, nor do words or utterance come at               10 our call: so it is with Turnus: whatever means his valour tries, the fell fiend bars them of their issue. And now confused images whirl through his brain: he looks to his Rutulians and to the city, and falters with dread, and quails at the threatening spear: how to escape he knows              15 not, nor how to front the foe, nor sees he anywhere his car or the sister who drives it.

Full in that shrinking face Æneas shakes his fatal weapon, taking aim with his eye, and with an effort of his whole frame hurls it forth. Never stone flung from               20 engine of siege roars so loud, never peal so rending follows the thunderbolt. On flies the spear like dark whirlwind with fell destruction on its wing, pierces the edge of the corslet, and the outermost circle of the seven-fold shield, and with a rush cleaves through the thigh. Down with                 25 his knee doubled under him comes Turnus to earth, all his length prostrated by the blow. Up start the Rutulians, groaning as one man: the whole mountain round rebellows, and the depths of the forest send back the sound far and wide. He in lowly suppliance lifts up eye              30 and entreating hand: "It is my due," he cries, "and I ask not to be spared it: take what fortune gives you. Yet, if you can feel for a parent's misery—your father, Anchises was once in like plight—have mercy on Daunus' hoary hairs, and let me, or if you choose my breathless              35 body, be restored to my kin. You are conqueror: the Ausonians have seen my conquered hands outstretched: the royal bride is yours: let hatred be pressed no further."