But Lausus, seeing such a hero slain,
bade his troop have no fear, for he himself
was no small strength in war; and first he slew
Abas, who fought hard, and had ever seemed
himself the sticking-point and tug of war.
Down went Arcadia's warriors, and slain
etruscans fell, with many a Trojan brave
the Greek had spared. Troop charges upon troop
well-matched in might, with chiefs of like renown;
the last rank crowds the first;—so fierce the press
scarce hand or sword can stir. Here Pallas stands,
and pushes back the foe; before him looms
Lausus, his youthful peer, conspicuous both
in beauty; but no star will them restore
to home and native land. Yet would the King
of high Olympus suffer not the pair
to close in battle, but each hero found
a later doom at hands of mightier foes.
Now Turnus' goddess-sister bids him haste
to Lausus' help. So he, in wheeling car,
cut through the lines; and when his friends he saw,
“Let the fight stop! “ he cried, “for none but I
may strike at Pallas; unto me alone
the prize of Pallas falls. I would his sire
stood by to see.” He spake: his troop withdrew
a fitting space.
But as they made him room,
the young prince, wondering at the scornful words,
looked upon Turnus, glancing up and down
that giant frame, and with fierce-frowning brows
scanned him from far, hurling defiant words
in answer to the King's. “My honor now
shall have the royal trophy of this war,
or glorious death. For either fortune fair
my sire is ready. Threaten me no more!”
So saying, to the midmost space he strode,
and in Arcadian hearts the blood stood still.
Swift from his chariot Turnus leaped, and ran
to closer fight. As when some lion sees
from his far mountain-lair a raging bull
that sniffs the battle from the grassy field,
and down the steep he flies—such picture showed
grim Turnus as he came. But when he seemed
within a spear's cast, Pallas opened fight,
expecting Fortune's favor to the brave
in such unequal match; and thus he prayed:
“O, by my hospitable father's roof,
where thou didst enter as a stranger-guest,
hear me, Alcides, and give aid divine
to this great deed. Let Turnus see these hands
strip from his half-dead breast the bloody spoil!
And let his eyes in death endure to see
his conqueror!”
Alcides heard the youth:
but prisoned in his heart a deep-drawn sigh,
and shed vain tears; for Jove, the King and Sire, .
Spoke with benignant accents to his son:
“To each his day is given. Beyond recall
man's little time runs by: but to prolong
life's glory by great deeds is virtue's power.
Beneath the lofty walls of fallen Troy
fell many a son of Heaven. Yea, there was slain
Sarpedon, my own offspring. Turnus too
is summoned to his doom, and nears the bounds
of his appointed span.” So speaking, Jove
turned from Rutulia's war his eyes away.
But Pallas hurled his lance with might and main,
and from its hollow scabbard flashed his sword.
The flying shaft touched where the plated steel
over the shoulders rose, and worked its way
through the shield's rim—then falling, glanced aside
from Turnus' giant body. Turnus then
poised, without haste, his iron-pointed spear,
and, launching it on Pallas, cried, “Look now
will not this shaft a good bit deeper drive?”
He said: and through the mid-boss of the shield,
steel scales and brass with bull's-hide folded round,
the quivering spear-point crashed resistlessly,
and through the corselet's broken barrier
pierced Pallas' heart. The youth plucked out in vain
the hot shaft from the wound; his life and blood
together ebbed away, as sinking prone
on his rent side he fell; above him rang
his armor; and from lips with blood defiled
he breathed his last upon his foeman's ground.
Over him Turnus stood: “Arcadians all,”
He cried, “take tidings of this feat of arms
to King Evander. With a warrior's wage
his Pallas I restore, and freely grant
what glory in a hero's tomb may lie,
or comfort in a grave. They dearly pay
who bid Aeneas welcome at their board.”
So saying, with his left foot he held down
the lifeless form, and raised the heavy weight
of graven belt, which pictured forth that crime
of youthful company by treason slain,
all on their wedding night, in bridal bowers
to horrid murder given,—which Clonus, son
of Eurytus, had wrought in lavish gold;
this Turnus in his triumph bore away,
exulting in the spoil. O heart of man,
not knowing doom, nor of events to be!
Nor, being lifted up, to keep thy bounds
in prosperous days! To Turnus comes the hour
when he would fain a prince's ransom give
had Pallas passed unscathed, and will bewail
cuch spoil of victory. With weeping now
and lamentations loud his comrades lay
young Pallas on his shield, and thronging close
carry him homeward with a mournful song:
alas! the sorrow and the glorious gain
thy sire shall have in thee. For one brief day
bore thee to battle and now bears away;
yet leavest thou full tale of foemen slain.
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