After these things Jove gave his kingly mindto further action, that he might forthwithcut off Juturna from her brother's cause.Two plagues there be, called Furies, which were spawnedat one birth from the womb of wrathful Nightwith dread Megaera, phantom out of hell;and of their mother's gift, each Fury wearsgrim-coiling serpents and tempestuous wings.These at Jove's throne attend, and watch the doorsof that stern King—to whet the edge of fearfor wretched mortals, when the King of godshurls pestilence and death, or terrifiesoffending nations with the scourge of war.'T was one of these which Jove sent speeding downfrom his ethereal seat, and bade her crossthe pathway of Juturna for a sign.Her wings she spread, and earthward seemed to rideupon a whirling storm. As when some shaft,with Parthian poison tipped or Cretan gall,a barb of death, shoots cloudward from the bow,and hissing through the dark hastes forth unseen:so earthward flew that daughter of the night.Soon as she spied the Teucrians in arrayand Turnus' lines, she shrivelled to the shapeof that small bird which on lone tombs and towerssits perching through the midnight, and prolongsin shadow and deep gloom her troubling cry.In such disguise the Fury, screaming shrill,flitted in Turnus' face, and with her wingssmote on his hollow shield. A strange affrightpalsied his every limb; each several hairlifted with horror, and his gasping voicedied on his lips. But when Juturna knewfrom far the shrieking fiend's infernal wing,she loosed her tresses, and their beauty tore,to tell a sister's woe; with clenching handsshe marred her cheeks and beat her naked breast. “What remedy or help, my Turnus, nowis in a sister's power? What way remainsfor stubborn me? Or with what further guilethy life prolong? What can my strength opposeto this foul thing? I quit the strife at last.Withdraw thy terror from my fearful eyes,thou bird accurst! The tumult of thy wingsI know full well, and thy death-boding call.The harsh decrees of that large-minded JoveI plainly see. Is this the price he paysfor my lost maidenhood? Why flatter mewith immortality, and snatch awaymy property of death? What boon it wereto end this grief this hour, and hie awayto be my brother's helpmeet in his grave!I, an immortal? O, what dear delightis mine, sweet brother, living without thee?O, where will earth yawn deep enough and wideto hide a goddess with the ghosts below?”She spoke; and veiled in glistening mantle grayher mournful brow; then in her stream divinethe nymph sank sighing to its utmost cave.
Aeneas now is near; and waving widea spear like some tall tree, he called aloudwith unrelenting heart: “What stays thee now?Or wherefore, Turnus, backward fly? Our workis not a foot-race, but the wrathful strifeof man with man. Aye, hasten to put ontricks and disguises; gather all thou hastof skill or courage; wish thou wert a birdto fly to starry heaven, or hide thy headsafe in the hollow ground!” The other thenshook his head, saying: “It is not thy words,not thy hot words, affright me, savage man!Only the gods I fear, and hostile Jove.”Silent he stood, and glancing round him sawa huge rock Iying by, huge rock and old,a landmark justly sundering field from field,which scarce six strong men's shoulders might upraise,such men as mother-Earth brings forth to-day:this grasped he with impetuous hand and hurled,stretched at full height and roused to all his speed,against his foe. Yet scarcely could he feelit was himself that ran, himself that movedwith lifted hand to fling the monster stone;for his knees trembled, and his languid bloodran shuddering cold; nor could the stone he threw,tumbling in empty air, attain its goalnor strike the destined blow. But as in dreams,when helpless slumber binds the darkened eyes,we seem with fond desire to tread in vainalong a lengthening road, yet faint and fallwhen straining to the utmost, and the tongueis palsied, and the body's wonted powerobeys not, and we have no speech or cry:so unto Turnus, whatsoever wayhis valiant spirit moved, the direful Fiendstopped in the act his will. Swift-changing thoughtsrush o'er his soul; on the Rutulian host,then at the town he glares, shrinks back in fear,and trembles at th' impending lance; nor seeswhat path to fly, what way confront the foe:—no chariot now, nor sister-charioteer!
Above his faltering terror gleams in airAeneas' fatal spear; whose eye perceivedthe moment of success, and all whose strengthstruck forth: the vast and ponderous rock outflungfrom engines which make breach in sieged wallsnot louder roars nor breaks in thunder-soundmore terrible; like some black whirlwind flewthe death-delivering spear, and, rending widethe corselet's edges and the heavy rimof the last circles of the seven-fold shield,pierced, hissing, through the thigh. Huge Turnus sinkso'erwhelmed upon the ground with doubling knee.Up spring the Rutules, groaning; the whole hillroars answering round them, and from far and widethe lofty groves give back an echoing cry.Lowly, with suppliant eyes, and holding forthhis hand in prayer: “I have my meed,” he cried,“Nor ask for mercy. Use what Fate has given!But if a father's grief upon thy hearthave power at all,—for Sire Anchises onceto thee was dear,—I pray thee to show graceto Daunus in his desolate old age;and me, or, if thou wilt, my lifeless clay,to him and his restore. For, lo, thou artmy conqueror! Ausonia's eyes have seenme suppliant, me fallen. Thou hast madeLavinia thy bride. Why further urgeour enmity?”With swift and dreadful armsAeneas o'er him stood, with rolling eyes,but his bare sword restraining; for such wordsmoved on him more and more: when suddenly,over the mighty shoulder slung, he sawthat fatal baldric studded with bright goldwhich youthful Pallas wore, what time he fellvanquished by Turnus' stroke, whose shoulders nowcarried such trophy of a foeman slain.Aeneas' eyes took sure and slow surveyof spoils that were the proof and memoryof cruel sorrow; then with kindling rageand terrifying look, he cried, “Wouldst thou,clad in a prize stripped off my chosen friend,escape this hand? In this thy mortal wound't is Pallas has a victim; Pallas takesthe lawful forfeit of thy guilty blood!”He said, and buried deep his furious bladein the opposer's heart. The failing limbssank cold and helpless; and the vital breath with moan of wrath to darkness fled away.