Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/459

While Troy rejoices in her prey,
His armour and his breathless clay!
And must I drain the dregs of shame
And leave the town to sink in flame,
Nor, prompt to combat and to die,
Make Drances yet retract his lie?
What, own defeat? let Latian eyes
See Turnus, Turnus as he flies?
Is death indeed so sore?
hear me, Manes, of your grace,
Since heavenly powers have hid their face!
Pure and unsoiled by caitiff blame,
I join your company, nor shame
My mighty sires of yore.'

Scarce had he said, with headlong speed
Comes Saces up on foaming steed:
His bleeding face a shaft had gored,
And Turnus thus his voice implored:
'Turnus, save you no hope is ours:
O think of your own race!
Like thundercloud Æneas lowers,
Threatening to raze and sack our towers,
And firebrands mount apace.
On you is turned each Latian eye;
Latinus doubts to whom
His tottering fortune to ally,
Whom choose his daughter's groom.
The queen, your firmest friend, is dead,
By her own hand to darkness sped:
Messapus at the gates alone
And brave Atinas hold their own;
Around them throngs the hostile band;
Steel harvests bristle all the land:
You unconcerned your chariot ply
Through fields the battle's tide leaves dry.'