steel, and warmed within the brain.

LIV. Fierce Volscens raves with anger, nor espies
The wielder of the weapon, nor which way
To rush, aflame with fury. "Thou," he cries,
"Thy blood meanwhile the penalty shall pay
For both," and with his falchion bared to slay
Springs at Euryalus. Then, wild with fear,
Poor Nisus shouts, in frenzy of dismay,
Nor longer in the dark can hide, nor bear
A pang of grief so keen--to lose a friend so dear,

LV. "Me--me, behold the doer! mine the deed!
Kill me, Rutulians. By this hand they fell.
He could not--durst not. By the skies I plead,
By yon bright stars, that witnessed what befell,
He only loved his hapless friend too well."
Vain was his prayer; the weapon, urged amain,
Pierced through his ribs and snowy breast. Out swell
Dark streams of gore his lovely limbs to stain;
The sinking neck weighs o'er the shoulders of the slain.

LVI. So doth the purple floweret, dying, droop,
Smit by the ploughshare. So the poppy frail
On stricken stalk its languid head doth stoop,
And bows o'erladen with the drenching hail.
But onward now, through thickest ranks of mail,
Rushed Nisus. Volscens only will he slay;
He waits for none but Volscens. They assail
From right and left, and crowd his steps to stay.
He whirls his lightning brand, and presses to his prey.

LVII. Ere long he meets him clamouring, and down
His throat he drives the griding sword amain,
And takes his life, ere laying down his own.
Then, pierced he sinks upon his comrade slain,
And death's long slumber puts an end to pain.
O happy pair! if aught my verse ensure,
No length of time shall make your memory wane,
While, throned upon the Capitol secure,
The AEneian house shall reign, and Roman rule endure.

LVIII. Weeping, the victors took the spoils and prey,
And back dead Volscens to their camp they bore.
Nor less the wailing in the camp that day,
Brave Rhamnes found, and many a captive more,
Numa, Serranus, weltering in their gore.
Thick round the dead and dying, where the plain
Reeks freshly with the frothing blood, they pour.
Sadly they know Messapus' spoils again,
The trappings saved with sweat, the helmet of the slain.

LIX. Now, rising from Tithonus' saffron couch,
The Goddess of the dawn with orient ray
Sprinkled the earth, and 'neath the wakening touch
Of sunlight,