victor's image, when he dies."

LXIII. Alcides heard, and, stifling in his breast
A deep groan, poured his unavailing grief.
Whom thus the Sire with kindly words addressed:
"Each hath his day; irreparably brief
Is mortal life, and fading as the leaf.
'Tis valour's part to bid it bloom anew
By deeds of fame. Dead many a godlike chief,
Dead lies my son Sarpedon. Turnus too
His proper Fates demand; his destined hour is due."

LXIV. So saying, he turned, and shunned the scene of death.
Forth Pallas hurled the spear with all his might,
And snatched the glittering falchion from the sheath.
Where the shield's top just matched the shoulders' height,
Clean through the rim, the javelin winged its flight,
And grazed the flesh. Then Turnus, poising slow
His oakbeam, tipt with iron sharp and bright,
Took aim, and, hurling, shouted to his foe,
"See, now, if this my lance can deal a deadlier blow."

LXV. He spake, and through the midmost shield, o'erlaid
With bull-hide, brass, and iron, welded hard,
Whizzed the keen javelin, nor its course delayed,
But pierced the broad breast through the corslet's guard.
He the warm weapon, in the wound embarred,
Wrenched, writhing in his agony; in vain;
Out gushed the life and life-blood. O'er him jarred
His clanging armour, as he rolled in pain.
Dying, with bloody mouth he bites the hostile plain.

LXVI. Then Turnus, standing o'er the dead, "Go to,
Arcadians, hear and let Evander know,
I send back Pallas, handled as was due.
If aught of honour can a tomb bestow,
If earth's cold lap yield solace to his woe,
I grant it. Dearly will his Dardan guest
Cost him, I trow." Then, trampling on the foe,
His left foot on the lifeless corpse he pressed,
And tore the ponderous belt in triumph from his breast;

LXVII. The belt, whereon the tale of guilt was told,--
The wedding night, the couches smeared with gore,
The bridegrooms slain--which Clonus in the gold,
The son of Eurytus, had grav'n of yore,
And Turnus now, exulting, seized and wore.
Vain mortals! triumphing past bounds to-day,
Blind to to-morrow's destiny. The hour
Shall come, when gold in plenty would he pay
Ne'er Pallas to have touched, and curse the costly prey.

LXVIII. With tears his comrades lifted from the ground
Dead Pallas; groaning, on his shield they bore
Him homeward, and the b