ugh oft his hand thy sacred shrines below
Hath heaped his gifts." She ended, and straightway
Brief answer made the Sire, who doth Olympus sway:

LXXXV. "If but a respite for the youth be sought,
A little time of tarrying, ere he die,
And thus thou read'st the purport of my thought,
Take then awhile thy Turnus; let him fly
And 'scape his present fates; thus far may I
Indulge thee. But if aught beneath thy prayer
Lie veiled of purpose or of hopes more high,
To change the war's whole aspect, then beware,
For idle hopes thou feed'st, as empty as the air."

LXXXVI. Then She with tears: "What if thy heart should give
The pledge and promise, that thy lips disdain,
And Turnus by thy warrant still should live?
Now death awaits him guiltless, or in vain
I read the Fates. Ah! may I merely feign
An empty fear, and better thoughts advise
Thee--for thou can'st--to spare him and refrain!"
So saying, arrayed in storm-clouds, through the skies
Down to Laurentum's camp and Ilian lines she flies.

LXXXVII. Then straight the Goddess from a hollow cloud--
Strange sight to see!--a thin and strengthless shade
Shaped like the great AEneas, and endowed
With Dardan arms, and fixed the shield, and spread
The plume and crest as on his godlike head.
And empty words, a soulless sound, she gave,
And feigned the fashion of the warrior's tread.
Thus ghosts are said to glide above the grave;
Thus oft delusive dreams the slumbering sense enslave.

LXXXVIII. Proud stalks the phantom, gladdening in the van,
With darts provokes him, and with words defies.
Forth rushed fierce Turnus, hurling as he ran
His whistling spear. The shadow turns and flies.
Then Turnus, glorying in his fancied prize,
"Where now, AEneas, from thy plighted bride?
The land thou soughtest o'er the deep, it lies
Here, and this hand shall give it thee." He cried,
And waved his glittering sword, and chased him, nor espied

LXXXIX. The winds bear off his triumph.--Hard at hand,
With steps let down and gangway ready laid,
Moored by the rocks, a vessel chanced to stand,
Which brave Osinius, Clusium's king, conveyed.
Here, as in haste, for shelter plunged the shade.
On Turnus pressed, and with a bound ascends
The lofty gangways, dauntless nor delayed.
The bows scarce reached, the rope Saturnia rends,
And down the refluent tide the loosen