vain, then puts on Messapus' light helmet
with its graceful plumes. They issue from the camp and make for safety.

Meanwhile an advanced guard of cavalry were on their way from the Latin
city, while the rest of their marshalled battalions linger on the
plains, and bore a reply to King Turnus; three hundred men all under
shield, in Volscens' leading. And now they approached the camp and drew
near the wall, when they descry the two turning away by the pathway to
the left; and in the glimmering darkness of night the forgotten helmet
betrayed Euryalus, glittering as it met the light. It seemed no thing of
chance. Volscens cries aloud from his column: 'Stand, men! why on the
march, or how are you in arms? or whither hold you your way?' They offer
nothing in reply, but quicken their flight into the forest, and throw
themselves on the night. On this side and that the horsemen bar the
familiar crossways, and encircle every outlet with sentinels. The forest
spread wide in tangled thickets and dark ilex; thick growth of briars
choked it all about, and the muffled pathway glimmered in a broken
track. Hampered by the shadowy boughs and his cumbrous spoil, Euryalus
in his fright misses the line of way. Nisus gets clear; and now
unthinkingly he had passed the enemy, and the place afterwards called
Albani from Alba's name; then the deep coverts were of King Latinus'
domain; when he stopped, and looked back in vain for his lost friend.
'Euryalus, unhappy! on what ground have I left thee? or where shall I
follow, again unwinding all the entanglement of the treacherous woodland
way?' Therewith he marks and retraces his footsteps, and wanders down
the silent thickets. He hears the horses, hears the clatter and
signal-notes of the pursuers. Nor had he long to wait, when shouts reach
his ears, and he sees Euryalus, whom even now, in the perplexity of
ground and [397-431]darkness, the whole squadron have borne down in a
sudden rush, and seize in spite of all his vain struggles. What shall he
do? with what force, what arms dare his rescue? or shall he rush on his
doom amid their swords, and find in their wounds a speedy and glorious
death? Quickly he draws back his arm with poised spear, and looking up
to the moon on high, utters this prayer: 'Do thou give present aid to
our enterprise, O Latonian goddess, glory of the stars and guardian of
the woodlands: by all the gifts my father Hyrtacus ever bore for my sake
to thine altars, by all mine o