Aeneid

Up spring the Rutules, groaning; the whole hill

roars answering round them, and from far and wide

the lofty groves give back an echoing cry.

Lowly, with suppliant eyes, and holding forth

his hand in prayer: “I have my meed,” he cried,

“Nor ask for mercy. Use what Fate has given!

But if a father's grief upon thy heart

have power at all,—for Sire Anchises once

to thee was dear,—I pray thee to show grace

to Daunus in his desolate old age;

and me, or, if thou wilt, my lifeless clay,

to him and his restore. For, lo, thou art

my conqueror! Ausonia's eyes have seen

me suppliant, me fallen. Thou hast made

Lavinia thy bride. Why further urge

our enmity?”With swift and dreadful arms

Aeneas o'er him stood, with rolling eyes,

but his bare sword restraining; for such words

moved on him more and more: when suddenly,

over the mighty shoulder slung, he saw

that fatal baldric studded with bright gold

which youthful Pallas wore, what time he fell

vanquished by Turnus' stroke, whose shoulders now

carried such trophy of a foeman slain.

Aeneas' eyes took sure and slow survey

of spoils that were the proof and memory

of cruel sorrow; then with kindling rage

and terrifying look, he cried, “Wouldst thou,

clad in a prize stripped off my chosen friend,

escape this hand? In this thy mortal wound

't is Pallas has a victim; Pallas takes

the lawful forfeit of thy guilty blood!”

He said, and buried deep his furious blade

in the opposer's heart. The failing limbs

sank cold and helpless; and the vital breath

with moan of wrath to darkness fled away.