And young Iulus, pierced with kindred woe,
Outweeps them all; in filial love thus shown,
Touched to the heart, he traced the likeness of his own.

XXXVIII. "All, all," he cries, "that such a deed can claim,
I promise for thy guerdon. Mine shall be
Thy mother,--mine, Creusa save in name;
Nor small her praise to bear a son like thee.
Howe'er shall Fortune the event decree,
I swear--so swore my father--by my head,
What gifts I pledge, if thou return, to thee,
These, if thou fall, thy mother in thy stead,
These shall thy kinsmen keep, the heirlooms of the dead."

XXXIX. Weeping, the gilded falchion he untied,
Lycaon's work, with sheath of ivory fair.
To Nisus Mnestheus gave a lion's hide,
His helmet changed Aletes. Forth they fare,
And round them to the gates, with vows and prayer,
The band of chiefs their parting steps attend;
And, manlier than his years, Iulus fair
Full many a message to his sire would send.
Vain wish! his fruitless words the scattering breezes rend.

XL. So past the trench, upon the shadowy plain
Forth issuing, to the foemen's tents they creep,
Fatal to many, ere the camp they gain.
Warriors they see, who drank the wine-bowl deep,
Beside their tilted chariots stretched in sleep,
And reins, and wheels and wine-jars tost away,
And arms and men in many a mingled heap.
Then Nisus: "Up, Euryalus, and slay!
Haste, for the hour is ripe, and yonder lies the way.

XLI. "Watch thou, lest hand be lifted in the rear.
There, flanked with swaths of corpses, will I reap
Thy pathway; broad shall be the lane and clear."
So saying, he checks his voice, and, aiming steep,
Drives at proud Rhamnes. On a piled-up heap
Of carpets lay the warrior, and his breast
Heaved with hard breathing and the sounds of sleep:
Augur and king, whom Turnus loved the best.
Not all his augur's craft could now his doom arrest.

XLII. Three slaves beside him, lying heedless here
Amidst their arms, he numbers with the slain,
Then Remus' page, and Remus' charioteer,
Caught by their steeds. The weapon, urged amain,
Swoops down, and cleaves their drooping necks in twain.
Their master's head he severs with a blow,
And leaves the trunk, still heaving, on the plain,
And o'er the cushions and the ground below,
Wet with the warm, black gore, the spouting streams outflow.

XLIII. Lamus and Lamyras h