t from her lost brother's war:
Two horrors are there that are called the Dreadful Ones by name,
Whom with Megaera of the Pit at one birth and the same
Untimely Night brought forth of yore, and round about them twined
Like coils of serpents, giving them great wings to hold the wind:
About Jove's throne, and close anigh the Stern King's threshold-stead,
Do these attend, in sick-heart men to whet the mortal dread, 850
Whenso the King-God fashions forth fell death and dire disease,
Or smites the guilty cities doomed with battle miseries.
Now one of these sent Jupiter swift from the heavenly place,
And bade her for a sign of doom to cross Juturna's face.
So borne upon a whirl of wind to earth the swift one flies,
E'en as an arrow from the string is driven amid the skies,
Which headed with the venom fell a Parthian man hath shot,--
Parthian, Cydonian, it may be,--the hurt that healeth not;
Its hidden whirring sweepeth through the drifting misty flow:
So fared the Daughter of the Night, and sought the earth below. 860

But when she saw the Ilian hosts and Turnus' battle-rank,
Then sudden into puny shape her body huge she shrank,
A fowl that sits on sepulchres, and desert roofs alone
In the dead night, and through the mirk singeth her ceaseless moan;
In such a shape this bane of men met Turnus' face in field,
And, screeching, hovered to and fro, and flapped upon his shield:
Strange heaviness his body seized, consuming him with dread,
His hair stood up, and in his jaws his voice lay hushed and dead.

But when afar Juturna knew the Dread One's whirring wings,
The hapless sister tears her hair and loose its tresses flings, 870
Fouling her face with tearing nails, her breast with beat of hand.

"How may my help, O Turnus, now beside my brother stand?
How may I harden me 'gainst this? by what craft shall I stay
Thy light of life? how cast myself in such a monster's way?
Now, now I leave the battle-field; fright not the filled with fear,
O birds of ill! full well I know your flapping wings in air,
And baneful sound. Thy mastering will I know it holdeth good,
O Jove the great!--was this the gift thou gav'st for maidenhood?
Why give me everlasting life, and death-doom take away?
O, but for that my sorrows sore now surely might I slay, 880
And wend beside my