brother now amid the nether Night.
Am I undying? ah, can aught of all my good delight
Without thee, O my brother lost! O Earth, gape wide and well,
And let a Goddess sink adown into the deeps of hell!"

So much she said, and wrapped her round with mantle dusky-grey,
And, groaning sore, she hid herself within the watery way.

But forth AEneas goes, and high his spear he brandisheth,
A mighty tree, and from his heart grown fell a word he saith:
"And wherewith wilt thou tarry me? hangs Turnus back again?
No foot-strife but the armed hand must doom betwixt us twain. 890
Yea, turn thyself to every shape, and, gathering everything
Wherewith thine heart, thy craft is strong, go soaring on the wing,
And chase the stars; or deep adown in hollow earth lie stored."

But Turnus shakes his head and saith: "'Tis not thy bitter word
That frights me, fierce one; but the Gods, but Jove my foeman grown."

No more he said, but, looking round, espied a weighty stone,
An ancient mighty rock indeed, that lay upon the lea,
Set for a landmark, judge and end of acre-strife to be,
Which scarce twice six of chosen men upon their backs might raise,
Of bodies such as earth brings forth amid the latter days: 900
But this in hurrying hand he caught, and rising to the cast,
He hurled it forth against the foe, and followed on it fast;
Yet while he raised the mighty stone, and flung it to its fall.
Knew nought that he was running there, or that he moved at all:
Totter his knees, his chilly blood freezes with deadly frost,
And e'en the hero-gathered stone, through desert distance tossed,
O'ercame not all the space betwixt, nor home its blow might bring:
E'en as in dreaming-tide of night, when sleep, the heavy thing,
Weighs on the eyes, and all for nought we seem so helpless-fain
Of eager speed, and faint and fail amidmost of the strain; 910
The tongue avails not; all our limbs of their familiar skill
Are cheated; neither voice nor words may follow from our will:
So Turnus, by whatever might he strives to win a way,
The Dread One bans his hope; strange thoughts about his heart-strings play;
He stareth on his Rutuli, and on the Latin town
Lingering for dread, trembling to meet the spear this instant thrown:
No road he hath to flee, no might against the foe to bear;
Nowhither may h