No More Learning

At this Turnus long poises
the spear-shaft with its sharp steel head, and hurls it on Pallas with
these words: _See thou if our weapon have not a keener point. _ He ended;
but for all the shield's plating of iron and brass, for all the
bull-hide that covers it round about, the quivering spear-head smashes
it fair through and through, passes the guard of the corslet, and
pierces the breast with a gaping hole. He tears the warm weapon from the
wound; in vain; together and at once life-blood and sense follow it. He
falls heavily on the ground, his armour clashes over him, and his
bloodstained face sinks in death on the hostile soil. And Turnus
standing over him . . . : 'Arcadians,' he cries, 'remember these my
words, and bear them to Evander. I send him back his Pallas as was due.
All the meed of the tomb, all the solace of sepulture, I give freely.
Dearly must he pay his welcome to Aeneas. ' And with these words,
planting his left foot on the dead, he tore away the broad heavy
sword-belt engraven with a tale of crime, the array of grooms foully
slain together on their bridal night, and the nuptial chambers dabbled
with blood, which Clonus, son of Eurytus, had wrought richly in gold.
Now Turnus exults in spoiling him of it, and rejoices at his prize. Ah
spirit of man, ignorant of fate and the allotted future, or to keep
bounds when elate with prosperity! --the day will [503-535]come when
Turnus shall desire to have bought Pallas' safety at a great ransom, and
curse the spoils of this fatal day.
But with many moans and tears
Pallas' comrades lay him on his shield and bear him away amid their
ranks. O grief and glory and grace of the father to whom thou shalt
return! This one day sent thee first to war, this one day takes thee
away, while yet thou leavest heaped high thy Rutulian dead.

And now no rumour of the dreadful loss, but a surer messenger flies to
Aeneas, telling him his troops are on the thin edge of doom; it is time
to succour the routed Teucrians. He mows down all that meets him, and
hews a broad path through their columns with furious sword, as he seeks
thee, O Turnus, in thy fresh pride of slaughter. Pallas, Evander, all
flash before his eyes; the board whereto but then he had first come a
wanderer, and the clasped hands. Here four of Sulmo's children, as many
more of Ufens' nurture, are taken by him alive to slaughter in sacrifice
to the shade below, and slake the flames of the pyre with captive blood.
Next he levelled his spear full on Magus from far. He stoops cunningly;
the spear flies quivering over him; and, clasping his knees, he speaks
thus beseechingly: 'By thy father's ghost, by Iulus thy growing hope, I
entreat thee, save this life for a child and a parent. My house is
stately; deep in it lies buried wealth of engraven silver; I have masses
of wrought and unwrought gold. The victory of Troy does not turn on
this, nor will a single life make so great a difference. ' He ended; to
him Aeneas thus returns answer: 'All the wealth of silver and gold thou
tellest of, spare thou for thy children. Turnus hath broken off this thy
trafficking in war, even then when Pallas fell. Thus judges the ghost of
my father Anchises, thus Iulus. ' So speaking, he grasps his helmet with
his left hand, and, bending back his neck, drives his [536-572]sword up
to the hilt in the suppliant. Hard by is Haemonides, priest of Phoebus
and Trivia, his temples wound with the holy ribboned chaplet, all
glittering in white-robed array.