No More Learning

Even as an arrow through a cloud, darting from the string when Parthian
hath poisoned it with bitter gall, Parthian or Cydonian, and sped the
immedicable shaft, leaps through the swift shadow whistling and unknown;
so sprung and swept to earth the daughter of Night. When she espies the
Ilian ranks and Turnus' columns, suddenly shrinking to the shape of a
small bird that often sits late by night on tombs or ruinous roofs, and
vexes the darkness with her cry, in such change of likeness the monster
shrilly passes and repasses before Turnus' face, and her wings beat
restlessly on his shield. A strange numbing terror unnerves his limbs,
his hair thrills up, and the accents falter on his tongue. But when his
hapless sister knew afar the whistling wings of the Fury, Juturna
unbinds and tears her tresses, with rent face and smitten bosom. 'How, O
Turnus, can thine own sister help thee now? or what more is there if I
break not under this? What art of mine can lengthen out thy day? can I
contend with this ominous thing? Now, now I quit the field. Dismay not
my terrors, disastrous birds; I know these beating wings, and the sound
of death, nor do I miss high-hearted Jove's haughty ordinance. Is this
his repayment for my maidenhood? what good is his gift of life for ever?
why have I forfeited a mortal's lot? Now assuredly could I make all this
pain cease, and go with my unhappy brother side by side into the dark.
Alas mine immortality!
will aught of mine be sweet to me without thee,
my brother? Ah, how may Earth yawn deep enough for me, and plunge my
godhead in the under world! '

So spoke she, and wrapping her head in her gray vesture, the goddess
moaning sore sank in the river depth.

But Aeneas presses on, brandishing his vast tree-like spear, and
fiercely speaks thus: 'What more delay is there [889-924]now? or why,
Turnus, dost thou yet shrink away? Not in speed of foot, in grim arms,
hand to hand, must be the conflict. Transform thyself as thou wilt, and
collect what strength of courage or skill is thine; pray that thou
mayest wing thy flight to the stars on high, or that sheltering earth
may shut thee in. ' The other, shaking his head: 'Thy fierce words dismay
me not, insolent! the gods dismay me, and Jupiter's enmity. ' And no more
said, his eyes light on a vast stone, a stone ancient and vast that
haply lay upon the plain, set for a landmark to divide contested fields:
scarcely might twelve chosen men lift it on their shoulders, of such
frame as now earth brings to birth: then the hero caught it up with
trembling hand and whirled it at the foe, rising higher and quickening
his speed. But he knows not his own self running nor going nor lifting
his hands or moving the mighty stone; his knees totter, his blood
freezes cold; the very stone he hurls, spinning through the empty void,
neither wholly reached its distance nor carried its blow home. And as in
sleep, when nightly rest weighs down our languorous eyes, we seem vainly
to will to run eagerly on, and sink faint amidst our struggles; the
tongue is powerless, the familiar strength fails the body, nor will
words or utterance follow: so the disastrous goddess brings to naught
all Turnus' valour as he presses on. His heart wavers in shifting
emotion; he gazes on his Rutulians and on the city, and falters in
terror, and shudders at the imminent spear; neither sees he whither he
may escape nor how rush violently on the enemy, and nowhere his chariot
or his sister at the reins. As he wavers Aeneas poises the deadly
weapon, and, marking his chance, hurls it in from afar with all his
strength of body. Never with such a roar are stones hurled from some
engine on ramparts, nor does the thunder burst in so loud a peal.
Carrying grim death with it, the spear flies in fashion of some dark
whirlwind, and [925-952]opens the rim of the corslet and the utmost
circles of the sevenfold shield.