"Ha! bravely tried! Not so _this_ dart shalt thou escape; not so Send I the weapon and the wound." He cried, And, sword in hand, uprising to the blow, Between the temples clave the forehead of his foe.
XCVI.

The beardless cheeks, so fearful was the gash, Gape wide.

Aloud his clanging arms resound.
Earth groans beneath, as prone, amid the splash Of blood and brains, he sprawls upon the ground, And right and left hangs, severed by the wound, His dying head.

In terror, strewn afar, The Trojans fly.

Then, then had Turnus found Time and the thought to burst the town-gate's bar, That day had seen the last of Trojans and the war.
XCVII.