Turnus too His proper Fates demand; his destined hour is due." LXIV.

So saying, he turned, and shunned the scene of death.
Forth Pallas hurled the spear with all his might, And snatched the glittering falchion from the sheath.
Where the shield's top just matched the shoulders' height, Clean through the rim, the javelin winged its flight, And grazed the flesh.

Then Turnus, poising slow His oakbeam, tipt with iron sharp and bright, Took aim, and, hurling, shouted to his foe, "See, now, if this my lance can deal a deadlier blow." LXV.

He spake, and through the midmost shield, o'erlaid With bull-hide, brass, and iron, welded hard, Whizzed the keen javelin, nor its course delayed, But pierced the broad breast through the corslet's guard.
He the warm weapon, in the wound embarred, Wrenched, writhing in his agony; in vain; Out gushed the life and life-blood.

O'er him jarred His clanging armour, as he rolled in pain.
Dying, with bloody mouth he bites the hostile plain.
LXVI.