Proud stalks the phantom, gladdening in the van, With darts provokes him, and with words defies.
Forth rushed fierce Turnus, hurling as he ran His whistling spear.

The shadow turns and flies.
Then Turnus, glorying in his fancied prize, "Where now, AEneas, from thy plighted bride?
The land thou soughtest o'er the deep, it lies Here, and this hand shall give it thee." He cried, And waved his glittering sword, and chased him, nor espied LXXXIX.

The winds bear off his triumph .-- Hard at hand, With steps let down and gangway ready laid, Moored by the rocks, a vessel chanced to stand, Which brave Osinius, Clusium's king, conveyed.
Here, as in haste, for shelter plunged the shade.
On Turnus pressed, and with a bound ascends The lofty gangways, dauntless nor delayed.
The bows scarce reached, the rope Saturnia rends, And down the refluent tide the loosened ship descends.
XC.

Loud calls AEneas for his absent foe, And many a hero-body--all who dare To meet him--hurries to the shades below.
No more the phantom lingers in his lair, But, soaring, melts into the misty air.
Turnus a storm-wind o'er the deep sea blows.
Backward he looks, and of events unware, And all unthankful to escape his foes.
Up to the stars of heaven his hand and voice he throws.
XCI.

"Great Sire, was I so guilty in thy sight, To make thee deem such punishment my due?
Whence came I?
Whither am I borne?
What flight Is this?
and how do I return, and who?
Again Laurentum's city shall I view?
What of that band, who followed me, whom I-- Shame on me--left a shameful death to rue?
E'en now I see them scattered,--see them fly,-- And see them fall; and hear the groans of those that die.
XCII.