Too well the sounds of woe, Those beating wings,--too well great Jove's behest I know.
CXIV.

"_This_ for my robbed virginity?
Ah, why Did immortality the Sire bestow, And grudge a mortal's privilege--to die?
Else, sure this moment could I end my woe, And with my hapless brother pass below.
Immortal I?
What joy hath aught beside, Thou, Turnus, dead?
Gape, Earth, and let me go, A Goddess, to the shades!" She spake, and sighed, And, veiled in azure mantle, plunged beneath the tide.
CXV.

But fierce AEneas on his foeman pressed.
His tree-like spear he poises for the fray, And pours the pent-up fury of his breast.
"Why stay'st thou, Turnus?
Wherefore this delay?
Fierce arms, not swiftness, must decide the day.
Shift as thou wilt, and every shape assume; Exhaust thy courage and thy craft, and pray For wings to soar with, or in earth's dark womb Sink low thy recreant head, and hide thee from thy doom." CXVI.

Thus he; but Turnus shook his head, and said, "Ruffian! thy threats are but as empty sound; They daunt not Turnus; 'tis the gods I dread, And Jove my enemy." Then, glancing round, He marked a chance-met boulder on the ground, Huge, grey with age, set there in ancient days To clear disputes,--a barrier and a bound.
Scarce twelve picked men the ponderous mass could raise, Such men as Earth brings forth in these degenerate days.
CXVII.

That stone the Daunian lifted, straining hard With hurrying hand, and all his height updrew, And at AEneas hurled the monstrous shard; So heaving, and so running, scarce he knew His running, or how huge a weight he threw.
Cold froze his blood; beneath his trembling frame The weak knees tottered.