Through the void air flew The stone, nor all the middle space o'ercame, Short of its mark it fell, nor answered to its aim.
CXVIII.

As oft in dreams, when drowsy night doth load The slumbering eyes, still eager, but in vain, We strive to race along a lengthening road, And faint and fall, amidmost of the strain; The feeble limbs their wonted aid disdain, Mute is the tongue, nor doth the voice obey, Nor words find utterance; so with fruitless pain Poor Turnus strives; but, struggle as he may, The baffling fiend is there, and mocks the vain essay.
CXIX.

Then, tost with diverse passions, dazed with fear, Towards friends and town he throws an anxious glance.
No car he sees, no sister-charioteer.
Desperate of flight, nor daring to advance, Aghast, and shuddering at the lifted lance, He falters.

Then AEneas poised at last His spear, and hurled it, as he marked his chance.
Less loud the stone from battering engine cast, Less loud through ether bursts the levin-bolt's dread blast.
CXX.

Like a black whirlwind flew the deadly spear, Right thro' the rim the sevenfold shield it rent And breastplate's edge, nor stayed its onset ere Deep in the thigh its hissing course was spent.
Down on the earth, his knees beneath him bent, Great Turnus sank: Rutulia's host around Sprang up with wailing and with wild lament: From neighbouring hills their piercing cries rebound, And every wooded steep re-echoes to the sound.
CXXI.