39/122 Then, looking up, his pleading hands he rears: "Death I deserve, nor death would I delay. If a father's tears Move thee, for old Anchises' sake, I pray, Pity old Daunus. Me, or else my clay, If so thou wilt, to home and kin restore. Latium's land to-day Hath seen her prince the victor's grace implore. Wrathful in arms, with rolling eyeballs, stood AEneas, and his lifted arm withdrew; And more and more now melts his wavering mood, When lo, on Turnus' shoulder--known too true-- The luckless sword-belt flashed upon his view; And bright with gold studs shone the glittering prey, Which ruthless Turnus, when the youth he slew, Stripped from the lifeless Pallas, as he lay, And on his shoulders wore, in token of the day. |