These o'er the flames prepare To slay the victims, and, as rites require, The living entrails tear, and feed the sacred fire.
XXVIII.

Long while unequal to Rutulian eyes The combat seemed, and trouble tossed them sore, Now more, beholding nearer, how in size And strength the champions differed, yea, and more, Beholding Turnus, as he moved before The altars, sad and silently, and seeks With downcast eyes Heaven's favour to implore, The wanness of his youthful frame, that speaks Of health and hope now fled, the pallor of his cheeks.
XXIX.

Soon as Juturna saw the whispers grow From tongue to tongue, and marked the changing tone, The hearts of people wavering to and fro, Amidst them,--now in form of Camers known, Great Camers, sprung from grandsires of renown, His father famed for many a brave emprise, Himself as famed for exploits of his own,-- Amidst them, mistress of her part, she flies, And scatters words of doubt, and many a dark surmise.
XXX.

"Shame, will ye risk, Rutulians, for his host The life of one?
In number, strength and show Do we not match them?
_Those_ are all they boast, Trojans, Arcadians and Etruscans.

Lo, Fight we by turns, each scarce can find a foe.
He to his gods, whose shrines he dies to shield, Will rise, and praised will be his name below.
We, reft of home, to tyrant lords shall yield, And toil as slaves, who sit so slackly on the field." XXXI.