Left and right The dark blood o'er the spattered arms outsprung.
Hard rest and iron slumber seal his sight, The drooping eyelids close on everlasting night.
XL.

Unarmed, AEneas, with uncovered brow, Stretched out his hands, and shouted to his train: "Where rush ye, men?
what sudden discord now Is this?
Be calm; your idle wrath refrain.
The truce is struck; the treaty's terms are plain.
To me belongs the battle, not to you.
Give way to me, nor fret and fume in vain.
This hand shall make the treaty firm and true.
These rites, this solemn pact give Turnus for my due." XLI.

So spake he, fain the tumult to allay, And scarce had ceased, when, whistling as it flew, A feathered shaft came hurtling on its way, And smote the good AEneas; whose, and who That shaft had sped, what wind had borne it true, What chance with fame Ausonia's host had crowned, What God, perhaps, had aided them--none knew.
The glory of that noble deed was drowned, And none was found to boast of great AEneas' wound.
XLII.

When Turnus saw the Trojan prince retire, The chiefs bewildered, and their hearts unstrung, Hope unexpected set his soul on fire, And, calling for his steeds and arms, he sprung Upon his chariot, and the reins outflung.
On drives he; many a hero of renown Sinks, crushed to death; the dying roll among The dead; whole ranks beneath his wheels go down, And fast at flying hosts the fliers' spears are thrown.
XLIII.

As when grim Mars, by Hebrus' icy flood, Clashing his brazen buckler, drives apace His fierce steeds, maddening with the lust of blood; They o'er the plain the flying winds outrace, And with their trampling groan the fields of Thrace; And round the War-God his attendants throng, Hatred, and Treachery and Fear's dark face; So Turnus drove the battling ranks among, And lashed his smoking steeds, and waved the whistling thong.
XLIV.