AEneas, on the dusty rear Close-trampling, scorns to follow them afield, Or fight with those that stand, or slaughter those that yield.
LX.

Turnus alone, amid the blinding gloom, He tracks and traces, searching far and near, Turnus alone he summons to his doom.
Juturna sees, and smit with sudden fear, Unseats Metiscus, Turnus' charioteer, And flings him down, and leaves him on the plain, Then takes his place, and, urging their career, Loose o'er the coursers shakes the waving rein; Metiscus' voice and form, Metiscus' arms remain.
LXI.

Like a black swallow, as she flies among A rich man's halls, or in the courts is found In quest of dainties for her twittering young.
And now in empty cloisters, now around The fishpools circles, while the shrill notes sound.
So now Juturna, through the midmost foes, Whirled in the rapid chariot, scours the ground; Now here, now there triumphant Turnus shows, Now, flying, wheels aloof, nor suffers him to close.
LXII.

So wheels in turn AEneas to and fro, And tracks his man, and through the war's wild tide Calls him aloud.

Oft as he marks his foe, And, running, tries to match the coursers' stride, So oft Juturna wheels the team aside.
What shall he do?
While wavering thus in vain, As diverse thoughts his doubtful mind divide, A steel-tipt dart Messapus--one of twain-- Aims true, and hurls it forth, uprunning on the plain.
LXIII.