Then he, scarce gathering utterance, spake again, "Good Sire, thy trouble for my sake forego; Leave me the price of glory--to be slain.
I too can hurl, nor feeble is my blow, The whistling shaft, that lays the foeman low, And drinks his life-blood.

Vain shall be his prayer.
No goddess mother shall be there, to throw Her mist around him, with a woman's care, And screen her darling son with empty shades of air." VIII.

The Queen, with death before her, filled with fears, Wept sore and checked the fiery suitor's way.
"O Turnus! if thou heed'st me, by these tears;-- Hope of my age, Latinus' strength and stay, Prop of our falling house! one boon I pray; Forbear the fight.

What fate awaiteth thee, Awaits me too.

If Trojans win the day, With thee I'll leave the loathed light, nor see AEneas wed my child, a captive slave, as she." IX.