Book 12
so earthward flew that daughter of the night.
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Soon as she spied the Teucrians in array
and Turnus' lines, she shrivelled to the shape
of that small bird which on lone tombs and towers
sits perching through the midnight, and prolongs
in shadow and deep gloom her troubling cry.
In such disguise the Fury, screaming shrill,
flitted in Turnus' face, and with her wings
smote on his hollow shield. A strange affright
palsied his every limb; each several hair
lifted with horror, and his gasping voice
died on his lips. But when Juturna knew
from far the shrieking fiend's infernal wing,
she loosed her tresses, and their beauty tore,
to tell a sister's woe; with clenching hands
she marred her cheeks and beat her naked breast.
“What remedy or help, my Turnus, now
is in a sister's power? What way remains
for stubborn me? Or with what further guile
thy life prolong? What can my strength oppose
to this foul thing? I quit the strife at last.
Withdraw thy terror from my fearful eyes,
thou bird accurst! The tumult of thy wings
I know full well, and thy death-boding call.
The harsh decrees of that large-minded Jove
I plainly see. Is this the price he pays
for my lost maidenhood? Why flatter me
with immortality, and snatch away
my property of death? What boon it were
to end this grief this hour, and hie away
to be my brother's helpmeet in his grave!
I, an immortal? O, what dear delight
is mine, sweet brother, living without thee?
O, where will earth yawn deep enough and wide
to hide a goddess with the ghosts below?”
She spoke; and veiled in glistening mantle gray
her mournful brow; then in her stream divine
the nymph sank sighing to its utmost cave.
Aeneas now is near; and waving wide
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a spear like some tall tree, he called aloud
