Aeneas and Turnus
The man [Turnus] brought down, brought low, lifted his eyes / And held his right hand out to make his plea: / “Clearly I earned this, and I ask no quarter. / Make the most of your good fortune here. / If you can feel a father’s grief––and you, too, / Had such a father in Anchises––then / Let me bespeak your mercy for old age / In Daunus, and return me, or my body, / Stripped, if you will, of life, to my own kin. / You have defeated me. The Ausonians / Have seen me in defeat, spreading my hands. / Lavinia is your bride. But go no further / Out of hatred.” / Fierce under arms, Aeneas / Looked to and fro, and towered, and stayed his hand / Upon the sword’s hilt. Moment by moment now / What Turnus said began to bring him round / From indecision. Then to his glance appeared / The accurst swordbelt surmounting Turnus’ shoulder, / Shining with its familiar studs––the strap / Young Pallas wore when Turnus wounded him / And left him dead upon the field; now Turnus / Bore that enemy token on his shoulder–– / Enemy stil. For when the sight came home to him, / Aeneas raged at the relic of his anguish / Worn by this man as trophy. Blazing up / And terrible in his anger, he called out: / “You in your plunder, torn from one of mine, / Shall I be robbed of you? This wound will come / From Pallas: Pallas makes this offering / And from your criminal blood exacts his due.” / He sank his blade in fury in Turnus’ chest. / Then all the body slakened in death’s chill, / And with a groan for the indignity / His spirit fled into the gloom below. (Aeneid XII.1264-1298)