Aeneas stood, ferocious in his armor; his eyes were restless and he stayed his hand; and as he hesitated, Turnus’ words began to move him more and more—until 1255 high on the Latin’s shoulder he made out the luckless belt of Pallas, of the boy whom Turnus had defeated, wounded, stretched upon the battlefield, from whom he took this fatal sign to wear upon his back, 1260 this girdle glittering with familiar studs. And when his eyes drank in this plunder, this memorial of brutal grief, Aeneas, aflame with rage—his wrath was terrible— cried: “How can you who wear the spoils of my 1265 dear
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