Illa manu moriens telum trahit: ossa sed inter Ferreus ad costas alto stat vulnere mucro. Labitur exsanguis; labuntur frigida leto Lumina: purpureus quondam color ora reliquit.
In vain she strives with dying hands To wrench away the blade: Fixed in her ribs the weapon stands, Closed by the wound it made. Bloodless and faint, she gasps for breath; Her heavy eyes sink down in death; Her cheek's bright colours fade. Lines 816–819 (translated by John Conington); of Camilla.