LVIII.
After the feast of wine and the banquet of mead,
Enriched with the first fruits of slaughter,
The mother of Spoliation, [159e]
Was the energetic Eidol; [159f]
He honoured the mount of the van, [160a]
In the presence of Victory.
The hovering ravens,
Ascend in the sky; [160b]
The foremost spearmen around him thicken, [160c]
Like a crop of green barley, [160d]
Without the semblance of a retreat.
Warriors in wonder shake their javelins,
With pouting and pallid lips,
Caused by the keenness of the destructive sword;
From the front of the banquet, deprived of sleep
They vigorously spring forth, [161a] upon the awaking
Of the mother [161b] of the Lance, the leader of the din.