And grasping golden pine-trees in their hands.
At once they onset made: in very life
They rush’d, and hand to hand tumultuous closed
With pines and clashing spears. There fleet of hoof
The steeds were standing of stern-visaged Mars
In gold: and he himself, tearer of spoils,
Life-waster, purpled all with dropping blood,
As one who slew the living and despoil’d,
Loud-shouting to the warrior-infantry
There vaulted on his chariot. Him beside