Then backward, with a swing, they take their way,
Repulsed from upper ground, and seek their mother sea;
With equal hurry quit the invaded shore,
And swallow back the sand and stones they spewed before.
Twice were the Tuscans masters of the field,
Twice by the Latins, in their turn, repelled.
Ashamed at length, to the third charge they ran—
Both hosts resolved, and mingled man to man.
Now dying groans are heard; the fields are strowed
With falling bodies, and are drunk with blood.