Full on the front of his unwary foe.
}
{ The broad axe enters with a crashing sound,
{ And cleaves the chin with one continued wound;
{ Warm blood, and mingled brains, besmear his arms around.
An iron sleep his stupid eyes oppressed,
And sealed their heavy lids in endless rest.
But good Æneas rushed amid the bands;
Bare was his head, and naked were his hands,
In sign of truce: then thus he cries aloud:—