Wide wasting nature: rage our arms supplies.
Fragments of rock are hurl’d, and showers of stones
Obscure the day; nor less the brawny arm,
Or knotted club, avail; high in the midst
Are seen the mighty chiefs, through hosts of foes
Mowing their way; and now, with tenfold rage
The combat burns, full many a sanguine stream
Distains the field, and many a veteran brave
Lies prostrate; loud triumphant shouts ascend
By turns from either host; each claims the palm