With hands drawn back they couch the spear,
And aim the dart in full career;
The tramp of heroes strikes the ear,
Mixed with the charger’s neigh.
Arrived within a javelin’s throw,
The armies halt a space; when, lo!
Sudden they let their good steeds go
And meet with deafening cry;
Their volleyed darts fly thick as snow,
Dark-shadowing all the sky.”