urges Tarchon the Tuscan to the ruthless fray, and goads 25
him to wrath by no gentle stings. So among heaps of
carnage and yielding bands Tarchon goes riding, and
rouses the cavalry with words of diverse purport, calling
each by his name, and gives the beaten new strength for
battle. “What terror, O ye Tuscan hearts that will not 30
feel, that will still be sluggish, what strange cowardice has
come on you? To what end is this steel, these idle weapons
our right hands bear? But slow ye are not to hear the
call of love, or when the wry-necked fife gives the word for