too, thrown off by a restiff horse. As when the
blast of Thracian Boreas roars on the deep Ægean and
drives the billows to the shore, wherever the winds push 10
on, the clouds scurry over the sky, so when Turnus cleaves
his path, the ranks give way, the armies turn in rout; the
motion bears him along, and the gale which blows on the
car tosses his flickering crest. Phegeus, indignant at his
overweening onset, meets the car and grasping the bridle 15
wrenches aside the foaming jaws of the impetuous steeds.
While he is dragged along clinging to the yoke, the broad