plains looked on in death, spreading your frame abroad
over their surface: fallen are you, whom the Argive bands
could never overthrow, nor Achilles the destroyer of
Priam’s realm: here was your fatal goal: a princely
home under Ida’s shade: at Lyrnesus a princely hope, in
Laurentian soil a sepulchre. The two armies are in hot
conflict: all the Latians, all the sons of Dardanus, Mnestheus, 5
and keen Serestus, and Messapus tamer of the steed,
and brave Asilas, the Tuscan band, and Evander’s Arcad
cavalry, each man for himself straining every nerve: no