LXXV. Sheathed in bright arms, proud Tarquitus in scorn,
Whom Dryope the nymph, if fame be true,
To Faunus, ranger of the woods, had borne,
Leaped forth, and at the fiery Dardan flew.
He, drawing back his javelin, aimed and threw.
And through the cuirass and the ponderous shield
Pinned him. Then, vainly as he strove to sue,
Much pleading, even while the suppliant kneeled.		667
Lopt off, the lifeless head went rolling on the field.
LXXVI. His reeking trunk the victor in disdain
Spurns with his foot, and cries aloud, "Lie there,
Proud youth, and tell thy terrors to the slain.
No tender mother shall thy shroud prepare,
No father's sepulchre be thine to share.
Thy carrion corpse shall be the vultures' food,
And birds that batten on the dead shall tear
Thee piecemeal, and the fishes lick thy blood,		676
Drowned in the deep sea-gulfs, or drifting on the flood."

LXXVII. Lucas, Antæus in the van were slain.
Here Numa, there the fair-haired Camers lay,
Great Volscens' son; full many a wide domain
Was his, and [mute Amyclæ] owned his sway.
As when [Ægeon,] hundred-armed, they say,
And hundred-handed, would the Sire withstand,
And fifty mouths, and fifty maws each way
Shot flames against Jove's thunder, and each hand		685
Clashed on a sounding shield, or bared a glittering brand,
LXXVIII. So raves Æneas, victor of the war,
His sword now warmed, and many a foeman dies.
Now at Niphæus, in his four-horse car
Breasting the battle, in hot haste he flies.
Scared stand the steeds, in terror and surprise,
So dire his gestures, as he strides amain,
So fierce his looks, so terrible his cries;
Then, turning, from his chariot on the plain		694
Fling their ill-fated lord, and gallop to the main.

LXXIX. With two white steeds into the midmost dashed
Bold Lucagus and Liger, brethren twain.
Around him Lucagus his broad sword flashed
His brother wheeled the horses with the rein.
Fired at the sight, Æneas in disdain
Rushed on them, towering with uplifted spear.
"No steeds of Diomede, nor Phrygian plain,"
[Cries Liger,] "nor Achilles' car are here.		703
This field shall end the war, thy fatal hour is near."
LXXX. So fly his words, but not in words the foe
Makes answer, but his javelin hurls with might.
As o'er the lash proud Lucagus bends low
To prick the steeds, and planting for the fight
His left foot forward, stands in act to smite,
Clean through the nether margin of his shield
The Dardan shaft goes whistling in its flight,
And thrills his groin upon the left. He reeled,		712
And from the chariot fell half-lifeless on the field.
LXXXI. Then bitterly Æneas mocked him: "Lo,
Proud Lucagus! no lagging steeds have played
Thy chariot false, nor shadows of the foe
Deceived thy horses, and their hearts dismayed.
'Tis thou—thy leap has lost the car!" He said
And snatched the reins. The brother in despair
Slipped down, and spread his hapless hands, and prayed:
"O by thyself, great son of Troy, forbear;		721
By those who bore thee such, have pity on my prayer."
LXXXII. More would he, but Æneas: "Nay, not so
Thou spak'st erewhile. Die now, and take thy way,
And join thy brother, brotherlike, below."
Deep in the breast he stabbed him as he lay,
And bared the life's recesses to the day.
Such deaths the Dardan dealt upon the plain,
Like storm or torrent, full of rage to slay.
And now at length Ascanius and his train		730
Burst forth, and leave their camp, long leaguered, but in vain.