LXXV. "Full many a Tuscan mother far and near
Has wooed Camilla for her son in vain.
Contented with Diana year by year,
She loves her silvan weapon, free and fain
To live a maiden-huntress, pure of stain.
And O! had battle, and the toils of fight
Not lured her thus to combat on the plain,
And match her prowess with the Teucrians' might,		667
Mine were the maiden still, my darling and delight.
LXXVI. "Now, since well-nigh the fatal threads are spun,
Go, Nymph, to Latin frontiers wing thy way,
Where evil omens mark the fight begun.
Take, too, this quiver; who the maid shall slay,—
Trojan or Latin—with his blood shall pay
Myself the armour and the corpse will bear,
Wrapt in a cloud, and in her country lay."
She spake, and, girt with whirlwind, and the blare		676
Of sounding arms, the Nymph glides down the yielding air.

LXXVII. Meanwhile, the Trojans and the Tuscan train,
In marshalled squadrons, to the walls draw near,
Steeds neigh, and chafe, and prance upon the plain,
And lances bristling o'er the field appear.
Messapus, too, and Latium's hosts are here,
Coras, Catillus, and Camilla leads
Her troops to aid. All couch the levelled spear,
And whirl the dart. Hot waxes on the meads		685
The tramp of hurrying hosts, the snorting of the steeds.
LXXVIII. Each halts within a spear-cast of the foe,
Then, spurring, forward with a shout they dash,
And, darkening heaven, shower the darts like snow.
In front, Tyrrhenus and Aconteus rash
Cross spears, the first to grapple. With a crash,
Steed against steed, went ruining. Breast and head
Shocked and were shattered. Like the lightning's flash,
And loud as missile from an engine sped,		694
Hurled far, Aconteus falls, and with a gasp lies dead.
LXXIX. This breaks the line; the Latins turn and fly,
Their shields behind them. On the Trojans go,
Asilas first. And now the gates are nigh;
Once more, with shouts, the Latins face the foe;
These, scared in turn, the slackened reins forego.
So shifts the fight, as on the winding strand
The swelling ocean, with alternate flow,
Foams on the rocks, and curls along the sand,		703
Now sucks the shingle back, and, ebbing, leaves the land.
LXXX. Twice the fierce Tuscans, spurring o'er the fields,
Drive the Rutulians to their walls in flight.
Twice, driven backward, from behind their shields
The victors see the rallying foes unite.
But when the third time, in the fangs of fight,
Man singling man, both armies met to close,
Loud were the groans, and fearful was the sight,
Arms splashed with gore, steeds, riders, friends and foes,		712
Blent in the deadly broil, and fierce the din uprose.
LXXXI. Lo, here, Orsilochus, too faint with fear
To meet fierce Remulus, a distant dart
Hurls at his steed. Beneath the charger's ear
The shaft stands fixt; the beast, with sudden start,
His breast erect, and maddened by the smart,
Rears up, and flings his rider to the ground.
Here brave Iolas, from his friends apart,
Catillus slew; Herminius next he found,		721
Large-hearted, large of limb, and eke in arms renowned.
LXXXII. Bare is his head, with auburn locks aglow,
And bare his shoulders. Wounds to him are vain;
Tower-like he stands, defenceless to the foe.
Through his broad chest the javelin, urged amain,
Pierced him, and quivered, and he writhed with pain,
His giant form bent double. Far and nigh
The dark blood pours in torrents on the plain,
As, dealing havoc with the sword, they vie,		730
And, courting wounds, rush on, a warrior's death to die.