XXXV. One, where the belt chafes, and the strong clasp bites
The broidered edges,—comeliest of the band,
And sheathed in shining mail—the steel-head smites,
And rives the ribs, and rolls him on the sand.
Blind with hot rage, his brethren, sword in hand,
Or snatching missiles, to avenge the slain,
Rush to the charge. Laurentum's ranks withstand
Their onset, and a deluge sweeps the plain,		307
Trojans, Agylla's bands, Arcadia's glittering train.
XXXVI. One passion burns,—to let the sword decide.
Stript stand the altars, and the shrines are bare;
Dark drives the storm of javelins far and wide,
The iron tempest hurtles in the air,
And bowls and censers from the hearths they tear.
Himself Latinus, flying, bears afar
His home-gods, outraged by the league's misfare.
Some leap to horse, and others yoke the car,		316
Or bare the glittering sword, and hurry to the war.
XXXVII. Aulestes first, a king with kingly crown,
Messapus scares, and, spurring forward, fain
To break the treaty, rides the Tuscan down.
He, bating ground, falls back, and hurled amain
Against the altars, pitches on the plain.
Up comes Messapus, with his beam-like spear,
And smites him, pleading sorely but in vain,
Steep-rising heavily smites him, with a jeer,		325
"He hath it; Heaven hath gained a better victim here."
XXXVIII. Up Latins rush, and strip the limbs yet warm,
A brand half-burnt fierce Corynoeus there
Flings full at Ebusus, as with lifted arm
He nears him, and the long beard, all aflare,
Shines crackling, with a smell of burning hair.
He with his left hand, following up the throw,
Grasps the long locks, and, planting firm and fair
His knee, beneath him pins the prostrate foe,		334
And drives the stark sword home, so deadly is the blow.
XXXIX. Then, fired with fury, Podalirius flew
At shepherd Alsus, as he rushed among
The foremost. With his naked sword he drew
Behind him close, and o'er his foeman hung.
He turning round his broad axe backward swung,
And clave the chin and forehead. Left and right
The dark blood o'er the spattered arms outsprung.
Hard rest and iron slumber seal his sight,		343
The drooping eyelids close on everlasting night.
XL. Unarmed, Æneas, with uncovered brow,
Stretched out his hands, and shouted to his train:
"Where rush ye, men? what sudden discord now
Is this? Be calm; your idle wrath refrain.
The truce is struck; the treaty's terms are plain.
To me belongs the battle, not to you.
Give way to me, nor fret and fume in vain.
This hand shall make the treaty firm and true.		352
These rites, this solemn pact give Turnus for my due."
XLI. So spake he, fain the tumult to allay,
And scarce had ceased, when, whistling as it flew,
A feathered shaft came hurtling on its way,
And smote the good Æneas; whose, and who
That shaft had sped, what wind had borne it true,
What chance with fame Ausonia's host had crowned,
What God, perhaps, had aided them—none knew.
The glory of that noble deed was drowned,		361
And none was found to boast of great Æneas' wound.
XLII. When Turnus saw the Trojan prince retire,
The chiefs bewildered, and their hearts unstrung,
Hope unexpected set his soul on fire,
And, calling for his steeds and arms, he sprung
Upon his chariot, and the reins outflung.
On drives he; many a hero of renown
Sinks, crushed to death; the dying roll among
The dead; whole ranks beneath his wheels go down,		370
And fast at flying hosts the fliers' spears are thrown.
XLIII. As when grim Mars, by Hebrus' icy flood,
Clashing his brazen buckler, drives apace
His fierce steeds, maddening with the lust of blood;
They o'er the plain the flying winds outrace,
And with their trampling groan the fields of Thrace;
And round the War-God his attendants throng,
Hatred, and Treachery and Fear's dark face;
So Turnus drove the battling ranks among,		379
And lashed his smoking steeds, and waved the whistling thong.
XLIV. In piteous sort he tramples on the slain;
The flying horse-hoofs spirt the crimson dew,
And tread the gore down in the sandy plain.
Now, man to man, at Thamyris he flew,
And Pholus. Sthenelus aloof he slew;
Aloof the two Imbracidæ lay dead,
Glaucus and Lades, of the Lycian crew,
Both armed alike, whom Imbracus had bred		388
To fight, or on swift steeds the flying winds to head.