Apollo’s priest, Emonides, was near; His holy fillets on his front appear; Glitt’ring in arms, he shone amidst the crowd; Much of his god, more of his purple, proud. Him the fierce Trojan follow’d thro’ the field: The holy coward fell; and, forc’d to yield, The prince stood o’er the priest, and, at one blow, Sent him an off’ring to the shades below. His arms Seresthus on his shoulders bears, Design’d a trophy to the God of Wars. Vulcanian Caeculus renews the fight, And Umbro, born upon the mountains’ height. The champion cheers his troops t’ encounter those, And seeks revenge himself on other foes. At Anxur’s shield he drove; and, at the blow, Both shield and arm to ground together go. Anxur had boasted much of magic charms, And thought he wore impenetrable arms, So made by mutter’d spells; and, from the spheres, Had life secur’d, in vain, for length of years. Then Tarquitus the field in triumph trod; A nymph his mother, his sire a god. Exulting in bright arms, he braves the prince: With his protended lance he makes defence; Bears back his feeble foe; then, pressing on, Arrests his better hand, and drags him down; Stands o’er the prostrate wretch, and, as he lay, Vain tales inventing, and prepar’d to pray, Mows off his head: the trunk a moment stood, Then sunk, and roll’d along the sand in blood. The vengeful victor thus upbraids the slain: “Lie there, proud man, unpitied, on the plain; Lie there, inglorious, and without a tomb, Far from thy mother and thy native home, Exposed to savage beasts, and birds of prey, Or thrown for food to monsters of the sea.”