On Lycas and Antaeus next he ran, Two chiefs of Turnus, and who led his van. They fled for fear; with these, he chas’d along Camers the yellow-lock’d, and Numa strong; Both great in arms, and both were fair and young. Camers was son to Volscens lately slain, In wealth surpassing all the Latian train, And in Amycla fix’d his silent easy reign. And, as Aegaeon, when with heav’n he strove, Stood opposite in arms to mighty Jove; Mov’d all his hundred hands, provok’d the war, Defied the forky lightning from afar; At fifty mouths his flaming breath expires, And flash for flash returns, and fires for fires; In his right hand as many swords he wields, And takes the thunder on as many shields: With strength like his, the Trojan hero stood; And soon the fields with falling corps were strow’d, When once his falchion found the taste of blood. With fury scarce to be conceiv’d, he flew Against Niphaeus, whom four coursers drew. They, when they see the fiery chief advance, And pushing at their chests his pointed lance, Wheel’d with so swift a motion, mad with fear, They threw their master headlong from the chair. They stare, they start, nor stop their course, before They bear the bounding chariot to the shore. Now Lucagus and Liger scour the plains, With two white steeds; but Liger holds the reins, And Lucagus the lofty seat maintains: Bold brethren both. The former wav’d in air His flaming sword: Aeneas couch’d his spear, Unus’d to threats, and more unus’d to fear. Then Liger thus: “Thy confidence is vain To scape from hence, as from the Trojan plain: Nor these the steeds which Diomede bestrode, Nor this the chariot where Achilles rode; Nor Venus’ veil is here, near Neptune’s shield; Thy fatal hour is come, and this the field.” Thus Liger vainly vaunts: the Trojan peer Return’d his answer with his flying spear. As Lucagus, to lash his horses, bends, Prone to the wheels, and his left foot protends, Prepar’d for fight; the fatal dart arrives, And thro’ the borders of his buckler drives; Pass’d thro’ and pierc’d his groin: the deadly wound, Cast from his chariot, roll’d him on the ground. Whom thus the chief upbraids with scornful spite: “Blame not the slowness of your steeds in flight; Vain shadows did not force their swift retreat; But you yourself forsake your empty seat.” He said, and seiz’d at once the loosen’d rein; For Liger lay already on the plain, By the same shock: then, stretching out his hands, The recreant thus his wretched life demands: “Now, by thyself, O more than mortal man! By her and him from whom thy breath began, Who form’d thee thus divine, I beg thee, spare