And inland, On ground where a raging stream had sent stones rolling, And torn the bushes from the banks, the horsemen Had to be infantry, for the rough ground Forbade the use of chariots. Their nerve Was at low ebb; they fled. And Pallas saw them, And being their one hope, with scorn and prayer Rallied their courage:--“Where do you flee, Arcadians? By your own brave deeds I beg you, by your king, By the old wars won in Evander’s name, By my own hopes to match my father’s praise, Trust not to flight. The sword must cut the way, And where that mass of men comes thickest toward us, That way we go, with Pallas as your leader Our country calls; no gods pursue us: men, We are being chased by men, with no more hands, With no more lives than we have. Ocean blocks us With his great dam; earth offers us no haven: Are we bound for Troy or the sea?” And he dashed in Where the enemy was thickest. Lagus came To meet him; fate was far from kind to Lagus. He was trying to lift a stone when Pallas hit him And the javelin stuck in the spine between the ribs Till Pallas pulled it loose again. Then Hisbo Hoped to surprise him and failed; he came in rushing, Reckless and angry over the death of Lagus, And Pallas was ready for him, and drove the sword Deep in the swollen lung. He went for Sthenius, Then Anchemolus, of Rhoetus’ ancient line, The consort of his stepmother in incest, And then he saw twin brothers, sons of Daucus, Named Thymber and Larides, whom their kinsmen Could never tell apart, and their own parents Made fond mistakes about them. But Pallas made Them different, once for all; Evander’s sword Cut off the head of Thymber; Larides’ hand, Severed, looked blindly for its arm, the fingers Closed, quivering and dying, on the sword.