To bind her hair, no trailing gowns: her dress Was black and orange tiger-skin. Her hand Grew used to tossing childish darts, or whirling The limber sling around her head; she learned To hit her targets, crane or snowy swan. And as she grew, many a Tuscan mother Wanted her for this son, or that, but vainly: Diana was her goddess, and she cherished, Intact, an everlasting love--her weapons, Her maidenhood, were all she knew and cared for. I wish she had never been so possessed, so ardent For soldiery like this, attacking Trojans Instead of meeker game; she would have been The one most dear of all my dear companions. But now a bitter doom weighs down upon her. Therefore, O nymph, glide down from heaven to Latium, Where, under evil omens, men join battle. Take these, my bow, my arrows; from my quiver Draw the avenging shaft. His life is forfeit, Trojan, Italian, whoever he is, whose wound Profanes the sacred body of Camilla. And when she has fallen, I will bring her home By hollow cloud, both warrior and armor Unspoiled, untaken, to her native country, Home to her tomb, poor girl.” And swift through air Opis, on whirring wing, came down from heaven In the dark whirlwind’s center. And the Trojans Were drawing near the walls, with Tuscan leaders And all that host of cavalry, whose numbers Filled squadron after squadron, and the horses Snorted and reared and fought the bit and bridle, Light-stepping sideways; far and wide the field Bristled with iron harvest, and the plain Burned with the arms raised high. And here against them Come Messapus and Coras and his brother, The Latins, moving fast, Camilla’s squadron, The hands drawn back already, and lances flying: All fire and noise and heat and men and horses. They ride, keep riding, and the distance closes To spear-cast, and they halt, and a wild clamor Breaks out, the charge is on, they spur the horses Which need no spur, and from all sides they shower The darts as thick as driving snow, the shadow Darkens the sky. Tyrrhenus, wild Aconteus, Single each other out and come together Head on, and the spears are broken, and men are thrown, And the horses, smashing their great chests together, Come down with a crash; Aconteus is hurled Like a thunderbolt or something from an engine Incredibly far off, and dies in the air. And the lines waver, and the routed Latins Let fall their shields behind them, head for the city, With Trojans in pursuit: Asilas leads them. They near the walls, and the Latins turn, and, shouting, Wheel to the charge, and the Trojans break and scatter With reins let loose. You are looking at the ocean The way it comes, one wave, and then another, Surging, receding, flooding, rushing shoreward