And Turnus saw him leave the field, and captains And ranks confused, and burned with sudden spirit. He is hopeful now; he calls for arms, for horses, Leaps proudly into his chariot, plies the reins, Drives fiercely, gives to death many brave heroes, Rolls many, half alive, under the wheels, Crushes the columns under his car, and showers Spear after spear at men who try to flee him. Even as Mars, along the icy Hebrus, In blood-red fury thunders with his shield And rousing war gives rein to his wild horses Faster than winds over the open plain As Thrace groans under their gallop, and around him Black Terror’s forms are driven, and Rage, and Ambush, Attendants on the god,--with equal frenzy So Turnus rages through the midst of battle, Lashing the steeds that steam with sweat, and killing And riding down the slain; the swift hooves spatter A bloody dew and the sand they pound is bloody. He has given Sthenelus to death, and Pholus, And Thamyrus, by spear or sword, close in, Far off, no matter; Glaucus also, Lades, Imbrasus’ sons, from Lycia, where their father Reared them and gave them either kind of armor, For fighting hand to hand, on foot, or mounted On chargers swift as wind. Elsewhere Eumedes Comes riding to the battle, son of Dolon, Named after Dolon’s father, and in daring True son of Dolon, who claimed Achilles’ chariot For spying on the Grecian camp, and went there And Diomedes paid him for his daring With somewhat different tokens, so that Dolon No longer craved the horses of Achilles. And Turnus saw that son of his, Eumedes, Far on the open plain, and overtook him With the light javelin, through long emptiness, And stopped his horses, and leaped down, and landed On a man fallen, half-alive, and stood there, Foot on Eumedes’ neck, twisted the sword From Eumedes’ right hand, and changed its silver To red, deep in Eumedes’ throat, and told him:-- “Lie down there, Trojan; measure off the acres You sought in war! Any who dare attack me Are paid rewards like these; they build their walls On such foundations!” He flung the spear and brought him Companions in his death, Asbytes, Chloreus, Thersilochus and Sybaris and Dares And finally Thymoetes, slain on horseback. As the north wind roars over the deep Aegean Piling the combers shoreward, and in heaven Clouds flee the blast of the gale, so, before Turnus, The columns yield, the lines give way, and his onrush Bears him along, and the wind of his going tosses The nodding plume. And Phegeus tried to stop him, Flinging himself before the car, and grabbing, With his right hand, the bridle, twisting, wrenching The foaming jaws, and while he rode the yoke The spear-point found his side uncovered, piercing