But Camilla, with a quiver at her back, and one breast 15 put forth for the combat, leaps for joy like an Amazon in the midst of carnage: now she scatters thick volleys of quivering javelins, now her arm whirls unwearied the massy two-edged axe: while from her shoulder sounds the golden bow, the artillery of Dian. Nay, if ever she be 20 beaten back and retreating rearward, she turns her bow and aims shafts in her flight. Around her are her chosen comrades, maid Larina, and Tulla, and Tarpeia, wielding the brazen-helved hatchet, daughters of Italy, whom glorious Camilla herself chose to be her joy and pride, able 25 to deal alike with peace and war: even as the Amazons of Thrace when they thunder over the streams of Thermōdon and battle with her blazoned arms, encompassing Hippolyte, or when Penthesilea, the War-god’s darling, is careering to and fro in her chariot, and the woman 30 army, amid a hubbub of shrill cries, are leaping in ecstasy and shaking their moony shields. Who first, who last, fierce maiden, is unhorsed by your dart? How many stalwart bodies lay you low in death? The first was Eunēus, Clytius’ son, whose unguarded breast as he stood fronting 35 her she pierces with her long pine-wood spear. Down he goes, disgorging streams of blood, closes his teeth on the gory soil, and dying writhes upon his wound. Then Liris, and Pagasus on his body: while that, flung from his stabbed charger, is gathering up the reins, and this is coming to the rescue and stretching his unarmed hand to his falling comrade, they are overthrown in one headlong ruin. To these she adds Amastrus, son of Hippotas: 5 then, pressing on the rout, pursues with her spear-throw Tereus, and Harpalycus, and Demophoon, and Chromis: for every dart she launched from her maiden hand there fell a Phrygian warrior. In the distance rides Ornytus accoutred strangely in hunter fashion on an Iapygian 10 steed: a hide stripped from a bullock swathes his broad shoulders in the combat, his head is sheltered by a wolf’s huge grinning mouth and jaws with the white teeth projecting, and a rustic pike arms his hand: he goes whirling through the ranks, his whole head overtopping them. 15 Him she catches, an easy task when the hosts are entangled in rout, pierces him through, and thus bespeaks the fallen in the fierceness of her spirit: “Tuscan, you thought yourself still chasing beasts in the forest, but the day is come which shall refute the vaunts of your nation by a 20 woman’s weapons. Yet no slight glory shall you carry down to your fathers’ shades, that you have fallen by the dart of Camilla.” Next follow Orsilochus and Butes, two of the hugest frames of Troy: Butes she speared behind