and in dense cloud press on their enemy, till overborne by 10 sheer weight he gives way, drops the booty from his talons into the river, flying aloft, and vanishes in the distant sky. Oh, then the Rutulians welcome the omen with a shout and spread their hands on high; and first of all cries the augur Tolumnius. “Here, here is the thing I have prayed for so 15 often. I embrace it, I own the hand of Heaven. Follow me—yes, me—and seize your weapons, my poor countrymen, whom the felon stranger is scaring with battle, as if ye were feeble birds, and ravaging your coasts. He too will turn to flight and sail far away on the deep. Close 20 your ranks with one accord, and rally round the prince of whom the battle robs you.” He spoke, and running forward hurls his dart full at the enemy: the hurtling cornel sounds, and cuts the air on no doubtful errand. A deafening shout follows on the act, the ranks are confused, 25 and men’s hearts stirred with mad bewilderment. On flew the spear, just where nine goodly brethren chanced to stand facing it, all born of one true Tuscan mother to Gylippus the Arcadian. One of these just at the waist where the quilted belt chafes against the belly and the 30 buckle presses the sides—a youth of goodly form and clad in refulgent armour—it strikes through the ribs and lays him grovelling on the yellow sand. But his brothers, a gallant company and stung by grief, draw their swords or seize their javelins, and charge in headlong fury. 35 To meet them rush the Laurentian columns: while from their side surge forth in a flood Trojans and Agyllans and Arcadians with inlaid harness. All are possessed by one passion, to try the issue with the steel. The altars are stripped bare: through the whole sky drives a flickering storm of weapons and an iron sleet comes thick: bowls and hearths are carried away. King Latinus flies, bearing away his gods in discomfiture, the truce unratified. 5 Others rein the chariot or vault on horseback, with swords ready drawn.