LXXXIX. The priestess Rhea, in the secret shade Of wooded Aventine, brought forth to light, A god commingling with a mortal maid. With pikes and poles his followers join the fight, Their swords are sharp, their Sabine spears are bright. Himself afoot, a lion's bristling hide With sharp teeth set in rows of glittering white, Swings o'er his forehead, as with eager stride, Clad in his father's cloak, he seeks the monarch's side. XC. Twin brothers came from Tibur--such the name Tiburtus gave it--one Catillus hight, And one fierce Coras, each of Argive fame, Each in the van, where deadliest raves the fight. As when two cloud-born Centaurs in their might From some tall mountain with swift strides descend, Steep Homole, or Othrys' snow-capt height; The thickets yield, trees crash, and branches bend, As with resistless force the trampled woods they rend. XCI. Nor lacked Praeneste's founder, Vulcan's child, Found on the hearthstone--if the tale be true,-- Brave Caeculus, the Shepherds' monarch styled. Forth from Praeneste swarmed the rustic crew, From Juno's Gabium to the fight they flew, From ice-cold Anio, swoln with wintry rain, From Hernic rocks, which mountain streams bedew, From fat Anagnia's pastures, from the plain Where Amasenus rolls majestic to the main. XCII. With diverse arms they hasten to the war; Not all can boast the clashing of the shield, Not all the thunder of the rattling car. These sling their leaden bullets o'er the field, Those in each hand the deadly javelin wield. With caps of fur their rugged brows are dight, The tawny covering from the dark wolf peeled; Bare is the left foot, as they march to fight, And, rough with raw bull's-hide, a sandal guards the right. XCIII. Next came Messapus, tamer of the steed, Great Neptune's son. Fire nor the steel's sharp stroke Could lay him lifeless, so the Fates decreed. Grasping his sword, a laggard race he woke, Disused to war, and tardy to provoke. Behind him throng Fescennia's ranks to fight, Men from Flavinia, and Faliscum's folk, And those whom fair Capena's groves delight, Ciminius' mount and lake, and steep Soracte's height. XCIV. With measured tramp, their monarch's praise they sing, Like snowy swans, the liquid clouds among, Which homeward from their feeding ply the wing, When o'er Cayster's marish, loud and long, The echoes float of their melodious song. None, sure, such countless multitudes would deem The mail-clad warriors of an armed throng: Nay, rather, like a dusky cloud they seem Of sea-fowl, landward driven with many a hoarse-voiced scream.