LXXXV "Enough, to live, and see Numanus bleed, Child of AEneas! This, thy valour's due, Great Phoebus grants, nor stints a rival's meed. Now cease."--He spake, and vanished from their view. His arms divine the Dardan chieftains knew, And heard the quiver rattle in his flight. So, warned by Phoebus' presence, back they drew The fiery youth, then plunged into the fight. Death seems a welcome risk, and danger a delight. LXXXVI. Shouts fill the walls and outworks; casque and shield Clash; bows are bent, and javelins hurled amain: Fierce grows the fight, and weapons strew the field. So fierce what time the Kid-star brings the rain, The storm, from westward rising, beats the plain: So thick with hail, the clouds, asunder riven, Pour down a deluge on the darkened main, When Jove, upon his dreaded south-wind driven Stirs up the watery storm, and rends the clouds of heaven. LXXXVII. Pandarus and Bitias, whom in Ida's grove The nymph Iaera to Alcanor bare, Tall as their mountains or the pines of Jove, Fling back the gate committed to their care, And bid the foemen enter, if they dare. With waving plumes, and armed from top to toe, In front, beside the gateway, stand the pair, Tall as twin oaks, with nodding crests, that grow Where Athesis' sweet stream or Padus' waters flow. LXXXVIII. Up rush the foemen to the open gate, Quercens, Aquicolus, in armour bright, Brave Haemon, Tmarus, eager and elate, In troops they come, in troops they turn in flight, Or fall upon the threshold, slain outright. Now fiercer swells the discord, louder grows The noise of strife, as, hastening to unite, The sons of Troy their banded ranks oppose, And battle hand to hand and, sallying, charge the foes. LXXXIX. Elsewhere to Turnus, as he raged, and marred The ranks, came tidings of the foe, elate With new-wrought carnage, and the gates unbarred. Forth from his work he rushes, grim with hate, To seek the brothers, and the Dardan gate. Here brave Antiphates, the first in view (The bastard offspring of Sarpedon great, Borne by a Theban) with his dart he slew; Swift through the yielding air the Italian cornel flew. XC. Down through his throat into the chest it passed. Out from the dark pit gushed a foaming tide; The cold steel, warming in the lung, stood fast. Then Merops, Erymas, Aphidnus died, And Bitias, fierce with flaming eyes of pride. No dart for him; no dart his life had ta'en. A spear phalaric, thundering, pierced his side. Nor bulls' tough hides, nor corselet's twisted chain, Twice linked with golden scales the monstrous blow sustain.