XXXIX. So saying, he ponders inly, whom to choose To mind the siege, and whom the foe to meet. By planks meanwhile AEneas lands his crews. Some wait until the languid waves retreat, Then, leaping, to the shallows trust their feet; Some vault with oars. Brave Tarchon marks, quick-eyed, A sheltered spot, where neither surf doth beat, Nor breakers roar, but smooth the waters glide, And up the sloping shore unbroken swells the tide. XL. Here suddenly he bids them turn the prow, And shouts aloud, "Now, now, my chosen band, Lean to your oars; strive lustily and row. Lift the keel onward, till it cleaves the strand, And ploughs its furrow in the foeman's land. Let the bark break, with such a haven here What harm, if once upon the shore we stand?" So Tarchon spake; his comrades, with a cheer, Rise on the smooth-shaved thwarts, and sweep the foaming mere. XLI. So, one by one, they gain the land, and, whole And scatheless, on the Latin shore abide. All safe but Tarchon. Dashed upon a shoal, Long on a rock's unequal ridge astride, In doubtful balance swayed from side to side, His vessel hangs, and back the waves doth beat, Then breaks, and leaves them tangled in the tide 'Twixt planks and oars, while, ebbing to retreat, The shrinking waves draw back, and wash them from their feet. XLII. Nor loiters Turnus; eager to attack, Along the shore he marshals his array, To meet the foe, and drive the Teucrians back. The trumpet sounds: the Latin churls straightway AEneas routs, first omen of the day, Huge Theron slain, their mightiest, who in pride Of strength, rushed forth and dared him to the fray. Through quilted brass the Dardan sword he plied, Through tunic stiff with gold, and pierced th' unguarded side. XLIII. Lichas he smites, who vowed his infant life, Ripped from his mother, dying in her pain, To Phoebus, freed from perils of the knife. Huge Gyas, brawny Cisseus press the plain, As, club in hand, they strew the Tuscan train. Naught now avail those stalwart arms, that plied The weapons of Alcides; all in vain They boast their sire Melampus, comrade tried Of Hercules, while earth his toilsome tasks supplied. XLIV. Lo, full at Pharus, in his bawling mouth He plants a dart. Thou, Cydon, too, in quest Of Clytius, blooming with the down of youth, Thy latest joy, had'st laid thy loves to rest, Slain by the Dardan; but around thee pressed Old Phorcus' sons. Seven brethren bold are there, Seven darts they throw. These helm and shield arrest, Those, turned aside by Venus' gentle care Just graze the Dardan's frame, and, grazing, glance in air.