LXXXII. Bare is his head, with auburn locks aglow, And bare his shoulders. Wounds to him are vain; Tower-like he stands, defenceless to the foe. Through his broad chest the javelin, urged amain, Pierced him, and quivered, and he writhed with pain, His giant form bent double. Far and nigh The dark blood pours in torrents on the plain, As, dealing havoc with the sword, they vie, And, courting wounds, rush on, a warrior's death to die. LXXXIII. There, quiver-girt, the Amazonian maid, One bosom bare, amidst the carnage wheeled, Camilla, glorying in the war's grim trade. Her limber darts she scatters o'er the field, Her arms untired the ponderous axe can wield. Diana's arrows and the golden bow Sound at her back. She too, if forced to yield, Fights as she flies, and well the maid doth know With flying shafts hurled back to stay the following foe. LXXXIV. Around her, Tulla and Larinia stand, Tarpeia too, with brazen axe bedight, Italians all, the choicest of her band, In peace or war her glory and delight. So, battling round Hippolyte, unite Her Thracians, when Thermodon's banks afar Ring with their arms. So rides the maid of might, Penthesilea, in her conquering car, And hosts, with moon-shaped shields, exulting hail the war. LXXXV. Whom first, dread maiden, did thy javelin quell? Whom last? how many in the dust lay low? Eunaeus first, the son of Clytius, fell. Sheer through his breast, left naked to the blow, Ploughed the long fir-shaft, as he faced his foe. Prone falls the warrior, and in deadly stound Gasps out his life-blood, and the crimson flow Spouts forth in torrents, as he bites the ground, And, dying, grasps the spear, and writhes upon the wound. LXXXVI. Liris anon and Pagasus she slew, One, flung to earth, and gathering up the rein, His charger stabbed, the other, as he flew To aid, and reached his helpless hands in vain, Amastrus, son of Hippotas, was slain; Harpalycus, Demophoon, as they fled, The dread spear caught, and stretched upon the plain, Tereus and Chromis. For each shaft that sped, Launched from her maiden hand, a Phrygian foe lay dead. LXXXVII. On Iapygian steed, in arms unknown, Rode Ornytus, the huntsman. A rough hide, Stript from a bullock, o'er his back was thrown. A wolf's huge jaws, with glittering teeth, supplied His helmet, and a rustic pike he plied. Him, as he towered, the tallest in the fray, Wheeling his steed, Camilla unespied Caught--in the rout 'twas easy--and her prey Pinned, with unpitying spear, and jeered him as he lay.