But now the Teucrians see the cloud of black dust grow to head From far away, and dusty-dark across the plain arise: And first from off the mound in face aloud Caïcus cries: "Ho! what is this that rolleth on, this misty, mirky ball? Swords, townsmen, swords! Bring point and edge; haste up to climb the wall. Ho, for the foeman is at hand!" Then, with a mighty shout, The Trojans swarm through all the gates and fill the walls about; For so Æneas, war-lord wise, had bidden them abide At his departing; if meantime some new hap should betide, 40 They should not dare nor trust themselves to pitch the fight afield, But hold the camp and save the town beneath the ramparts' shield. Therefore, though shame and anger bade go forth and join the play, They bolt and bar the gates no less and all his word obey; And armed upon the hollow towers abide the coming foe. But Turnus, flying forward fast, outwent the main host slow, And with a score of chosen knights is presently at hand Before the town: borne on he was on horse of Thracian land, White-flecked, and helmeted was he with ruddy-crested gold. "Who will be first with me, O youths, play with the foe to hold? 50 Lo, here!" he cried; and on the air a whirling shaft he sent, The first of fight, and borne aloft about the meadows went. His fellows take it up with shouts, and dreadful cry on rolls As fast they follow, wondering sore at sluggard Teucrian souls,-- That men should shun the battle pitched, nor dare the weapon-game, But hug their walls. So round the walls, high-horsed, with heart aflame, He rides about, and tries a way where never was a way: E'en as a wolf the sheep-fold full besetteth on a day, And howleth round about the garth, by wind and rain-drift beat, About the middle of the night, while safe the lamb-folk bleat 60 Beneath their mothers: wicked-fierce against them safe and near He rageth; hunger-madness long a-gathering him doth wear, With yearning for that blood beloved to wet his parchèd jaws. E'en so in that Rutulian duke to flame the anger draws, As he beholdeth walls and camp: sore burnt his hardy heart For shifts to come at them; to shake those Teucrians shut apart From out their walls and spread their host about the meadows wide. So on the ships he falls, that lay the campment's fence beside, Hedged all about with garth and mound and by the river's flood, And to the burning crieth on his folk of joyous mood, 70 And eager fills his own right hand with branch of blazing fir: Then verily they fall to work whom Turnus' gaze doth stir, And all the host of them in haste hand to the black torch lays. They strip the hearths; the smoky brand sends forth pitch-laden blaze, And starward soot-bemingled flame drave Vulcan as he burned.