But through the middle of the wrack doth glad Camilla go, The quivered war-maid, all one side stripped naked for the play; And now a cloud of limber shafts she scattereth wide away, 650 And now with all unwearied hand catcheth the twi-bill strong. The golden bow is at her back, and Dian's arrow-song. Yea, e'en and if she yielded whiles, and showed her back in flight, From back-turned bow the hurrying shaft she yet would aim aright. About her were her chosen maids, daughters of Italy, Larina, Tulla, and Tarpeia, with brazen axe on high, Whom that divine Camilla chose for joy and fame's increase, Full sweet and goodly hand-maidens in battle and in peace: E'en as the Thracian Amazons thresh through Thermodon's flood, When they in painted war-gear wend to battle and to blood: 660 Or those about Hippolyta, or round the wain of Mars Wherein Panthesilea wends, when hubbub of the wars The maiden-folk exulting raise, and moony shields uprear. Whom first, whom last, O bitter Maid, didst thou overthrow with spear? How many bodies of the slain laidst thou upon the field? Eunæus, Clytius' son, was first, whose breast for lack of shield The fir-tree long smit through and through, as there he stood in face; He poureth forth a sea of blood, and, falling in his place, Bites the red earth, and dying writhes about the bitter bane. Liris and Pagasus she slays; one, catching at the rein 670 Of his embowelled steed rolls o'er, the other as he ran To aid, and stretched his swordless hand unto the fallen man, Fell headlong too, and there they lie: with these Amastus wends, The son of Hippotas; her spear in chase of men she sends, Harpalycus, Demophoön, Tereus, and Chromis stout As many as her maiden hand the whirling darts send out So many Phrygian falls there are. Far off, in uncouth gear, The hunter Ornytus upon Apulian steed doth fare, Whose warring shoulders bigly wrought with stripped-off bullock's hide Are covered; but his head is helmed with wood-wolf's gaping wide, 680 A monstrous mouth, wherein are left the teeth all gleaming white: A wood-spear arms the hand of him, he wheels amid the fight, And by the head he overtops all other men about. Him she o'ertakes, no troublous deed amid the fleeing rout, And, slaying him, from bitter heart this word withal she spake: "Tuscan, thou deem'dst thee hunting still the deer amid the brake; The day has come when women's arms have cast thy boasting back: Yet going to thy fathers' ghosts a word thou shalt not lack To praise thy life; for thou mayst say, Camilla was my bane."