"What fear, O hearts that nought may shame, O folk of deedless hand, What dastardy, O Tyrrhene folk, hath now so caught your souls? A woman drives us scattering wide, and back our war-wall rolls. Why bear our hands these useless spears, this steel not made for fight? Ye are not slack in Venus' play or battle of the night, Or when the crookèd fife gives sign that Bacchus' dance is toward Well wait ye onset of the feast and cups of plenteous board: Your love, your hearts, are there, whereas the lucky priest doth bid The holy words, and victims fat call to the thickets hid." 740 He spake, and, fain of death himself, against the foemen spurs, And full in face of Venulus his eager body bears, And catcheth him by arm about, and tears him from his horse, And bears him off on saddle-bow in grip of mighty force: Then goes the clamour up to heaven, and all the Latin eyes Turn thitherward: but fiery-swift across the field he flies, Bearing the weapons and the man; then from his foeman's spear Breaks off the head, and searches close for opening here and there Whereby to give the deadly wound: the foe doth ever fight, 749 Thrusting the hand from threatened throat, and puts back might with might. As when a yellow erne aloft skyward a dragon draws, And knits him up within her feet and gripping of her claws: But still the wounded serpent turns in many a winding fold, And bristles all his spiky scales, and hissing mouth doth hold Aloft against her; she no less through all his struggles vain Drives hookèd beak, and still with wings beats through the airy plain; E'en so from those Tiburtine ranks glad Tarchon bears the prey: And, following on their captain's deed, fall on amid the fray Mæonia's sons. But Arruns now, the foredoomed man of fate, Encompassing Camilla's ways with spear and guile, doth wait 760 On all her goings; spying out what hap is easiest. Now, wheresoe'er the hot-heart maid amid the battle pressed, There Arruns winds, and silently holds watch on all her ways: And when from forth the foe she comes, bearing the victory's praise, Still speedily in privy wise the rein he turns about: This way he tries, that way he tries, still wandering in and out On all sides; shaking spear of doom with evil heart of guile.