But when these words are cast abroad, huge through the gate he goes, Shaking in hand a mighty spear; then in arrayment close Antheus and Mnestheus rush to war: the camp is left behind, And all the host flows forth; the fields are blent with dust-cloud blind, And, stirred by trample of the feet, the earth's face trembleth sore. But Turnus from a facing mound beheld that coming war. The Ausonians looked, and through their hearts swift ran the chilly fear: And now before all other men first doth Jaturna hear, And know the sound, and, quaking sore, she fleeth back again. On comes he, hurrying on the host black o'er the open plain: 450 As when a storm cast on the world from heaven asunder rent, Wendeth across the middle sea: out! how the dread is sent Deep to the field-folks' boding hearts:--here comes the orchards' bane, Here comes the acres' utter wrack, the ruin of all the plain! The gale that goes before its face brings tidings to the shore: So 'gainst the foe the Trojan Duke led on his hosts of war; And gathering in the wedge-array all knit them close around. Now hath Thymbræus' battle-blade the huge Osiris found, And Mnestheus slays Archetius, Achates Epulo, And Gyas Ufens: yea, the seer Tolumnius lieth low, 460 He who was first against the foe to hurl the war-shaft out. The cry goes up unto the heaven; the war-tide turns about, Dust-cloud of flight the Rutuli raise up across the field: But he, the King, thinks scorn of it to smite the backs that yield; Nay, those that meet him foot to foot, the wielders of the spear, He followeth not: Turnus alone his eyes track everywhere Amid the dust-cloud, him alone he crieth unto fight. Hereby Jaturna's manly mind is shaken with affright; Metiscus, Turnus' charioteer, she plucketh from the rein, And leaveth him fallen down afar from yoking pole and wain: 470 But she mounts up, and with her hand the waving bridle guides, The while Metiscus' voice, and limbs, and war-gear with her bides: As when amid a lordling's house there flits a swallow black, On skimming wings she seeks to still her noisy nestlings' lack, And wandering through the lofty halls but little feast doth get, Then soundeth through the empty porch, and round the fish-pools wet, So is Jaturna borne on wheels amidmost of the foe, And flying on in hurrying chase by everything doth go, Now here, now there, her brother shows all flushed with victory, But still refrains him from the press; far o'er the waste they fly. 480