As when two fires, that on a while are sped from diverse ways, Run through the dry and tinder wood, and crackling twigs of bays; As when from off the mountain-tops two hurrying rivers speed, And foaming, roaring, as they rush, drive down to ocean's mead, And each one wastes his proper road; no slothfuller than these, Æneas, Turnus, fare afield; swell up the anger-seas In both their hearts; torn are their breasts that know not how to yield, In speeding of the wounding-craft their utter might they wield. Murranus, as his sires of sires and ancient name he sings, And boasts his blood come far adown the line of Latin kings, 530 Æneas, with a mighty rock and whirlwind of a stone, O'erthrows, and stretches on the earth; the wain-wheels roll him on, Amid the bridle and the yoke, whom there upon the sward The hurrying hoofs of horses pound, remembering not their lord. Then Hyllus' onset, and his heart with fury all aglow, Doth Turnus meet; who hurls a shaft against his golden brow, And through the helm the war-spear flies, and in the brain is stayed. Thee, Cretheus, bravest of the Greeks, thine hands did nothing aid To snatch from Turnus. Nought his Gods did their Cupencus cloak Against Æneas' rush of war; breast-on he met the stroke, 540 And nought availed that hapless one the tarrying golden shield. Thee also, warring Æolus, did that Laurentine field See fallen, and cumbering the earth with body laid alow; Thou diest, whom the Argive hosts might never overthrow, Nor that Achilles' hand that wrought the Priam's realm its wrack. Here was thy meted mortal doom; high house 'neath Ida's back, High house within Lyrnessus' garth, grave in Laurentine lea. Now all the hosts to fight are turned, and blent in battle's sea, All Latin folk, all Dardan sons, Mnestheus, Serestus keen, Messapus tamer of the horse, Asylas fame-beseen, 550 The Tuscan host, Evander's men, the Arcadian wings of fight, Each for himself the warriors play, and strive with utter might; No tarrying, no rest, they strain in contest measureless. But now a thought his mother sent Æneas' mind to bless. That he should wend unto the walls, and townward turn his host, And blend amid destruction swift the Latin people lost. For he, now marking Turnus' ways through many a company, Hither and thither turns his eyes, and sees the city lie At peace amid the mighty stir, unharmed amid the fight, And image of a greater war set all his soul alight. 560 Mnestheus, Sergestus then he calls, Serestus battle-strong, The Dukes of war; he mounts a knoll; thither the Teucrians throng In serried ranks, yet lay not by the battle-spear and shield: So there from off the mound he speaks amidmost of the field: