He spake, and from his back he cast his twifold cloak adown, And naked his most mighty limbs and shoulders huge were shown, And on the midmost of the sand a giant there he stood. Wherewith Anchises' seed brought forth gloves even-matched and good, And so at last with gear alike the arms of each he bound, Then straightway each one stretched aloft on tip-toe from the ground: They cast their mighty arms abroad, nor any fear they know, The while their lofty heads they draw abackward from the blow: And so they mingle hands with hands and fall to wake the fight. The one a-trusting in his youth and nimbler feet and light; 430 The other's bulk of all avail, but, trembling, ever shrank His heavy knees, and breathing short for ever shook his flank. Full many a stroke those mighty men cast each at each in vain; Thick fall they on the hollow sides; the breasts ring out again With mighty sound; and eager-swift the hands full often stray Round ears and temples; crack the jaws beneath that heavy play: In one set strain, not moving aught, heavy Entellus stands, By body's sway and watchful eye shunning the dart of hands: But Dares is as one who brings the gin 'gainst high-built town, Or round about some mountain-hold the leaguer setteth down: 440 Now here now there he falleth on, and putteth art to pain At every place, and holds them strait with onset all in vain. Entellus, rising to the work, his right hand now doth show Upreared; but he, the nimble one, foresaw the falling blow Above him, and his body swift writhed skew-wise from the fall. Entellus spends his stroke on air, and, overborne withal, A heavy thing, falls heavily to earth, a mighty weight: As whiles a hollow-eaten pine on Erymanthus great, Or mighty Ida, rooted up, to earthward toppling goes. Then Teucrian and Trinacrian folk with wondrous longing rose, 450 And shouts went skyward: thither first the King Acestes ran, And pitying his like-aged friend raised up the fallen man; Who neither slackened by his fall, nor smit by any fear, Gets back the eagerer to the fight, for anger strength doth stir, And shame and conscious valour lights his ancient power again. In headlong flight his fiery wrath drives Dares o'er the plain, And whiles his right hand showereth strokes, his left hand raineth whiles. No tarrying and no rest there is; as hail-storm on the tiles Rattleth, so swift with either hand the eager hero now Beats on and batters Dares down, and blow is laid on blow. 460