Now Turnus leads his troops without delay, Advancing to the margin of the sea. The trumpets sound: Æneas first assailed The clowns new-raised and raw, and soon prevailed. Great Theron fell, an omen of the fight-- Great Theron, large of limbs, of giant height. He first in open fields defied the prince: But armour scaled with gold was no defence Against the fated sword, which opened wide His plated shield, and pierced his naked side. Next Lichas fell, who, not like others born, Was from his wretched mother ripped and torn; Sacred, O Phœbus! from his birth to thee; For his beginning life from biting steel was free. Not far from him was Gyas laid along, Of monstrous bulk; with Cisseus fierce and strong: Vain bulk and strength! for, when the chief assailed, Nor valour nor Herculean arms availed, Nor their famed father, wont in war to go With great Alcides, while he toiled below. The noisy Pharos next received his death: Æneas writhed his dart, and stopped his bawling breath. Then wretched Cydon had received his doom, Who courted Clytius in his beardless bloom, And sought with lust obscene polluted joys-- The Trojan sword had cured his love of boys, Had not his seven bold brethren stopped the course Of the fierce champion, with united force. Seven darts were thrown at once; and some rebound From his bright shield, some on his helmet sound: The rest had reached him; but his mother's care Prevented those, and turned aside in air. The prince then called Achates, to supply The spears, that knew the way to victory-- "Those fatal weapons, which, inured to blood, In Grecian bodies under Ilium stood: Not one of those my hand shall toss in vain Against our foes, on this contended plain." He said; then seized a mighty spear, and threw; Which, winged with fate, through Mæon's buckler flew, Pierced all the brazen plates, and reached his heart: He staggered with intolerable smart. Alcanor saw; and reached, but reached in vain, His helping hand, his brother to sustain. A second spear, which kept the former course, From the same hand, and sent with equal force, His right arm pierced, and holding on, bereft His use of both, and pinioned down his left. Then Numitor from his dead brother drew The ill-omen'd spear, and at the Trojan threw: Preventing fate directs the lance awry, Which, glancing, only marked Achates' thigh. In pride of youth the Sabine Clausus came, And, from afar, at Dryops took his aim. The spear flew hissing through the middle space, And pierced his throat, directed at his face; It stopped at once the passage of his wind, And the free soul to flitting air resigned: His forehead was the first that struck the ground; Life-blood and life rushed mingled through the wound.