In distance of their darts they stop their course; Then man to man they rush, and horse to horse. The face of heaven their flying javelins hide, And deaths unseen are dealt on either side. Tyrrhenus, and Aconteus void of fear, By mettled coursers borne in full career, Meet first opposed; and, with a mighty shock, Their horses' heads against each other knock. Far from his steed is fierce Aconteus cast, } As with an engine's force, or lightning's blast: } He rolls along in blood, and breathes his last. } The Latin squadrons take a sudden fright, And sling their shields behind, to save their backs in flight. Spurring at speed, to their own walls they drew; Close in the rear the Tuscan troops pursue, And urge their flight: Asylas leads the chase; Till, seized with shame, they wheel about, and face, Receive their foes, and raise a threatening cry. The Tuscans take their turn to fear and fly. So swelling surges, with a thundering roar, Driven on each other's backs, insult the shore, Bound o'er the rocks, encroach upon the land, And far upon the beach eject the sand; Then backward, with a swing, they take their way, Repulsed from upper ground, and seek their mother sea; With equal hurry quit the invaded shore, And swallow back the sand and stones they spewed before. Twice were the Tuscans masters of the field, Twice by the Latins, in their turn, repelled. Ashamed at length, to the third charge they ran-- Both hosts resolved, and mingled man to man. Now dying groans are heard; the fields are strowed With falling bodies, and are drunk with blood. Arms, horses, men, on heaps together lie: Confused the fight, and more confused the cry. Orsilochus, who durst not press too near } Strong Remulus, at distance drove his spear, } And struck the steel beneath his horse's ear. } The fiery steed, impatient of the wound, } Curvets, and, springing upward with a bound, } His helpless lord cast backward on the ground. } Catillus pierced Iolas first; then drew } His reeking lance, and at Herminius threw, } The mighty champion of the Tuscan crew. } His neck and throat unarmed, his head was bare, But shaded with a length of yellow hair: Secure, he fought, exposed on every part, A spacious mark for swords, and for the flying dart. Across the shoulders came the feathered wound; Transfixed, he fell, and doubled to the ground. The sands with streaming blood are sanguine dyed, And death, with honour, sought on either side. Resistless, through the war Camilla rode, In danger unappalled, and pleased with blood. One side was bare for her exerted breast; One shoulder with her painted quiver pressed. Now from afar her fatal javelins play; Now with her axe's edge she hews her way: