She swings her axe, and rises to the blow; Full on the helm behind, with such a sway The weapon falls, the riven steel gives way: He groans, he roars, he sues in vain for grace; Brains, mingled with his blood, besmear his face. Astonished Aunus just arrives by chance, To see his fall, nor farther dares advance; But, fixing on the horrid maid his eye, He stares, and shakes, and finds it vain to fly; Yet, like a true Ligurian, born to cheat, (At least while Fortune favoured his deceit,) Cries out aloud,--"What courage have you shown, Who trust your courser's strength, and not your own? Forego the 'vantage of your horse, alight, And then on equal terms begin the fight: It shall be seen, weak woman, what you can, When, foot to foot, you combat with a man." He said. She glows with anger and disdain, } Dismounts with speed to dare him on the plain, } And leaves her horse at large among her train; } With her drawn sword defies him to the field, And, marching, lifts aloft her maiden shield. The youth, who thought his cunning did succeed, Reins round his horse, and urges all his speed, Adds the remembrance of the spur, and hides The goring rowels in his bleeding sides. "Vain fool, and coward!" said the lofty maid, "Caught in the train, which thou thyself hast laid! On others practise thy Ligurian arts; Thin stratagems, and tricks of little hearts, Are lost on me: nor shalt thou safe retire, With vaunting lies, to thy fallacious sire." At this, so fast her flying feet she sped, That soon she strained beyond his horse's head: Then turning short, at once she seized the rein, And laid the boaster grovelling on the plain. Not with more ease the falcon, from above, Trusses, in middle air, the trembling dove, Then plumes the prey, in her strong pounces bound: The feathers, foul with blood, come tumbling to the ground. Now mighty Jove, from his superior height, With his broad eye surveys the unequal fight. He fires the breast of Tarchon with disdain, And sends him to redeem the abandoned plain. Between the broken ranks the Tuscan rides, And these encourages, and those he chides; Recals each leader, by his name, from flight; Renews their ardour, and restores the fight. "What panic fear has seized your souls? O shame, O brand perpetual of the Etrurian name! Cowards incurable! a woman's hand Drives, breaks, and scatters, your ignoble band! Now cast away the sword, and quit the shield! What use of weapons which you dare not wield? Not thus you fly your female foes by night, Nor shun the feast, when the full bowls invite; When to fat offerings the glad augur calls, And the shrill horn-pipe sounds to bacchanals. These are your studied cares, your lewd delight-- Swift to debauch, but slow to manly fight."