Æneas leads; and draws a sweeping train, Closed in their ranks, and pouring on the plain. As when a whirlwind, rushing to the shore From the mid ocean, drives the waves before; The painful hind with heavy heart foresees The flatted fields, and slaughter of the trees; With such impetuous rage the prince appears, Before his doubled front, nor less destruction bears. And now both armies shock in open field; Osiris is by strong Thymbræus killed. Archetius, Ufens, Epulon, are slain, (All famed in arms, and of the Latian train,) By Gyas', Mnestheus', and Achates' hand. The fatal augur falls, by whose command The truce was broken, and whose lance, embrued With Trojan blood, the unhappy fight renewed. Loud shouts and clamours rend the liquid sky; And o'er the field the frighted Latins fly. The prince disdains the dastards to pursue, Nor moves to meet in arms the fighting few. Turnus alone, amid the dusky plain, He seeks, and to the combat calls in vain. Juturna heard, and, seized with mortal fear, Forced from the beam her brother's charioteer; Assumes his shape, his armour, and his mien, And, like Metiscus, in his seat is seen. As the black swallow near the palace plies; O'er empty courts, and under arches, flies; Now hawks aloft, now skims along the flood, To furnish her loquacious nest with food: So drives the rapid goddess o'er the plains; The smoking horses run with loosened reins. She steers a various course among the foes; Now here, now there, her conquering brother shows; Now with a straight, now with a wheeling flight, She turns, and bends, but shuns the single fight. Æneas, fired with fury, breaks the crowd, And seeks his foe, and calls by name aloud: He runs within a narrower ring, and tries To stop the chariot; but the chariot flies. If he but gain a glimpse, Juturna fears, And far away the Daunian hero bears. What should he do? Nor arts nor arms avail; And various cares in vain his mind assail. The great Messapus, thundering through the field, In his left hand two pointed javelins held: Encountering on the prince, one dart he drew, And with unerring aim, and utmost vigour, threw. Æneas saw it come, and, stooping low Beneath his buckler, shunned the threat'ning blow. The weapon hissed above his head, and tore The waving plume, which on his helm he wore. Forced by this hostile act, and fired with spite, That flying Turnus still declined the fight, The prince, whose piety had long repelled His inborn ardour, now invades the field; Invokes the powers of violated peace, Their rites and injured altars to redress; Then, to his rage abandoning the rein, With blood and slaughtered bodies fills the plain. What god can tell, what numbers can display, The various labours of that fatal day?