Nor less the other's deadly vengeance came, But falls on feeble crowds without a name; His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel, Yet wakeful Rhæsus sees the threatening steel; His coward breast behind a jar he hides, And, vainly, in the weak defence confides; 270 Full in his heart, the falchion search'd his veins, The reeking weapon bears alternate stains; Through wine and blood, commingling as they flow, One feeble spirit seeks the shades below. Now where Messapus dwelt they bend their way, Whose fires emit a faint and trembling ray; There, unconfin'd, behold each grazing steed, Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed: [xix] Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm, Too flush'd with carnage, and with conquest warm: 280 "Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is pass'd; Full foes enough, to-night, have breath'd their last: Soon will the Day those Eastern clouds adorn; Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn." What silver arms, with various art emboss'd, What bowls and mantles, in confusion toss'd, They leave regardless! yet one glittering prize Attracts the younger Hero's wandering eyes; The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt, The gems which stud the monarch's golden belt: 290 This from the pallid corse was quickly torn, Once by a line of former chieftains worn. Th' exulting boy the studded girdle wears, Messapus' helm his head, in triumph, bears; Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend, To seek the vale, where safer paths extend. Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse To Turnus' camp pursue their destin'd course: While the slow foot their tardy march delay, The knights, impatient, spur along the way: 300 Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led, To Turnus with their master's promise sped: Now they approach the trench, and view the walls, When, on the left, a light reflection falls; The plunder'd helmet, through the waning night, Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright; Volscens, with question loud, the pair alarms:-- "Stand, Stragglers! stand! why early thus in arms? From whence? to whom?"--He meets with no reply; Trusting the covert of the night, they fly: 310 The thicket's depth, with hurried pace, they tread, While round the wood the hostile squadron spread.