d their lines. Sweeping terrible down
the tide of battle he wakens fierce indiscriminate carnage, and flings
loose all the reins of wrath.

What god may now unfold for me in verse so many woes, so many diverse
slaughters and death of captains whom now Turnus, now again the Trojan
hero, drives over all the field? Was it well, O God, that nations
destined to everlasting peace should clash in so vast a shock? Aeneas
[505-540]meets Sucro the Rutulian; the combat stayed the first rush of
the Teucrians, but delayed them not long; he catches him on the side,
and, when fate comes quickest, drives the harsh sword clean through the
ribs where they fence the breast. Turnus brings down Amycus from
horseback with his brother Diores, and meets them on foot; him he
strikes with his long spear as he comes, him with his sword-point, and
hangs both severed heads on his chariot and carries them off dripping
with blood. The one sends to death Talos and Tanais and brave Cethegus,
three at one meeting, and gloomy Onites, of Echionian name, and Peridia
the mother that bore him; the other those brethren sent from Lycia and
Apollo's fields, and Menoetes the Arcadian, him who loathed warfare in
vain; who once had his art and humble home about the river-fisheries of
Lerna, and knew not the courts of the great, but his father was tenant
of the land he tilled. And as fires kindled dispersedly in a dry forest
and rustling laurel-thickets, or foaming rivers where they leap swift
and loud from high hills, and speed to sea each in his own path of
havoc; as fiercely the two, Aeneas and Turnus, dash amid the battle;
now, now wrath surges within them, and unconquerable hearts are torn;
now in all their might they rush upon wounds. The one dashes Murranus
down and stretches him on the soil with a vast whirling mass of rock, as
he cries the names of his fathers and forefathers of old, a whole line
drawn through Latin kings; under traces and yoke the wheels spurned him,
and the fast-beating hoofs of his rushing horses trample down their
forgotten lord. The other meets Hyllus rushing on in gigantic pride, and
hurls his weapon at his gold-bound temples; the spear pierced through
the helmet and stood fast in the brain. Neither did thy right hand save
thee from Turnus, O Cretheus, bravest of the Greeks; nor did his gods
shield Cupencus when Aeneas came; he gave his [541-575]breast full to
the steel, nor, alas! was the brazen shield's delay aught of avail. Thee
l