their levelled spears each against each they run,
Tyrrhenus and Aconteus fierce: in forefront of the fight
They meet and crash with thundering sound; wracked are the steeds outright,
Breast beating in each breast of them: far is Aconteus flung
In manner of the lightning bolt, or stone from engine slung;
Far off he falls, and on the air pours all his life-breath out.

Then wildered is the war array; the Latins wheel about
And sling their targets all aback, and townward turn their steeds.
The Trojans follow; first of whom the ranks Asylas leads. 620
But when they draw anigh the gates once more the Latin men
Raise up the cry, and turn about the limber necks again;
Then flee their foes, and far afield with loosened reins they ride;
As when the sea-flood setting on with flowing, ebbing tide,
Now earthward rolling, overlays the rocks with foaming sea,
And with its bosom overwhelms the sand's extremity,
Now swiftly fleeing back again, sucks back into its deep
The rolling stones, and leaves the shore with softly-gliding sweep.
Twice did the Tuscans townward drive the host of Rutuli;
Twice, looking o'er their shielded backs, afield they needs must fly; 630
But when they joined the battle thrice knit up was all array
In one great knot, and man sought man wherewith to play the play.
Then verily the dying groans up to the heavens went;
Bodies and arms lie deep in blood, and with the men-folk blent,
The dying horses wallow there, and fearful fight arose.

Orsilochus with Remulus had scant the heart to close,
But hurled his shaft against the horse, and smote him 'neath the ear;
The smitten beast bears not the wound, but, maddened, high doth rear
The legs of him and breast aloft: his master flung away,
Rolls on the earth: Catillus there doth swift Iolas slay; 640
Yea, and Herminius, big of soul, and big of limbs and gear,
Who went with head by nothing helmed save locks of yellow hair,
Who went with shoulders all unarmed, as one without a dread,
So open unto fight was he; but through his shoulders sped
The quivering spear, and knit him up twi-folded in his pain.
So black blood floweth everywhere; men deal out iron bane,
And, struggling, seek out lovely death amid the wounds and woe.

But through the middle of the wrack doth glad Camilla go,
The quivered war-maid, a