Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/334

310 So from, its vainly bleating dam

Tears the gaunt wolf the folded lamb.

Loud clamours rise: they charge once more,

Break down the mound, the trench bridge o'er,

Or to the topmost rampart throw

Their brands of pine-wood all aglow.

There as Lucetius nears the gate

And waves aloft the hostile flame,

Ilioneus whelms him 'neath the weight

Of rock that from a mountain came:

Stout Liger brings Emathion low;

Asilas Corynæus slays;

That skilled the warlike lance to throw,

This wings the arrow from the bow

Through unsuspected ways.

Ortygius lies by Cæneus slain:

The victor yields to Turnus' hands;

And Sagaris, Itys, Clonius fall,

With Promolus, by Turnus all,

And Idas, tumbled to the plain,

As on the wall he stands.

Privernus finds from Capys death:

Themilla's spear had grazed him first:

He flings his buckler on the ground,

And claps his hand upon the wound;

Fond wretch! the arrow wings the wind,

And to his side his hand is pinned,

And through the vital springs of breath

A deadly passage burst.

There Arceus' son stood, richly dight,

In broidered scarf with purple bright,

Sent by his father to the fight,

A youth of glorious show,

Reared in his Oread mother's wood,

Beside Symæthus' gentle flood,

Where day by day with victims' blood

Palicus' altars flow.