This way and that unwearied scans,
And vainly tries a thousand plans.
Entellus, rising to the blow,
Puts forth his hand: the wary foe
Midway in air the mischief spied,
And, deftly shifting, slipped aside.
Entellus' force on air is spent:
Heavily down with prone descent
He falls, as from its roots uprent
A pine falls hollow, on the side
Of Erymanth or lofty Ide.
Loud clamouring from their seats arise
Troy's and Trinacria's sons:
The shouts mount upward to the skies:
And first Acestes runs,
And tenderly from the earth[errata 1] uprears
His ancient friend of equal years.
But not disheartened by his foil
The champion rises from the soil:
With wrath he goads his sluggard might,
And turns him fiercer to the fight:
The smouldering mass is stirred to flame
By conscious worth and glowing shame:
Ablaze with fury he pursues
The Trojan o'er the green,
And now his right hand deals the bruise,
And now his left as keen.
No pause, no respite: fierce and fast
As hailstones rattle down the blast
On sloping roofs, with blow on blow
He buffets Dares to and fro.
But good Æneas suffered not
The strife to rage too far:
Or ere Entellus waxed more hot,
He bade him cease the war,
