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There as they struggle, floating wreck
And shattered oars their progress check,
And billows, ebbing in retreat,
Draw back, and wash them from their feet.

Nor eager Turnus long delays:
He musters all his band
To front the Trojans, and arrays
For conflict on the strand.
The clarions sound: Æneas first
On Latium's ranks in havoc burst,
And laid the rustics low:
First falls, an augury of the fight,
Huge Theron, who with giant might
Assailed the godlike foe:
Through mail and gold-wrought tunic driven
The fatal sword his side has riven.
Then hapless Lichas meets his doom,
Who, ripped from his dead mother's womb,
To Phœbus vowed the cherished life
That 'scaped the peril of the knife.
Strong Cisseus and tall Gyas feel,
As death with ponderous clubs they deal,
The griding of the conqueror steel.
Nought vantaged them in that dread hour
Herculean arms nor hands of power,
Nor he, the sire who gave them birth,
Melampus, soul of purest worth,
Long as Alcides toiled on earth,
Still constant at his side.
See, open-mouthed as Pharus cries,
Full in his face the weapon flies,
And stops his vaunting pride.
Thou, Cydon, too, whose eager quest
Young Clytius' heart would move,