Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/373

'Lie there, proud youth! no mother dear
Shall lay you on your father's bier:
Your corpse shall rot above the soil,
The eagle's and the raven's spoil,
Or drift unheeded down the flood,
While hungry fish shall lick your blood.'
Antæus next and Lucas die,
The flower of Turnus' chivalry,
With Numa, cast in valour's mould,
And Camers with his locks of gold,
Of noble Volscens' ancient strain,
Who, lord of many a wide domain,
O'er mute Amyclæ stretched his reign.
As when of old Ægæon strove
Against the majesty of Jove,
With fifty heads, so legends say,
A hundred hands, he waged the fray;
Each head disgorged a stream of fire
To match the lightnings of the Sire;
Each hand flashed forth a sword, or pealed
Responsive thunder on the shield:
So, when Æneas' blade was warmed,
O'er all the plain at once he stormed.
Now on Niphæus' four-horse car
And towering crest he turns the war:
Soon as the advancing coursers spied,
That dreadful port, that lofty stride,
Appalled they start, their lord unseat,
And backward to the shore retreat.

See Lucagus and Liger ride,
In one fair chariot, side by side,
One brother skilled the reins to guide,
While one the falchion plies.
Æneas stays their bold career,
Confronts them with uplifted spear;
When thus proud Liger cries: