Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/421

Stung by the insult, fiery-souled,
She gives her mate her horse to hold,
And stands with stainless buckler bold
And bare uplifted steel.
The youth believes his arts succeed:
Turning his rein with caitiff speed
He flies, and gores his panting steed
With iron-pointed heel.
'Ah! base Ligurian, boaster vile,
In vain you try your native guile:
Trickster and dastard though you be,
False Aunus you shall never see!'
With foot like fire, in middle course
She meets and heads the flying horse,
Confronts the rider, lays him low,
And wreaks her vengeance, foe on foe.
Look how the hawk, whom augurs love,
With matchless ease o'ertakes a dove
Seen in the clouds on high:
He gripes, he rends the prey forlorn,
While drops of blood and plumage torn
Come tumbling from the sky.

But not with unregardful gaze
The sire of heaven the scene surveys
From his Olympian tower:
He bids Tyrrhenian Tarchon wage
A deadlier fight, and stirs his rage
With all ungentle power.
From rank to rank the chieftain flies,
The yielding troops with menace plies,
Calls each by his familiar name,
And wakes again the expiring flame:
'What panic terror of the foe,
What drowsy spell has made you slow,
O hearts that will not feel?