Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/453

And sad Onites, him who came
From Peridia, noble dame,
Born in Echion's bed.
This lays in death the brethren twain
From Lycia, Phœbus' own domain,
And young Menœtes, who in vain
Had shunned the battle's roar:
An Arcad he by Lerna's side
His fisher craft obscurely plied,
Contented to be poor:
In honest penury his sire
Tilled scanty ground let out to hire,
Nor knocked at rich man's door.
As fires that launched on different ways
Stream through a wood of crackling bays.
Or torrents that from mountain steep
Tumbling and thundering toward the deep
Plough each his own wild path;
Æneas thus and Turnus fly
Through the wide field; now, now 'tis nigh,
The boiling-point of wrath;
Their fierce hearts burst with rage; they throw
A giant's force on every blow.
Murranus that, whose boastful tongue
With high-born sires and grandsires rung,
And pedigrees of long renown
Through Latian monarchs handed down,
Smites with a stone of mountain size
And tumbles on the sward:
By reins and harness caught, the wheels
Still drag him on: the horses' heels
Beat down and crush him as he lies,
Unmindful of their lord.
While this, as Hyllus overbold
In furious onset springs,