Page:Aeneid (Conington 1866).djvu/334

So from, its vainly bleating dam
Tears the gaunt wolf the folded lamb.
Loud clamours rise: they charge once more,
Break down the mound, the trench bridge o'er,
Or to the topmost rampart throw
Their brands of pine-wood all aglow.
There as Lucetius nears the gate
And waves aloft the hostile flame,
Ilioneus whelms him 'neath the weight
Of rock that from a mountain came:
Stout Liger brings Emathion low;
Asilas Corynæus slays;
That skilled the warlike lance to throw,
This wings the arrow from the bow
Through unsuspected ways.
Ortygius lies by Cæneus slain:
The victor yields to Turnus' hands;
And Sagaris, Itys, Clonius fall,
With Promolus, by Turnus all,
And Idas, tumbled to the plain,
As on the wall he stands.
Privernus finds from Capys death:
Themilla's spear had grazed him first:
He flings his buckler on the ground,
And claps his hand upon the wound;
Fond wretch! the arrow wings the wind,
And to his side his hand is pinned,
And through the vital springs of breath
A deadly passage burst.
There Arceus' son stood, richly dight,
In broidered scarf with purple bright,
Sent by his father to the fight,
A youth of glorious show,
Reared in his Oread mother's wood,
Beside Symæthus' gentle flood,
Where day by day with victims' blood
Palicus' altars flow.