Apollo's priest, Emonides, was near;

His holy fillets on his front appear;
Glitt'ring in arms, he shone amidst the crowd;

Much of his god, more of his purple, proud.
Him the fierce Trojan follow'd thro' the field:

The holy coward fell; and, forc'd to yield,
The prince stood o'er the priest, and, at one blow,

Sent him an off'ring to the shades below.
His arms Seresthus on his shoulders bears,

Design'd a trophy to the God of Wars.
Vulcanian Caeculus renews the fight,

And Umbro, born upon the mountains' height.
The champion cheers his troops t' encounter those,

And seeks revenge himself on other foes.
At Anxur's shield he drove; and, at the blow,

Both shield and arm to ground together go.
Anxur had boasted much of magic charms,

And thought he wore impenetrable arms,
So made by mutter'd spells; and, from the spheres,

Had life secur'd, in vain, for length of years.
Then Tarquitus the field triumph trod;

A nymph his mother, his sire a god.
Exulting in bright arms, he braves the prince:

With his protended lance he makes defense;
Bears back his feeble foe; then, pressing on,

Arrests his better hand, and drags him down;
Stands o'er the prostratewretch, and, as he lay,

Vain tales inventing, and prepar'd to pray,
Mows off his head: the trunk a moment stood,

Then sunk, and roll'd along the sand in blood.
The vengeful victor thus upbraids the slain:

"Lie there, proud man, unpitied, on the plain;
Lie there, inglorious, and without a tomb,

Far from thy mother and thy native home,
Exposed to savage beasts, and birds of prey,

Or thrown for food to monsters of the sea."
On Lycas and Antaeus next he ran,

Two chiefs of Turnus, and who led his van.
They fled for fear; with these, he chas'd along

Camers the yellow-lock'd, and Numa strong;
Both great in arms, and both were fair and young.

Camers was son to Volscens lately slain,
In wealth surpassing all the Latian train,

And in Amycla fix'd his silent easy reign.
And, as Aegaeon, when with heav'n he strove,

Stood opposite in arms to mighty Jove;
Mov'd all his hundred hands, provok'd the war,

Defied the forky lightning from afar;
At fifty mouths his flamingbreath expires,

And flash for flash returns, and fires for fires;
In his right hand as many swords he wields,

And takes the thunder on as many shields:
With strength like his, the Trojan hero stood;

And soon the fields with falling corps were strow'd,
When once his fauchion found the taste of blood.

With fury scarce to be conceiv'd, he flew
Against Niphaeus, whom four coursers drew.

They, when they see the fiery chief advance,
And pushing at their chests his pointed lance,

Wheel'd with so swift a motion, mad with fear,
They threw their master headlong from the chair.

They stare, they start, nor stop their course, before
They bear the bounding chariot to the shore.

Now Lucagus and Liger scour the plains,
With two white steeds; but Liger holds the reins,

And Lucagus the lofty seat maintains:
Bold brethren both. The former wav'd in air

His flaming sword: Aeneas couch'd his spear,
Unus'd to threats, and more unus'd to fear.

Then Liger thus: "Thy confidence is vain
To scape from hence, as from the Trojan plain:

Nor these the steeds which Diomede bestrode,
Nor this the chariot where Achilles rode;

Nor Venus' veil is here, near Neptune's shield;
Thy fatal hour is come, and this the field."

Thus Liger vainly vaunts: the Trojan
Return'd his answer with his flying spear.

As Lucagus, to lash his horses, bends,
Prone to the wheels, and his left foot protends,

Prepar'd for fight; the fatal dart arrives,
And thro' the borders of his buckler drives;

Pass'd thro' and pierc'd his groin: the deadly wound,
Cast from his chariot, roll'd him on the ground.

Whom thus the chief upbraids with scornful spite:
"Blame not the slowness of your steeds in flight;

Vain shadows did not force their swift retreat;
But you yourself forsake your empty seat."

He said, and seiz'd at once the loosen'd rein;
For Liger lay already on the plain,

By the same shock: then, stretching out his hands,
The recreant thus his wretched life demands:

"Now, by thyself, O more than mortal man!
By her and him from whom thy breath began,

Who form'd thee thus divine, I beg thee, spare
This forfeit life, and hear thy suppliant's pray'r."

Thus much he spoke, and more he would have said;
But the stern hero turn'd aside his head,

And cut him short: "I hear another man;
You talk'd not thus before the fight began.

Now take your turn; and, as a brother should,
Attend your brother to the Stygian flood."

Then thro' his breast his fatal sword he sent,
And the soul issued at the gaping vent.

As storms the skies, and torrents tear the ground,
Thus rag'd the prince, and scatter'd deaths around.

At length Ascanius and the Trojan train
Broke from the camp, so long besieg'd in vain.

Meantime the King of Gods and Mortal Man
Held conference with his queen, and thus began:

"My sister goddess, and well-pleasing wife,
Still think you Venus' aid supports the strife-

Sustains her Trojans- or themselves, alone,
With inborn valor force their fortune on?

How fierce in fight, with courage undecay'd!
Judge if such warriors want immortal aid."

To whom the goddess with the charming eyes,
Soft in her tone, submissively replies:

"Why, O my sov'reign lord, whose frown I fear,
And cannot, unconcern'd, your anger bear;

Why urge you thus my grief? when, if I still
(As once I was) were mistress of your will,

From your almighty pow'r your pleasing wife
Might gain the grace of length'ning Turnus' life,

Securely snatch him from the fatal fight,
And give him to his aged father's sight.