All couch the levelled spear, And whirl the dart.

Hot waxes on the meads The tramp of hurrying hosts, the snorting of the steeds.
LXXVIII.

Each halts within a spear-cast of the foe, Then, spurring, forward with a shout they dash, And, darkening heaven, shower the darts like snow.
In front, Tyrrhenus and Aconteus rash Cross spears, the first to grapple.

With a crash, Steed against steed, went ruining.

Breast and head Shocked and were shattered.