Like the lightning's flash, And loud as missile from an engine sped, Hurled far, Aconteus falls, and with a gasp lies dead.
LXXIX.

This breaks the line; the Latins turn and fly, Their shields behind them.

On the Trojans go, Asilas first.

And now the gates are nigh; Once more, with shouts, the Latins face the foe; These, scared in turn, the slackened reins forego.
So shifts the fight, as on the winding strand The swelling ocean, with alternate flow, Foams on the rocks, and curls along the sand, Now sucks the shingle back, and, ebbing, leaves the land.
LXXX.

Twice the fierce Tuscans, spurring o'er the fields, Drive the Rutulians to their walls in flight.
Twice, driven backward, from behind their shields The victors see the rallying foes unite.
But when the third time, in the fangs of fight, Man singling man, both armies met to close, Loud were the groans, and fearful was the sight, Arms splashed with gore, steeds, riders, friends and foes, Blent in the deadly broil, and fierce the din uprose.
LXXXI.