He spake and hurled his javelin at the foes, Advancing.

Shrill the cornel hissed, and flew True to its quarry.

Then a shout uprose, And the ranks wavered, and hearts throbbed anew With ardour, as the gathering tumult grew.
On went the missile to where, side by side, Nine brethren stood, of comely form, whom, true To her Gylippus, bare a Tuscan bride, Nine tall Arcadian sons, in bloom of youthful pride.
XXXV.

One, where the belt chafes, and the strong clasp bites The broidered edges,--comeliest of the band, And sheathed in shining mail--the steel-head smites, And rives the ribs, and rolls him on the sand.
Blind with hot rage, his brethren, sword in hand, Or snatching missiles, to avenge the slain, Rush to the charge.

Laurentum's ranks withstand Their onset, and a deluge sweeps the plain, Trojans, Agylla's bands, Arcadia's glittering train.
XXXVI.