In piteous sort he tramples on the slain; The flying horse-hoofs spirt the crimson dew, And tread the gore down in the sandy plain.
Now, man to man, at Thamyris he flew, And Pholus.

Sthenelus aloof he slew; Aloof the two Imbracidae lay dead, Glaucus and Lades, of the Lycian crew, Both armed alike, whom Imbracus had bred To fight, or on swift steeds the flying winds to head.
XLV.

Elsewhere afield, amid the foremost, fought The brave Eumedes.

(From the loins he came Of noble Dolon, and to war he brought The borrowed lustre of his grandsire's name, The strength and spirit of his sire of fame, Who for his meed, when offering to explore The Danaan camp, Pelides' car would claim.
Poor fool! Tydides paid the boaster's score, And for Achilles' steeds he hankers now no more.) XLVI.

Him Turnus sees, and through the void afar Speeds a light lance, then bids the coursers stand, And, lightly leaping from his two-horsed car, Stamps on his neck, fall'n breathless on the sand, And wrests the shining dagger from his hand.
Deep in his throat he deals a deadly wound, And cries, "Now, Trojan, take the wished-for land.
Lie there, and measure the Hesperian ground; Their meed, who tempt my sword; thus city-walls they found." XLVII.