No More Learning

Yet gallant Turnus in unfailing confidence will prevent them on the
shore and repel their approach to land. 'What your prayers have sought
is given, the sweep of the sword-arm. The god of battles is in the hands
of men. Now remember each his wife and home: now recall the high deeds
of our fathers' honour. Let us challenge meeting at the water's edge,
while they waver and their feet yet slip as they disembark. Fortune aids
daring. . . . ' So speaks he, and counsels inly whom he shall lead to
meet them, whom leave in charge of the leaguered walls.

Meanwhile Aeneas lands his allies by gangways from the high ships. Many
watch the retreat and slack of the sea, and leap boldly into the shoal
water; others slide down the oars. Tarchon, marking the shore where the
shallows do not seethe and plash with broken water, but the sea glides
up and spreads its tide unbroken, suddenly turns his bows to land and
implores his comrades: 'Now, O chosen crew, bend strongly to your oars;
lift your ships, make them go; let the prows cleave this hostile land
and the keel plough [297-330]herself a furrow. I will let my vessel
break up on such harbourage if once she takes the land. ' When Tarchon
had spoken in such wise, his comrades rise on their oar-blades and carry
their ships in foam towards the Latin fields, till the prows are fast on
dry land and all the keels are aground unhurt.
But not thy galley,
Tarchon; for she dashes on a shoal, and swings long swaying on the cruel
bank, pitching and slapping the flood, then breaks up, and lands her
crew among the waves. Broken oars and floating thwarts entangle them,
and the ebbing wave sucks their feet away.

Nor does Turnus keep idly dallying, but swiftly hurries his whole array
against the Trojans and ranges it to face the beach. The trumpets blow.
At once Aeneas charges and confounds the rustic squadrons of the Latins,
and slays Theron for omen of battle. The giant advances to challenge
Aeneas; but through sewed plates of brass and tunic rough with gold the
sword plunges in his open side. Next he strikes Lichas, cut from his
mother already dead, and consecrated, Phoebus, to thee, since his
infancy was granted escape from the perilous steel. Near thereby he
struck dead brawny Cisseus and vast Gyas, whose clubs were mowing down
whole files: naught availed them the arms of Hercules and their strength
of hand, nor Melampus their father, ever of Alcides' company while earth
yielded him sore travail. Lo! while Pharus utters weak vaunts the hurled
javelin strikes on his shouting mouth. Thou too, while thou followest
thy new delight, Clytius, whose cheeks are golden with youthful
down--thou, luckless Cydon, struck down by the Dardanian hand, wert
lying past thought, ah pitiable! of the young loves that were ever
thine, did not the close array of thy brethren interpose, the children
of Phorcus, seven in number, and send a sevenfold shower of darts. Some
glance ineffectual from helmet and shield; [331-365]some Venus the
bountiful turned aside as they grazed his body. Aeneas calls to trusty
Achates: 'Give me store of weapons; none that hath been planted in
Grecian body on the plains of Ilium shall my hand hurl at Rutulian in
vain. ' Then he catches and throws his great spear; the spear flies
grinding through the brass of Maeon's shield, and breaks through corslet
and through breast. His brother Alcanor runs up and sustains with his
right arm his sinking brother; through his arm the spear passes speeding
straight on its message, and holds its bloody way, and the hand dangles
by the sinews lifeless from the shoulder.