No More Learning

Instead of gold to clasp her tresses, instead of the long skirted gown,
a tiger's spoils hang down her back. Even then her tender hand hurled
childish darts, and whirled about her head the twisted thong of her
sling, and struck down the crane from Strymon or the milk-white swan.
Many a mother among Tyrrhenian towns destined her for their sons in
vain; content with Diana alone, she keeps unsoiled for ever the love of
her darts and maidenhood. Would she had not plunged thus into warfare
and provoked the Trojans by attack! so were she now dear to me and one
of my [587-620]company. But since bitter doom is upon her, up, glide
from heaven, O Nymph, and seek the Latin borders, where under evil omen
they join in baleful battle. Take these, and draw from the quiver an
avenging shaft; by it shall he pay me forfeit of his blood, whoso,
Trojan or Italian alike, shall sully her sacred body with a wound.
Thereafter will I in a sheltering cloud bear body and armour of the
hapless girl unspoiled to the tomb, and lay them in her native land. '
She spoke; but the other sped lightly down the aery sky, girt about with
dark whirlwind on her echoing way.

But meanwhile the Trojan force nears the walls, with the Etruscan
captains and their whole cavalry arrayed in ordered squadrons. Their
horses' trampling hoofs thunder on all the field, as, swerving this way
and that, they chafe at the reins' pressure; the iron field bristles
wide with spears, and the plain is aflame with uplifted arms. Likewise
Messapus and the Latin horse, and Coras and his brother, and maiden
Camilla's squadron, come forth against them on the plain, and draw back
their hands and level the flickering points of their long lances, in a
fire of neighing horses and advancing men. And now each had drawn within
javelin-cast of each, and drew up; with a sudden shout they dart forth,
and urge on their furious horses; from all sides at once weapons shower
thick like snow, and veil the sky with their shadow. In a moment
Tyrrhenus and fiery Aconteus charge violently with crossing spears, and
are the first to fall; they go down with a heavy crash, and their beasts
break and shatter chest upon chest. Aconteus, hurled off like a
thunderbolt or some mass slung from an engine, is dashed away, and
scatters his life in air.
Immediately the lines waver, and the Latins
wheeling about throw their shields behind them and turn their horses
towards the town. The Trojans pursue; Asilas heads and leads on
[621-653]their squadrons. And now they drew nigh the gates, and again
the Latins raise a shout and wheel their supple necks about; the
pursuers fly, and gallop right back with loosened rein: as when the sea,
running up in ebb and flow, now rushes shoreward and strikes over the
cliffs in a wave of foam, drenching the edge of the sand in its curving
sweep; now runs swirling back, and the surge sucks the rolling stones
away. Twice the Tuscans turn and drive the Rutulians towards the town;
twice they are repelled, and look back behind them from cover of their
shields. But when now meeting in a third encounter, the lines are locked
together all their length, and man singles out his man; then indeed,
amid groans of the dying, deep in blood roll armour and bodies, and
horses half slain mixed up with slaughtered men. The battle swells
fierce. Orsilochus hurled his spear at the horse of Remulus, whom
himself he shrank to meet, and left the steel in it under the ear; at
the stroke the charger rears madly, and, mastered by the wound, lifts
his chest and flings up his legs: the rider is thrown and rolls over on
the ground. Catillus strikes down Iollas, and Herminius mighty in
courage, mighty in limbs and arms, bareheaded, tawny-haired,
bare-shouldered; undismayed by wounds, he leaves his vast body open
against arms. Through his broad shoulders the quivering spear runs
piercing him through, and doubles him up with pain. Everywhere the dark
blood flows; they deal death with the sword in battle, and seek a noble
death by wounds.

But amid the slaughter Camilla rages, a quivered Amazon, with one side
stripped for battle, and now sends tough javelins showering from her
hand, now snatches the strong battle-axe in her unwearying grasp; the
golden bow, the armour of Diana, clashes on her shoulders; and even when
forced backward in retreat, she turns in flight and [654-691]aims darts
from her bow. But around her are her chosen comrades, maiden Larina,
Tulla, Tarpeia brandishing an axe inlaid with bronze, girls of Italy,
whom Camilla the bright chose for her own escort, good at service in
peace and war: even as Thracian Amazons when the streams of Thermodon
clash beneath them as they go to war in painted arms, whether around
Hippolyte, or while martial Penthesilea returns in her chariot, and the
crescent-shielded columns of women dance with loud confused cry. Whom
first, whom last, fierce maiden, does thy dart strike down? First
Euneus, son of Clytius; for as he meets her the long fir shaft crashes
through his open breast. He falls spouting streams of blood, and bites
the gory ground, and dying writhes himself upon his wound. Then Liris
and Pagasus above him; who fall headlong and together, the one thrown as
he reins up his horse stabbed under him, the other while he runs forward
and stretches his unarmed hand to stay his fall.