Aeneid

a doughty battle-axe; her shoulder bears

Diana's sounding arms and golden bow.

Sometimes retreating and to flight compelled,

the maiden with a rearward-pointing bow

shoots arrows as she flies. Around her move

her chosen peers, Larina, virgin brave,

Tarpeia, brandishing an axe of bronze,

and Tulla, virgins out of Italy

whom the divine Camilla chose to be

her glory, each a faithful servitress

in days of peace or war. The maids of Thrace

ride thus along Thermodon's frozen flood,

and fight with blazoned Amazonian arms

around Hippolyta; or when returns

Penthesilea in triumphal car

'mid acclamations shrill, and all her host

of women clash in air the moon-shaped shield.

What warrior first, whom last, did thy strong spear,

fierce virgin, earthward fling? Or what thy tale

of prostrate foes laid gasping on the ground?

Eunaeus first, the child of Clytius' Ioins,

whose bared breast, as he faced his foe, she pierced

with fir-tree javelin; from his lips outpoured

the blood-stream as he fell; and as he bit

the gory dust, he clutched his mortal wound.

Then Liris, and upon him Pagasus

she slew: the one clung closer to the reins

of his stabbed horse, and rolled off on the ground;

the other, flying to his fallen friend,

reached out a helpless hand; so both of these

fell on swift death together. Next in line

she smote Amastrus, son of Hippotas;

then, swift-pursuing, pierced with far-flung spear

Tereus, Harpalycus, Demophoon,

and Chromis; every shaft the virgin threw

laid low its Phrygian warrior. From afar

rode Ornytus on his Apulian steed,

bearing a hunter's uncouth arms; for cloak

he wore upon his shoulders broad a hide

from some wild bull stripped off; his helmet was

a wolf's great, gaping mouth, with either jaw

full of white teeth; the weapon in his hand,

a farmer's pole. He strode into the throng,

head taller than them all. But him she seized

and clove him through (his panic-stricken troop

gave her advantage), and with wrathful heart

she taunted thus the fallen: “Didst thou deem

this was a merry hunting in the wood

in chase of game? Behold, thy fatal day

befalls thee at a woman's hand, and thus

thy boasting answers. No small glory thou

unto the ghosts of thy dead sires wilt tell,

that 't was Camilla's javelin struck thee down.”

The turn of Butes and Orsilochus

came next, who were the Trojans, hugest twain:

yet Butes with her javelin-point she clove

from rearward, 'twixt the hauberk and the helm,

just where the horseman's neck showed white, and where

from shoulder leftward slung the light-weight shield.

From swift Orsilochus she feigned to fly,

through a wide circle sweeping, craftily

taking the inside track, pursuing so

her own pursuer; then she raised herself

to her full height, and through the warrior's helm

drove to his very skull with doubling blows

of her strong battle-axe,—while he implored

her mercy with loud prayers: his cloven brain

spilt o'er his face. Next in her pathway came—

but shrank in startled fear—the warrior son

of Aunus, haunter of the Apennine,

not least of the Ligurians ere his doom

cut short a life of lies. He, knowing well

no flight could save him from the shock of arms

nor turn the royal maid's attack, began

with words of cunning and insidious guile:

“What glory is it if a girl be bold,

on sturdy steed depending? Fly me not!

But, venturing with me on this equal ground,

gird thee to fight on foot. Soon shalt thou see

which one of us by windy boast achieves

a false renown.” He spoke; but she, to pangs

of keenest fury stung, gave o'er her steed

in charge of a companion, and opposed

her foe at equal vantage, falchion drawn,

on foot, and, though her shield no blazon bore,

of fear incapable. But the warrior fled,

thinking his trick victorious, and rode off

full speed, with reins reversed,—his iron heel

goading his charger's flight. Camilla cried:

“Ligurian cheat! In vain thy boastful heart

puffs thee so large; in vain thou hast essayed

thy father's slippery ways; nor shall thy trick

bring thee to guileful Aunus safely home.”

Herewith on winged feet that virgin bold

flew past the war-horse, seized the streaming rein,

and, fronting him, took vengeance on her foe

in bloody strokes: with not less ease a hawk,

dark bird of omen, from his mountain crag

pursues on pinions strong a soaring dove

to distant cloud, and, clutching with hooked claws,