Page:The Aeneid of Virgil JOHN CONINGTON 1917 V2.pdf/273

But in another part of the field, where a torrent had
scattered wide whirling stones and trees uprooted from its
banks, soon as Pallas saw his Arcadians, unused to wage
war on foot, flying before the chase of Latium, in that the
cragginess of the soil had driven them to discard their 5
steeds, he tries the one remedy in sore distress, and now
with prayers, now with bitter speeches, inflames their
valour: "Whither fly ye, mates? By your gallant deeds
I conjure you—by your chief Evander's name and victories
won at his bidding—by my own promise, now 10
shooting up in rivalry with my father's glory—trust not
to your feet. It is the sword that must hew us a way
through the foe. Where yonder host of men presses in
thickest mass is the path by which our noble country is
calling you and your general Pallas back to her arms. 15
No deities sit heavy on us: by a mortal foe we are pressed,
mortals ourselves: we have as many lives, as many hands
as they. Lo there! the sea hems us in with mighty
ocean-barrier; earth is closed to our flight: shall the sea
or Troy be our goal?" This said, he dashes at the midst 20
of the hostile throng. The first that meets him is Lagus,
brought to the spot by fates unkind; him, while tugging
a stone of enormous weight, he pierces with his whirled
javelin, just where the spine running down the back was
parting the ribs, and recovers the weapon from its lodgment 25
among the bones. Nor can Hisbo surprise him in
the fact, spite of his hopes; for Pallas catches him rushing
on in blind fury for the pain of his comrade's death,
and buries the sword in his distended lungs. Next his
blow lights on Sthenelus, and Anchemolus of Rhœtus' 30
ancient line, who dared pollute his stepdame's couch.
You, too, twin brethren, fell on those Rutulian plains,
Larides and Thymber, Daucus' resemblant offspring, undistinguished
even by your kin, a sweet perplexity to
those who bore you: but now Pallas has marked you with 35
a cruel difference; for you, poor Thymber, have your
head shorn off by the Evandrian sword; your hand,
Larides, severed from the arm, is looking in vain for you