agasus she slew,
One, flung to earth, and gathering up the rein,
His charger stabbed, the other, as he flew
To aid, and reached his helpless hands in vain,
Amastrus, son of Hippotas, was slain;
Harpalycus, Demophoon, as they fled,
The dread spear caught, and stretched upon the plain,
Tereus and Chromis. For each shaft that sped,
Launched from her maiden hand, a Phrygian foe lay dead.

LXXXVII. On Iapygian steed, in arms unknown,
Rode Ornytus, the huntsman. A rough hide,
Stript from a bullock, o'er his back was thrown.
A wolf's huge jaws, with glittering teeth, supplied
His helmet, and a rustic pike he plied.
Him, as he towered, the tallest in the fray,
Wheeling his steed, Camilla unespied
Caught--in the rout 'twas easy--and her prey
Pinned, with unpitying spear, and jeered him as he lay.

LXXXVIII. "Ha, Tuscan! thought'st thou 'twas the chase? Thy day
Hath come; a woman shall thy vaunts belie.
Yet take this glory to the grave, and say
'Twas I, the great Camilla, made thee die."
She spake, and smote Orsilochus close by,
And Butes, hugest of the Trojan crew.
First Butes falls; just where the neck doth lie,
'Twixt casque and corslet, naked to the view,
And leftward droops the shield, the fatal barb goes through.

LXXXIX. Chased by Orsilochus, afar she wheels
Her seeming flight, wide-circling to and fro,
Till, doubling in a narrower ring, she steals
Inside, and follows on the following foe.
Then, rising steep, while vainly in his woe
He pleads for pity, and entreats her grace,
She swings the battle-axe, and blow on blow
On head and riven helmet heaps apace,
And the hot brains and blood are spattered o'er his face.

XC. Next crossed her path, but stood aghast to see,
The son of Aunus, from the mountain-seat
Of Apennine. No mean Ligurian he,
While Fate was kind, and prospered his deceit.
Fearful of death, and hopeless to retreat,
He tries if cunning can avail his need,
And cries aloud, "Good sooth, a wondrous feat!
A woman trusts for glory to her steed.
Come down; fight fair afoot, and take the braggart's meed!"

XCI. Down leaps the maid in fury, and her steed
Hands to a comrade, and with arms matched fair,
And dauntless heart, confronts him on the mead,
Her shield unblazoned, and her falchion bare.
He, vainly glorying in his fancied snare,
Reins roun