she cried,
"Come here, and die! Camilla claims her fee.
Must Cynthia waste her shafts on worthless knaves like thee?"

CVIII. Plucking the arrow from her case, she drew
The bow, full-stretched, till both the horns unite.
Both arms raised level, ere the missile flew,
Her left hand touched the iron point, the right,
Pressed to her nipple, strained the bow-string tight.
He hears the arrow whistle as it flies,
And feels the wound. Sweeping on amain, [word missing]
Forsakes him. Groaning, with a gasp, he dies.
Upsoars the gladdening Nymph, and seeks the Olympian skies.

CIX. First flies Camilla's troop, their mistress slain,
Then, routed, the Rutulian ranks give way,
And fierce Atinas gallops from the plain,
And scattered chiefs and squadrons in dismay
Spur towards the town for shelter from the fray.
None dares that murderous onset of the foe
To stem with javelins, nor their charge to stay.
Slack from their fainting shoulders hangs the bow,
The clattering horse-hoofs shake the crumbling ground below.

CX. Dark rolls the dust-cloud, to the town-walls driven,
And mothers on the watch-towers, pale with fear,
Smite on their breasts, and shriek aloud to heaven.
These, bursting in, their foemen in the rear
Crush in the crowd, and slaughter with the spear,
Slain in the gateway--miserably slain!--
Their walls in sight, their happy homes so near.
Those bar the gates, while comrades on the plain
Stretch their imploring hands, and call to them in vain.

CXI. Then piteous waxed the carnage by the gate,
Some storming, some defending. These without,
In sight of parents, weeping at their fate,
Roll down the moat, swept headlong by the rout,
Or charge the battered doorposts with a shout.
The very matrons, at their country's call,
Their javelins hurl. Charr'd stakes and oak-staves stout
Serve them for swords. Forth rush they, one and all,
Fir'd by Camilla's deeds, to save the town or fall.

CXII. Meanwhile to Turnus, in the woods afar,
Came Acca, and the bitter news made plain,
And told the chief the tumult of the war,--
The panic and the rout--the Volscian train
Swept from the battle, and Camilla slain.
The foemen, flushed with conquest, far and near
In hot pursuit, and sweeping on amain,
And all the city now aghast with fear:--
Such was the dolorous tale that filled the warrior's ear