Forth, spouts the blood from every vein,
And deluges with crimson rain
Green earth and broidered bed.
Then Lamyrus and Lamus died,
Serranus too, in youth's fair pride:
That night had seen him long at play:
Now by the dream-god tamed he lay:
Ah! had his play but matched the night,
Nor ended till the dawn of light!
So famished lion uncontrolled
Makes havoc through the teeming fold,
As frantic hunger craves;
Mangling and harrying far and near
The meek mild victims, mute with fear,
With gory jaws he raves.
Nor less Euryalus performs:
The thirst of blood his bosom warms;
'Mid nameless multitudes he storms,
Herbesus, Fadus, Abaris kills
Slumbering and witless of their ills,
While Rhœtus wakes and sees the whole,
But hides behind a massy bowl.
There, as to rise the trembler strove,
Deep in his breast the sword he drove,
And bathed in death withdrew.
The lips disgorge the life's red flood,
A mingled stream of wine and blood:
He plies his blade anew.
Now turns he to Messapus' band,
For there the fires he sees
Burnt out, while coursers hard at hand
Are browsing at their ease,
When Nisus marks the excess of zeal,
The maddening ever[errata 1] of the steel,
And checks him thus with brief appeal:
'Forbear we now; 'twill soon be day:
Our wrath is slaked, and hewn our way.'
