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There as they huddle and retire
Back to the part which 'scapes the fire,
Sudden the o'erweighted mass gives way,
And falling, shakes the sky.
Heavily to the ground they come
In piteous ruin trailed,
Some pierced with falling fragments, some
On their own darts impaled.
Unhurt, Helenor, sole of all,
And Lycus issue from the fall:
Helenor, whom Licymnia bare
To Lydia's king, a captive fair,
And sent herself her blooming boy
In interdicted arms to Troy,
Trained up a naked sword to wield
And bear a blank unblazoned shield.
Soon as the Rutule hosts he found
And Turnus' squadrons close him round,
As beast by hunter crowds beset
Makes furious war on dart and net,
Full at the throat of danger flies,
And spiked on serried javelins dies,
So leaps the warrior on the foe
Where storms of iron deadliest blow.
Not so young Lycus: swifter far
He threads the windings of the war,
Gripes the high wall with talon clutch,
And strives his comrades' hands to touch.
With speed of foot and javelin's throw
Fierce Turnus follows on the foe:
'Poor fool! couldst hope' the conqueror cries
'To baffle Turnus of his prize?'
Then grasps him hanging, and withal
Plucks down a bulwark from the wall:
So Jove's fell bird bears off in air
A snow-white swan or timorous hare: