(15) In numbers few 'Gainst foemen numberless by land and sea, They wage the desperate fight; then satiate Turn from the foe.

And first demanding death Volteius bared his throat.

"What youth," he cries, "Dares strike me down, and through his captain's wounds Attest his love for death ?" Then through his side Plunge blades uncounted on the moment drawn.
He praises all: but him who struck the first Grateful, with dying strength, he does to death.
They rush together, and without a foe Work all the guilt of battle.

Thus of yore, Rose up the glittering Dircaean band From seed by Cadmus sown, and fought and died, Dire omen for the brother kings of Thebes.
And so in Phasis' fields the sons of earth, Born of the sleepless dragon, all inflamed By magic incantations, with their blood Deluged the monstrous furrow, while the Queen Feared at the spells she wrought.

Devoted thus To death, they fall, yet in their death itself Less valour show than in the fatal wounds They take and give; for e'en the dying hand Missed not a blow -- nor did the stroke alone Inflict the wound, but rushing on the sword Their throat or breast received it to the hilt; And when by fatal chance or sire with son, Or brothers met, yet with unfaltering weight Down flashed the pitiless sword: this proved their love, To give no second blow.