Thence, burning, to Messapus' camp he speeds, Where faint the watch-fires flicker far away, And tethered on the herbage graze the steeds, When briefly thus speaks Nisus, fain to stay The lust of battle and mad thirst to slay: "Cease we; the light, our enemy, is near.
Vengeance is glutted; we have hewn our way." Bowls, solid silver armour here and there They leave behind untouched, and arras rich and rare.
XLVI.

The arms and belt of Rhamnes, bossed with gold, Which Caedicus, his friendship to attest, Sent to Tiburtine Remulus of old, Whose grandson took it, as a last bequest (Rutulians thence these spoils of war possessed)-- These trophies seized Euryalus, and braced The useless trappings on his valorous breast, And on his head Messapus' helm he placed, Light and with graceful plumes; and from the camp they haste.
XLVII.

Meanwhile from out Laurentum rides a train With news of Turnus, while the main array With marshalled ranks is lingering on the plain, Three hundred shieldsmen Volscens' lead obey.
Now to the ramparts they have found their way, When lo, to leftward, hurrying from their raid, They mark the youths amid the twilight grey.
His glittering helm Euryalus betrayed, That flashed the moonbeams back, and pierced the glimmering shade.
XLVIII.

Nor passed the sight unheeded.

Shrill and loud "Stand, who are ye in armour dight, and why?
What make ye there ?" cries Volscens from the crowd, "And whither wend ye ?" Naught the youths reply, But swiftly to the bordering forest fly, And trust to darkness.