Then around each way The horsemen ride, all outlet to deny; Circling, like huntsmen, closely as they may, They watch the well-known turns, and wait the expected prey.
XLIX.

Shagg'd with rough brakes and sable ilex, spread The wood, and, glimmering in the twilight grey, Through broken tracks a narrow pathway led.
The shadowy boughs, the cumbrous spoils delay Euryalus, and fear mistakes the way.
Nisus, unheeding, through the foemen flies, And gains the place,--called Alba now--where lay Latinus' pastures; then with back-turned eyes Stands still, and seeks in vain his absent friend, and cries: L.

"Where, in what quarter, have I left thee?
Where, Euryalus, shall I follow thee?
What clue Shall trace the mazes of this silvan snare, The tangled path unravelling ?" Back he flew, Picking his footsteps with observant view, And roamed the silent brushwood.

Steeds he hears, The noise, the signs of foemen who pursue.
A moment more, and, bursting on his ears, There came a shout, and lo, Euryalus appears.
LI.

Him, in false ways, amid the darkness, ta'en, The gathering band with sudden rush o'erbear.
Poor Nisus sees him struggling, but in vain.
What should he do?
By force of arms how dare His friend to rescue?
Shall he face them there, And rush upon the foemen's swords, to die, And welcome wounds that win a death so fair?
His spear he poises, and with upturned eye And stalwart arm drawn back, invokes the Moon on high: LII.