Of these Helenor,--whom to Lydia's lord By stealth his slave, the fair Licymnia, bore, And sent to Ilium, where a simple sword And plain, white shield, yet unrenowned, he wore,-- He, when he sees, around him and before, The Latin hosts, as when in fierce disdain, Hemmed round by huntsmen, in his rage the boar O'erleaps the spears, so, where the thickest rain The foemen's darts, springs forth Helenor to be slain.
LXXI.

But fleeter far, young Lycus hastes to slip Through swords, through foes, and gains the walls, and tries To climb them, and a comrade's hand to grip.
With foot and spear behind him, as he flies, Comes Turnus.

Scornfully the victor cries, "Mad fool! to fly, whom I have doomed to fall; Think'st thou to baffle Turnus of his prize ?" Therewith he grasps him hanging, and withal Down with his victim drags huge fragments of the wall.
LXXII.

E'en so some snowy swan, or timorous hare Jove's armour-bearer, swooping from the sky, Grips in his talons, and aloft doth bear.
So, where apart the folded weanlings lie, Swift at some lamb the warrior-wolf doth fly, And leaves the mother, bleating in her woe.
Loud rings the noise of battle.

With a cry The foe press on; these fill the trench below, These to the topmost towers the blazing firebrands throw.
LXXIII.