Brave Messapus leads The van, the sons of Tyrrheus close the rear, And Turnus in mid column shakes his spear.
Slow moves the host, as when his seven-fold head Great Ganges lifts in silence, calm and clear, Or Nile, whose flood the fruitful soil hath fed, Ebbs from the fattened fields, and hides him in his bed.
V.

Far off, the Teucrians from their camp descried The gathering dust-cloud on the plains appear.
Then brave Caicus from a bastion cried, "What dark mass, rolling towards us, have we here?
Arm, townsmen, arm! Bring quick the sword and spear, And mount the battlements, and man the wall.
The foemen, ho!" And with a mighty cheer The Teucrians, hurrying at the warning call, Pour in through all the gates, and muster on the wall.
VI.

So, parting, wise AEneas gave command, Should chance surprise them, with their chief away, To shun the field, nor battle hand to hand, But safe behind their sheltering earthworks stay, And, guarding wall and rampart, stand at bay.
So now, though passion and indignant hate Prompt to engage, his mandate they obey, And bar each inlet, and secure each gate, And, armed, in sheltering towers their enemies await.
VII.

Turnus, with twenty horsemen, left the rest To lag behind, and near the town-gate drew All unforeseen.

A Thracian steed he pressed, Dappled with white; a crest of scarlet hue High o'er his golden helmet flamed in view.
Loudly he shrills in anger to his train, "Who first with me will at the foemen--who?
See there!" and, rising hurls his spear amain, Sign of the fight begun, and pricks along the plain.
VIII.