For AEneas forth is led The choicest, with a tawny lion's hide, All glittering with gilded claws, bespread.
Now rumour through the little town hath sped, Of horsemen for the Tuscan king, with spear And shield for battle.

Mothers, pale with dread, Heap vows on vows.

The War-god, drawing near, Looms larger, and more close to danger draws the fear.
LXXIV.

Then cries Evander, clinging, and with tears Insatiate, loth to see his Pallas go, "Ah! would but Jove bring back the bygone years, As when beneath Praeneste long ago I strowed the van, and laid their mightiest low, And burned their shields, and with this hand to Hell Hurled down King Erulus, the monstrous foe, To whom Feronia, terrible to tell, Three lives had given, and thrice to battle ere he fell.
LXXV.

"Twice up he rose, but thrice I slew the slain, Thrice of his life I robbed him, till he died, Thrice stripped his arms.