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the brothers Lucagus and Liger drove
into the heart of battle: Liger kept
with skilful hand the manage of the steeds;
bold Lucagus swung wide his naked sword.
Aeneas, by their wrathful brows defied,
brooked not the sight, but to the onset flew,
huge-looming, with adverse and threatening spear.
Cried Liger, “Not Achilles' chariot, ours!
Nor team of Diomed on Phrygia's plain!
The last of life and strife shall be thy meed
upon this very ground.” Such raving word
flowed loud from Liger's lip: not with a word
the Trojan hero answered him, but flung
his whirling spear; and even as Lucagus
leaned o'er the horses, goading them with steel,
and, left foot forward, gathered all his strength
to strike—the spear crashed through the under rim
of his resplendent shield and entered deep
in the left groin; then from the chariot fallen,
the youth rolled dying on the field, while thus
pious Aeneas paid him taunting words:
“O Lucagus, thy chariot did not yield
because of horses slow to fly, or scared
by shadows of a foe. It was thyself
leaped o'er the wheel and fled.” So saying, he grasped
the horses by the rein. The brother then,
spilled also from the car, reached wildly forth
his helpless hands: “O, by thy sacred head,
and by the parents who such greatness gave,
good Trojan, let me live! Some pity show
to prostrate me!” But ere he longer sued,
Aeneas cried, “Not so thy language ran
a moment gone! Die thou! Nor let this day
brother from brother part!” Then where the life
hides in the bosom, he thrust deep his sword.
Thus o'er the field of war the Dardan King
moved on, death-dealing: like a breaking flood
or cloudy whirlwind seemed his wrath. Straightway
the boy Ascanius from the ramparts came,
his warriors with him; for the siege had failed.
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