Virgil

But the trumpet with brazen song rang out afar its fearful call; a shout follows and the sky re-echoes.

Chance joins with force to guide the steel.

Valiant of tongue, though his hand was cold for battle.

The hoofs of horses, with a rattling sound,

Beat short and thick, and shake the rotten ground.

Mine is a heart that scorns the light, and believes that the glory that you strive for is cheaply bought with life.

How each man weaves

his web will bring him to glory or to grief.

Dying, he slew; and, staggering on the plain,

With swimming eyes he sought his lover slain;

Then quiet on his bleeding bosom fell,

Content, in death, to be revenged so well.

Hammer away with all your rhetoric.

Jupiter himself upholds two scales in even balance, and lays therein the diverse destinies of both, whom the strife dooms, and with whose weight death sinks down.

The picture of filial love touched his soul.

Thus all are ruled by one passion, to let the sword decide.

Do the gods, Euryalus, put this fire in our hearts, or does his own wild longing become to each man a god?