Thebais: Savaş Çağırıyor Beni

But already battle calls me: from a fresh source, Calliope, supply new vigour, and may a mightier Apollo attune my lyre! The day of doom brings nigh to the peoples the fatal hour of their own asking, and Death let loose from Stygian darkness exults in the air of heaven, and hovers in flight over the field of battle, and with black jaws gaping wide invites the heroes; nought vulgar doth he choose, but with bloody nail marks as victims those most worthy of life, in the prime of years or valour; and now all the Sisters' strands are broken for the wretched men, and the Furies have snatched the threads from the Fates. In the midst of the plain stands the War-god with spear yet dry, and turns his shield now against these, now against those, stirring up the fray and blotting out home and wife and child. Love of country is driven out, and love of the light, that lingers latest in the heart; rage holds their hands all ready on the sword-hilt and on the lance, the panting spirit strives beyond its corslet, and the helmets tremble beneath the quivering plumes. What wonder that the heroes are hot for battle? Horn-footed steeds are inflamed against the foe and bedew the crumbling earth with a snow-white shower, as though they were made one in body with their masters, and had put on their riders' rage: so champ they the bits, and neigh to join the fight, and rearing toss the horsemen backward.