“Exadius cried: ‘Unpunish’d shall not go, This fact, if arms are found against the foe. He look’d about, where on a pine were spread The votive horns of a stag’s branching head: At Grineus these he throws; so just they fly, That the sharp antlers stuck in either eye: Breathless and blind he fell, with blood besmear’d; His eyeballs, beaten out, hung dangling on his beard. Fierce Rhaetus from the hearth a burning brand Selects, and whirling waves, till from his hand The fire took flame, then dash’d it on the right, On fair Charaxus’ temples, near the sight: The whistling pest came on, and pierced the bone, And caught the yellow hair, that shrivell’d while it shone: Caught, like dry stubble fired, or like seerwood; Yet from the wound ensued no purple flood, But look’d a bubbling mass of frying blood. His blazing locks sent forth a crackling sound, And hiss’d, like red-hot iron within the smithy drown’d. The wounded warrior shook his flaming hair; Then (what a team of horse could hardly rear) He heaves the threshold stone, but could not throw;