and rushed on them, and took And drave away large prey of beeves, and flocks Of fair white sheep, whose keepers they had slain. When the besiegers in their council heard The sound of tumult at the watering-place, They sprang upon their nimble-footed steeds, And overtook the pillagers. Both bands Arrayed their ranks and fought beside the stream, And smote each other. There did Discord rage, And Tumult, and the great Destroyer, Fate. One wounded warrior she had seized alive, And one unbounded yet, and through the field Dragged by the foot another, dead. Her robe Was reddened o’er the shoulders with the blood From human veins. Like living men they ranged The battle-field, and dragged by turns the slain.
There too he sculptured a broad fallow field Of soft rich mould, thrice ploughed, and over which Walked many a ploughman, guiding to and fro His steers, and when on their return they reached The border of the field the master came To meet them, placing in the hands of each A goblet of rich wine. Then turned they back Along the furrows, diligent to reach Their distant end. All dark behind the plough The ridges lay, a marvel to the sight, Like real furrows, though engraved in gold.
There, too, the artist