LVIII.

After the feast of wine and the banquet of mead, Enriched with the first fruits of slaughter, The mother of Spoliation, {159e} Was the energetic Eidol; {159f} He honoured the mount of the van, {160a} In the presence of Victory. The hovering ravens, Ascend in the sky; {160b} The foremost spearmen around him thicken, {160c} Like a crop of green barley, {160d} Without the semblance of a retreat. Warriors in wonder shake their javelins, With pouting and pallid lips, Caused by the keenness of the destructive sword; From the front of the banquet, deprived of sleep They vigorously spring forth, {161a} upon the awaking Of the mother {161b} of the Lance, the leader of the din.