There at the very edge of the front gates springs Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, prancing in arms, aflash in his

shimmering brazen sheath like a snake buried the whole winter long under frozen turf, swollen to bursting, fed full on poisonous weeds and now it springs into light, sloughing its old skin to glisten sleek in its newfound youth, its back slithering, coiling, its proud chest rearing high to the sun, its triple tongue flickering through its fangs. (II.

Like a snake caught, as they often are, on a causeway, crushed by a bronze wheel or heavy rock flung by a travelertrampled, left half-dead, trying to slip away, writing in gnarled coils, no hope. Part fighting mad, its eyes blazing, its hissing head puffed highpart crippled, wounds cutting its pace, struggling in knots, twitching, twisting round itself. So the ship limped in, oars laboring, slowly, and still she spreads her sails and enters the harbor, canvas taut. (V.

Down from his chariot Turnus vaulted, nerved to attack the enemy face-to-face on foot. Like some lion that spots from his high lookout,

far off on the plain and flexing for combat there, an immense bull, and the lion plunges toward his kill and that is the image of Turnus coming on for battle. (X.

like a famished lion stalking the cattle pens for prey, for the hunger will often drive him mad, just let him spot some goat on the run or a stags antlers branching high: his big jaws gape at the sport, his mane bristles, then a pouncing assault! and he clenches his quarrys flesh as the sopping gore soaks his ruthless mawjust so Mezentius pounces hotly onto the enemy masses. (X.724-30).

Think of the lion ranging the fields near Carthage, the beast wont move into battle till he takes a deep wound in his chest from the hunters, then he revels in combat, tossing the rippling mane on his neck he snaps the spear some stalker drove in his flesh and roars from bloody jaws, without a fear in the world. So Turnus blazes up into full explosive fury (XII.4-10).

like a wolfpack out for blood on a foggy night, driven blindly on by relentless, rabid hunger, leaving cubs behind, waiting, jaws parched

so through spears, through enemy ranks we plow to certain death, striking into the citys heart, the shielding wings of the darkness beating round us. (II.

Like Diana urging her dancing troupes along the Eruotas banks or up Mount Cyntus ridge as a thousand mountain-nymphs crowd in behind her, left and rightwith quiver slung from her shoulder, taller than any other goddess as she goes striding on and silent Latona thrills with joy too deep for words. Like Dido now, striding triumphant among her people, spurring on the work of their kingdom still to come. (1.498-505).

the Trojan hero heaved in a churning sea of anguish, his thoughts racing here, there, probing his options, shifting to this plan, thatas quick as flickering light thrown off by water in bronze bowls reflects the sun or radiant moon, now flittering near and far, now rising to strike a ceilings gilded fretwork. (8.20-25) pondering future war

As the Trojan hero paused beside her, recognized her through the shadows, a dim, misty figureas one

when the month is young may see or seem to see the new moon rising up through banks of clouds (6.451-54)

his streaming hair braided with pliant laurel leaves entwined in twists of gold, and arrows clash on his shoulders. So no less swiftly Aeneas strides forward now and his face shines with a glory like the gods. (4.48-52)