Driven by blows, ten times repeated, The enemy force has retreated, And in the uncertain fight Drifts away towards the right, So defusing all the force Of their army's sinister course. Our phalanx with its spears tightening Moves to the right, and like lightening Strikes them in the weakest place: Now like the storm-driven waves They roar, with opposing force, Wildly on their dual course: Gloriously all sound dies away, And victory is ours, I'd say!
