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.