But Sire Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name, down the steep rampart from the citadel unlingering tried, all lesser task laid by, with joy exultant and dread-thundering arms. Like Athos ' crest he loomed, or soaring top of Eryx , when the nodding oaks resound, or sovereign Apennine that lifts in air his forehead of triumphant snow. All eyes of Troy , Rutulia, and Italy 
 were fixed his way; and all who kept a guard on lofty rampart, or in siege below were battering the foundations, now laid by their implements and arms. Latinus too stood awestruck to behold such champions, born in lands far-sundered, met upon one field for one decisive stroke of sword with sword. Swift striding forth where spread the vacant plain, they hurled their spears from far; then in close fight the brazen shields rang. Beneath their tread Earth groaned aloud, as with redoubling blows their falchions fell; nor could a mortal eye 'twixt chance and courage the dread work divide. As o'er Taburnus' top, or spacious hills of Sila, in relentless shock of war, two bulls rush brow to brow, while terror-pale the herdsmen fly; the herd is hushed with fear; the heifers dumbly marvel which shall be true monarch of the grove, whom all the kine obedient follow; but the rival twain, commingling mightily wound after wound, thrust with opposing horns, and bathe their necks in streams of blood; the forest far and wide repeats their bellowing rage: not otherwise Trojan Aeneas and King Daunus' son clashed shield on shield, till all the vaulted sky felt the tremendous sound. The hand of Jove held scales in equipoise, and threw thereon th' unequal fortunes of the heroes twain: one to vast labors doomed and one to die. Soon Turnus, reckless of the risk, leaped forth, upreached his whole height to his lifted sword, and struck: the Trojans and the Latins pale cried mightily, and all eyes turned one way expectant. But the weak, perfidious sword broke off, and as the blow descended, failed its furious master, whose sole succor now was flight; and swifter than the wind he flew. But, lo! a hilt of form and fashion strange lay in his helpless hand. For in his haste, when to the battle-field his team he drove, his father's sword forgotten (such the tale), he snatched Metiscus' weapon. This endured to strike at Trojan backs, as he pursued, but when on Vulcan's armory divine its earthly metal smote, the brittle blade broke off like ice, and o'er the yellow sands in flashing fragments scattered. Turnus now takes mad flight o'er the distant plain, and winds in wavering gyration round and round; for Troy 's close ring confines him, and one way a wide swamp lies, one way a frowning wall.