But Sire Aeneas, hearing Turnus' name,down the steep rampart from the citadelunlingering tried, all lesser task laid by,with joy exultant and dread-thundering arms.Like Athos' crest he loomed, or soaring topof Eryx, when the nodding oaks resound,or sovereign Apennine that lifts in air his forehead of triumphant snow. All eyesof Troy, Rutulia, and Italy were fixed his way; and all who kept a guardon lofty rampart, or in siege belowwere battering the foundations, now laid bytheir implements and arms. Latinus toostood awestruck to behold such champions, bornin lands far-sundered, met upon one fieldfor one decisive stroke of sword with sword.Swift striding forth where spread the vacant plain,they hurled their spears from far; then in close fightthe brazen shields rang. Beneath their treadEarth groaned aloud, as with redoubling blowstheir falchions fell; nor could a mortal eye'twixt chance and courage the dread work divide.As o'er Taburnus' top, or spacious hillsof Sila, in relentless shock of war,two bulls rush brow to brow, while terror-palethe herdsmen fly; the herd is hushed with fear;the heifers dumbly marvel which shall betrue monarch of the grove, whom all the kineobedient follow; but the rival twain,commingling mightily wound after wound,thrust with opposing horns, and bathe their necksin streams of blood; the forest far and widerepeats their bellowing rage: not otherwiseTrojan Aeneas and King Daunus' sonclashed shield on shield, till all the vaulted skyfelt the tremendous sound. The hand of Joveheld scales in equipoise, and threw thereonth' 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 palecried mightily, and all eyes turned one wayexpectant. But the weak, perfidious swordbroke off, and as the blow descended, failedits furious master, whose sole succor nowwas flight; and swifter than the wind he flew.But, lo! a hilt of form and fashion strangelay 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 enduredto strike at Trojan backs, as he pursued,but when on Vulcan's armory divineits earthly metal smote, the brittle bladebroke off like ice, and o'er the yellow sandsin flashing fragments scattered. Turnus nowtakes mad flight o'er the distant plain, and windsin wavering gyration round and round;for Troy's close ring confines him, and one waya wide swamp lies, one way a frowning wall.