When first his steeds were harnessed for the war, In haste he snatched Metiscus' sword, 'tis said, His sire's forgotten, as he climbed the car, And well enough that weapon served his stead, To smite the stragglers, while the Trojans fled; But when it met, and countered in the fray The arms of Vulcan, then the mortal blade, Found faithless, like the brittle ice, gave way, And in the yellow sand the sparkling fragments lay.
XCVII.

So Turnus flies, and, doubling, but in vain, Now here, now there, weaves many an aimless round; For all about him, as he scours the plain, The swarming legions of the foe are found, And here the marsh, and there the bulwarks bound.
Nor less AEneas, though his stiff knee feels The rankling arrow, and the hampering wound Retards his pace, pursues him, as he wheels, And dogs the flying foe, and presses on his heels.
XCVIII.

As when some stag, a river in his face, Or toils with scarlet feathers, set to scare, A huntsman with his braying hounds doth chase.
Awed by the steep bank and the threatening snare, A thousand ways he doubles here and there; But the keen Umbrian, all agape, is by, Now grasps,--now holds him,--and now thinks to tear, And snaps his teeth on nothing; and a cry Rings back from shore and stream, and rolls along the sky.
XCIX.

Chiding by name his comrades, as he flies, Fierce Turnus for his trusty sword doth cry.
Nor less AEneas with his threat defies, "Stand off," he shouts, "who ventures to draw nigh, His town shall perish, and himself shall die." Onward, though maimed, he presses to his prey.
Twice five times circling round the field they fly; For no mean stake or sportive prize they play, Lo, Turnus' life and blood are wagered in the fray.
C.

A wilding olive on the sward had stood, Sacred to Faunus.