“But hope not thou,” said Turnus, “when I strike, To shun thy fate: our force is not alike, Nor thy steel temper’d by the Lemnian god.” Then rising, on his utmost stretch he stood, And aim’d from high: the full descending blow Cleaves the broad front and beardless cheeks in two. Down sinks the giant with a thund’ring sound: His pond’rous limbs oppress the trembling ground; Blood, brains, and foam gush from the gaping wound: Scalp, face, and shoulders the keen steel divides, And the shar’d visage hangs on equal sides. The Trojans fly from their approaching fate; And, had the victor then secur’d the gate, And to his troops without unclos’d the bars, One lucky day had ended all his wars. But boiling youth, and blind desire of blood, Push’d on his fury, to pursue the crowd. Hamstring’d behind, unhappy Gyges died; Then Phalaris is added to his side. The pointed jav’lins from the dead he drew, And their friends’ arms against their fellows threw. Strong Halys stands in vain; weak Phlegys flies; Saturnia, still at hand, new force and fire supplies. Then Halius, Prytanis, Alcander fall— Engag’d against the foes who scal’d the wall: But, whom they fear’d without, they found within. At last, tho’ late, by Lynceus he was seen. He calls new succours, and assaults the prince: But weak his force, and vain is their defence. Turn’d to the right, his sword the hero drew, And at one blow the bold aggressor slew. He joints the neck; and, with a stroke so strong, The helm flies off, and bears the head along. Next him, the huntsman Amycus he kill’d, In darts envenom’d and in poison skill’d. Then Clytius fell beneath his fatal spear, And Creteus, whom the Muses held so dear: He fought with courage, and he sung the fight; Arms were his bus’ness, verses his delight. The Trojan chiefs behold, with rage and grief, Their slaughter’d friends, and hasten their relief. Bold Mnestheus rallies first the broken train, Whom brave Seresthus and his troop sustain. To save the living, and revenge the dead, Against one warrior’s arms all Troy they led. “O, void of sense and courage!” Mnestheus cried, “Where can you hope your coward heads to hide? Ah! where beyond these rampires can you run? One man, and in your camp inclos’d, you shun! Shall then a single sword such slaughter boast, And pass unpunish’d from a num’rous host? Forsaking honour, and renouncing fame, Your gods, your country, and your king you shame!” This just reproach their virtue does excite: They stand, they join, they thicken to the fight.