Though pierced his shield, no shaft inflicts a wound.
Their missile darts th’ embattled Istrians throw,
But all are hurled in vain against their foe;
He pants, and sweats, and labours o’er the field,
The flying shafts no pause for breathing yield;
Smote by his sword or sling, th’ assailants fall
Within, or headlong thrust beyond the wall.”
“Even as the generous Steed, whose youthful force
Was oft victorious in th’ Olympic course,
Unfit, from age, to triumph in such fields,