{ Hurrying to war, disordered in his mind,
{ Snatched the first weapon which his haste could find.
'Twas not the fated sword his father bore,
But that his charioteer Metiscus wore.
This, while the Trojans fled, the toughness held:
But, vain against the great Vulcanian shield,
The mortal-tempered steel deceived his hand:
The shivered fragments shone amid the sand.
Surprised with fear, he fled along the field,
And now forthright, and now in orbits wheeled: