Or pour his arrows thro’ the embattled field:
From Ida torn, he left his Sylvan cave,
And sought a foreign home, a distant grave.
To watch the movements of the Daunian host,
With him Euryalus sustains the post;
No lovelier mien adorn’d the ranks of Troy,
And beardless bloom yet graced the gallant boy;
Tho’ few the seasons of his youthful life,
As yet a novice in the martial strife,
’Twas his, with beauty, valour’s gifts to share—