The hero stood Adverse, with planted feet, and, from the right, Tugg’d at the solid stone with all his might.
He lifts, he turns, he poises, and admires The crested helm, that vomits radiant fires: His hands the fatal sword and corslet hold, One keen with temper’d steel, one stiff with gold: Both ample, flaming both, and beamy bright; So shines a cloud, when edg’d with adverse light.
He whirls his sword around, without delay, And hews thro’ adverse foes an ample way, To find fierce Turnus, of his conquest proud: Evander, Pallas, all that friendship ow’d To large deserts, are present to his eyes; His plighted hand, and hospitable ties.
As when loud Boreas, with his blust’ring train, Stoops from above, incumbent on the main; Where’er he flies, he drives the rack before, And rolls the billows on th’ Aegaean shore: So, where resistless Turnus takes his course, The scatter’d squadrons bend before his force; His crest of horses’ hair is blown behind By adverse air, and rustles in the wind.
As when two bulls for their fair female fight In Sila’s shades, or on Taburnus’ height; With horns adverse they meet; the keeper flies; Mute stands the herd; the heifers roll their eyes, And wait th’ event; which victor they shall bear, And who shall be the lord, to rule the lusty year: With rage of love the jealous rivals burn, And push for push, and wound for wound return; Their dewlaps gor’d, their sides are lav’d in blood; Loud cries and roaring sounds rebellow thro’ the wood: Such…