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upreached his whole height to his lifted sword,
and struck: the Trojans and the Latins pale
cried mightily, and all eyes turned one way
expectant. But the weak, perfidious sword
broke off, and as the blow descended, failed
its furious master, whose sole succor now
was flight; and swifter than the wind he flew.
But, lo! a hilt of form and fashion strange
lay in his helpless hand. For in his haste,
when to the battle-field his team he drove,
his father's sword forgotten (such the tale),
he snatched Metiscus' weapon. This endured
to strike at Trojan backs, as he pursued,
but when on Vulcan's armory divine
its earthly metal smote, the brittle blade
broke off like ice, and o'er the yellow sands
in flashing fragments scattered. Turnus now
takes mad flight o'er the distant plain, and winds
in wavering gyration round and round;
for Troy's close ring confines him, and one way
a wide swamp lies, one way a frowning wall.
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