He said; the monarch issued his commands; Straight the loud heralds call the gathering bands; The chiefs inclose their king; the hosts divide, In tribes and nations rank’d on either side. High in the midst the blue-eyed virgin flies; From rank to rank she darts her ardent eyes; The dreadful ægis, Jove’s immortal shield, Blazed on her arm, and lighten’d all the field: Round the vast orb a hundred serpents roll’d, Form’d the bright fringe, and seem’d to burn in gold, With this each Grecian’s manly breast she warms, Swells their bold hearts, and strings their nervous arms, No more they sigh, inglorious, to return, But breathe revenge, and for the combat burn.