Now round the lists the admiring armies stand, With javelins fix’d, the Greek and Trojan band. Amidst the dreadful vale, the chiefs advance, All pale with rage, and shake the threatening lance. The Trojan first his shining javelin threw; Full on Atrides’ ringing shield it flew, Nor pierced the brazen orb, but with a bound[122] Leap’d from the buckler, blunted, on the ground. Atrides then his massy lance prepares, In act to throw, but first prefers his prayers: