On him the war is bent, the darts are shed, And all their falchions wave around his head: Repulsed he stands, nor from his stand retires; But with repeated shouts his army fires. “Trojans! be firm; this arm shall make your way Through yon square body, and that black array: Stand, and my spear shall rout their scattering power, Strong as they seem, embattled like a tower; For he that Juno’s heavenly bosom warms, The first of gods, this day inspires our arms.”