He spake, and hurled his brazen spear to smite The dreadful shield, a terror in men’s eyes; That mighty buckler rang with the strong blow. Achilles, as it came, held forth his shield With nervous arm far from him, for he feared That the long javelin of his valiant foe Might pierce it. Idle fear; he had not thought That the bright armor given him by the gods Not easily would yield to force of man. Nor could the rapid spear that left the hand Of brave Aeneas pierce the shield; the gold, The gift of Vulcan, stopped it. Through two folds It went, but three remained; for Vulcan’s skill Fenced with five folds the disk⁠—the outer two Of brass, the inner two of tin; between Was one of gold, and there the brazen spear Was stayed. And then in turn Achilles threw His ponderous spear, and struck the orbèd shield Borne by Aeneas near the upper edge, Where thinnest was the brass and thinnest lay The bullock’s hide. The Pelian ash broke through; The buckler crashed; Aeneas, stooping low, Held it above him, terrified; the spear, Tearing both plate and hide of that huge shield,