118Meanwhile the Rutulians press on round all the gates, to lay men low in slaughter and ring the walls with flames. 120But the legion of Aeneas' men is held shut in by the palisade, and there is no hope of escape. 121The wretched men stand on the high towers in vain and have ringed the walls in a thin circle: Asius son of Imbrasus, Thymoetes son of Hicetaon, the two Assaraci, and old Thymbris with Castor, the front rank; 125with these go both brothers of Sarpedon, Clarus and Thaemon, from high Lycia. 127Lyrnesian Acmon carries a huge rock, straining with his whole body, no small part of a mountain, no less a man than his father Clytius or his brother Menestheus.
130Some strive to defend with javelins, others with stones, and to hurl fire and fit arrows to the string. 132In their midst, look, is the Dardan boy himself, Venus' most rightful care, his handsome head uncovered, like a jewel that gleams set in tawny gold, an ornament for neck or head; 135or as ivory gleams, skilfully inlaid in boxwood or Orician terebinth; 137his milk-white neck receives his flowing hair, and a circlet of soft gold binds it beneath. 139You too, Ismarus, the great-hearted nations saw aiming wounds and arming shafts with poison, noble son of a Maeonian house, where men work the rich tilled fields and the Pactolus waters them with gold.
143Mnestheus was there too, whom the glory of having driven Turnus from the rampart of the walls the day before raises on high, and Capys: from him the name of the Campanian city is drawn.