From ancient Corythus had Acron come, a Greek, who left half-sung his wedding-song, and was an exile; him Mezentius saw among long lines of foes, with flaunting plumes and purple garments from his plighted spouse. Then as a starving lion when he prowls about high pasture-lands, urged on his way by maddening hunger (if perchance he see a flying she-goat or tall-antlered stag) lifts up his shaggy mane, and gaping wide his monstrous jaws, springs at the creature's side, feeding foul-lipped, insatiable of gore: so through his gathered foes Mezentius flew at his prey. He stretched along the ground ill-fated Acron, who breathed life away, beating the dark dust with his heels, and bathed his broken weapons in his blood. Nor deigned Mezentius to strike Orodes down as he took flight, nor deal a wound unseen with far-thrown spear; but ran before his face, fronting him man to man, nor would he win by sleight or trick, but by a mightier sword. Soon on the fallen foe he set his heel, and, pushing hard, with heel and spear, cried out: “Look ye, my men, where huge Orodes lies, himself a dangerous portion of this war!” With loyal, Ioud acclaim his peers reply; but thus the dying hero: “Victor mine, whoe'er thou art, I fall not unavenged! Thou shalt but triumph for a fleeting hour. Like doom for thee is written. Speedily thou shalt this dust inhabit, even as I!” Mezentius answered him with wrathful smile: “Now die! What comes on me concerns alone the Sire of gods and Sovereign of mankind.” So saying, from the wounded breast he plucked his javelin: and on those eyes there fell inexorable rest and iron slumber, and in unending night their vision closed. Then Caedicus cut down Alcathous, Sacrator slew Hydaspes, Rapo smote Parthenius and Orses stout and strong; Messapus, good blade cut down Clonius and Ericetes, fierce Lycaon's child; the one from an unbridled war-horse thrown, the other slain dismounted. Then rode forth Agis the Lycian, but bold Valerus, true to his valiant breeding, hurled him down; having slain Thronius, Salius was slain by skilled Nealces, of illustrious name for spear well cast and far-surprising bow. Thus Mars relentless holds in equal scale slaughters reciprocal and mutual woe; the victors and the vanquished kill or fall in equal measure; neither knows the way to yield or fly. Th' Olympians Iook down out of Jove's house, and pity as they see the unavailing wrath of either foe, and burdens measureless on mortals laid. Lo! Venus here, Saturnian Juno yon, in anxious watch; while pale Tisiphone moves on infuriate through the battling lines. On strode Mezentius o'er the gory plain, and swollen with rage waved wide-his awful spear. Like tall Orion when on foot he goes trough the deep sea and lifts his shoulders high above the waves; or when he takes his path along the mountain-tops, and has for staff an aged ash-tree, as he fixes firm his feet in earth and hides his brows in cloud;— so Ioomed Mezentius with his ponderous arms. To match him now, Aeneas, Iooking down the long array of war, came forth in arms to challenge and defy. But quailing not, a mass immovable, the other stood waiting his noble foe, and with a glance measured to cast his spear the space between. “May this right hand“, he said, “and this swift spear which here I poise, be favoring gods for me! The spoils from yonder robber's carcase stripped I vow to hang on thee, my Lausus, thou shalt stand for trophy of Aeneas slain.” He said, and hurled from far the roaring spear, which from the shield glanced off, and speeding still smote famed Antores 'twixt the loin and side— antores, friend of Hercules, who came from Argos , and had joined Evander's cause, abiding in Italia . Lo, a wound meant for another pierced him, and he lay, ill-fated! Iooking upward to the light, and dreaming of dear Argos as he died. Then good Aeneas hurled his spear; it passed through hollow orb of triple bronze, and through layers of flax and triple-twisted hides; then in the lower groin it lodged, but left its work undone. Aeneas, not ill-pleased to see the Tuscan wounded, swiftly drew the falchion from his thigh, and hotly pressed his startled foe. But Lausus at the sight groaned loud, so much he loved his father dear, and tears his cheek bedewed. O storied youth! If olden worth may win believing ear, let not my song now fail of thee to sing, thy noble deeds, thy doom of death and pain! Mezentius, now encumbered and undone, fell backward, trailing from the broken shield his foeman's spear. His son leaped wildly forth to join the fray; and where Aeneas' hand lifted to strike, he faced the thrusting sword and gave the hero pause. His comrades raised applauding cries, as shielded by his son the father made retreat; their darts they hurl, and vex with flying spears the distant foe: Aeneas, wrathful, stands beneath his shield. As when the storm-clouds break in pelting hail, the swains and ploughmen from the furrows fly, and every traveller cowers in sure defence of river-bank or lofty shelving crag, while far and wide it pours; and by and by, each, when the sun returns, his task pursues: so great Aeneas, by assault o'erwhelmed, endured the cloud of battle, till its rage thundered no more; then with a warning word to Lausus with upbraiding voice he called: “Why, O death-doomed, rush on to deeds too high for strength like thine. Thou art betrayed, rash boy, by thine own loyal heart!” But none the less the youth made mad defence; while fiercer burned the Trojan's anger; and of Lausus' days the loom of Fate spun forth the last thin thread; for now Aeneas thrust his potent blade deep through the stripling's breast and out of sight; through the light shield it passed—a frail defence to threaten with!—and through the tunic fine his mother's hand had wrought with softest gold: blood filled his bosom, and on path of air down to the shades the mournful soul withdrew, its body quitting. As Anchises' son beheld the agonizing lips and brow so wondrous white in death, he groaned aloud in pity, and reached o'er him his right hand, touched to the heart such likeness to behold of his own filial love. “Unhappy boy! What reward worthy of heroic deeds can I award thee now? Wear still those arms so proudly worn! And I will send thee home (Perhaps thou carest!) to the kindred shades and ashes of thy sires. But let it be some solace in thy pitiable doom that none but great Aeneas wrought thy fall.” Then to the stripling's tardy followers he sternly called, and lifted from the earth with his own hand the fallen foe: dark blood defiled those princely tresses braided fair. Meanwhile Mezentius by the Tiber 's wave with water staunched his wound, and propped his weight against a tree; upon its limbs above his brazen helmet hung, and on the sward his ponderous arms lay resting. Round him watched his chosen braves. He, gasping and in pain, clutched at his neck and let his flowing beard loose on his bosom fall; he questions oft of Lausus, and sends many a messenger to bid him back, and bear him the command of his sore-grieving sire. But lo! his peers bore the dead Lausus back upon his shield, and wept to see so strong a hero quelled by stroke so strong. From long way off the sire, with soul prophetic of its woe, perceived what meant their wail and cry. On his gray hairs the dust he flung, and, stretching both his hands to heaven, he cast himself the corpse along. “O son,” he cried, “was life to me so sweet, that I to save myself surrendered o'er my own begotten to a foeman's steel? Saved by these gashes shall thy father be, and living by thy death? O wretched me, how foul an end have I! Now is my wound deep! deep! 't was I, dear son, have stained thy name with infamy—to exile driven from sceptre and hereditary throne by general curse. Would that myself had borne my country's vengeance and my nation's hate! Would my own guilty life my debt had paid— yea, by a thousand deaths! But, see, I live! Not yet from human kind and light of day have I departed. But depart I will.” So saying, he raised him on his crippled thigh, and though by reason of the grievous wound his forces ebbed, yet with unshaken mien he bade them lead his war-horse forth, his pride, his solace, which from every war victorious bore him home. The master then to the brave beast, which seemed to know his pain, spoke thus: “My Rhoebus, we have passed our days long time together, if long time there be for mortal creatures. Either on this day thou shalt his bloody spoils in triumph bear and that Aeneas' head,—and so shalt be avenger of my Lausus' woe; or else, if I be vanquished, thou shalt sink and fall beside me. For, my bravest, thou wouldst spurn a stranger's will, and Teucrian lords to bear.” He spoke and, mounting to his back, disposed his limbs the wonted way and filled both hands with pointed javelins; a helm of brass with shaggy horse-hair crest gleamed o'er his brow. Swift to the front he rode: a mingled flood surged in his heart of sorrow, wrath, and shame; and thrice with loud voice on his foe he called.