From ancient Corythus had Acron come,a Greek, who left half-sung his wedding-song,and was an exile; him Mezentius sawamong long lines of foes, with flaunting plumesand purple garments from his plighted spouse.Then as a starving lion when he prowlsabout high pasture-lands, urged on his wayby maddening hunger (if perchance he seea flying she-goat or tall-antlered stag)lifts up his shaggy mane, and gaping widehis monstrous jaws, springs at the creature's side,feeding foul-lipped, insatiable of gore:so through his gathered foes Mezentiusflew at his prey. He stretched along the groundill-fated Acron, who breathed life away,beating the dark dust with his heels, and bathedhis broken weapons in his blood. Nor deignedMezentius to strike Orodes downas he took flight, nor deal a wound unseenwith far-thrown spear; but ran before his face,fronting him man to man, nor would he winby 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. Speedilythou shalt this dust inhabit, even as I!”Mezentius answered him with wrathful smile:“Now die! What comes on me concerns alonethe Sire of gods and Sovereign of mankind.”So saying, from the wounded breast he pluckedhis javelin: and on those eyes there fellinexorable rest and iron slumber,and in unending night their vision closed.

Then Caedicus cut down Alcathous,Sacrator slew Hydaspes, Rapo smoteParthenius and Orses stout and strong;Messapus, good blade cut down Cloniusand Ericetes, fierce Lycaon's child;the one from an unbridled war-horse thrown,the other slain dismounted. Then rode forthAgis the Lycian, but bold Valerus,true to his valiant breeding, hurled him down;having slain Thronius, Salius was slainby skilled Nealces, of illustrious namefor spear well cast and far-surprising bow.

Thus Mars relentless holds in equal scaleslaughters reciprocal and mutual woe;the victors and the vanquished kill or fallin equal measure; neither knows the wayto yield or fly. Th' Olympians Iook downout of Jove's house, and pity as they seethe unavailing wrath of either foe,and burdens measureless on mortals laid.Lo! Venus here, Saturnian Juno yon,in anxious watch; while pale Tisiphonemoves 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 goestrough the deep sea and lifts his shoulders highabove the waves; or when he takes his pathalong the mountain-tops, and has for staffan aged ash-tree, as he fixes firmhis feet in earth and hides his brows in cloud;—so Ioomed Mezentius with his ponderous arms.

To match him now, Aeneas, Iooking downthe long array of war, came forth in armsto challenge and defy. But quailing not,a mass immovable, the other stoodwaiting his noble foe, and with a glancemeasured to cast his spear the space between.“May this right hand“, he said, “and this swift spearwhich here I poise, be favoring gods for me!The spoils from yonder robber's carcase strippedI vow to hang on thee, my Lausus, thoushalt stand for trophy of Aeneas slain.”He said, and hurled from far the roaring spear,which from the shield glanced off, and speeding stillsmote famed Antores 'twixt the loin and side—antores, friend of Hercules, who camefrom Argos, and had joined Evander's cause,abiding in Italia. Lo, a woundmeant 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 passedthrough hollow orb of triple bronze, and throughlayers of flax and triple-twisted hides;then in the lower groin it lodged, but leftits work undone. Aeneas, not ill-pleasedto see the Tuscan wounded, swiftly drewthe falchion from his thigh, and hotly pressedhis startled foe. But Lausus at the sightgroaned 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 shieldhis foeman's spear. His son leaped wildly forthto join the fray; and where Aeneas' handlifted to strike, he faced the thrusting swordand gave the hero pause. His comrades raisedapplauding cries, as shielded by his sonthe 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 defenceof 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 ragethundered no more; then with a warning wordto Lausus with upbraiding voice he called:“Why, O death-doomed, rush on to deeds too highfor strength like thine. Thou art betrayed, rash boy,by thine own loyal heart!” But none the lessthe youth made mad defence; while fiercer burnedthe Trojan's anger; and of Lausus' daysthe loom of Fate spun forth the last thin thread;for now Aeneas thrust his potent bladedeep through the stripling's breast and out of sight;through the light shield it passed—a frail defenceto threaten with!—and through the tunic finehis mother's hand had wrought with softest gold:blood filled his bosom, and on path of airdown to the shades the mournful soul withdrew,its body quitting. As Anchises' sonbeheld the agonizing lips and browso wondrous white in death, he groaned aloudin pity, and reached o'er him his right hand,touched to the heart such likeness to beholdof his own filial love. “Unhappy boy!What reward worthy of heroic deedscan I award thee now? Wear still those armsso proudly worn! And I will send thee home(Perhaps thou carest!) to the kindred shadesand ashes of thy sires. But let it besome solace in thy pitiable doomthat none but great Aeneas wrought thy fall.”Then to the stripling's tardy followershe sternly called, and lifted from the earthwith his own hand the fallen foe: dark blooddefiled those princely tresses braided fair.

Meanwhile Mezentius by the Tiber's wavewith water staunched his wound, and propped his weightagainst a tree; upon its limbs abovehis brazen helmet hung, and on the swardhis ponderous arms lay resting. Round him watchedhis chosen braves. He, gasping and in pain,clutched at his neck and let his flowing beardloose on his bosom fall; he questions oftof Lausus, and sends many a messengerto bid him back, and bear him the commandof his sore-grieving sire. But lo! his peersbore the dead Lausus back upon his shield,and wept to see so strong a hero quelledby stroke so strong. From long way off the sire,with soul prophetic of its woe, perceivedwhat meant their wail and cry. On his gray hairsthe dust he flung, and, stretching both his handsto heaven, he cast himself the corpse along.“O son,” he cried, “was life to me so sweet,that I to save myself surrendered o'ermy 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 wounddeep! deep! 't was I, dear son, have stainedthy name with infamy—to exile drivenfrom sceptre and hereditary throneby general curse. Would that myself had bornemy 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 dayhave I departed. But depart I will.”So saying, he raised him on his crippled thigh,and though by reason of the grievous woundhis forces ebbed, yet with unshaken mienhe bade them lead his war-horse forth, his pride,his solace, which from every warvictorious bore him home. The master thento the brave beast, which seemed to know his pain,spoke thus: “My Rhoebus, we have passed our dayslong time together, if long time there befor mortal creatures. Either on this daythou shalt his bloody spoils in triumph bearand that Aeneas' head,—and so shalt beavenger of my Lausus' woe; or else,if I be vanquished, thou shalt sink and fallbeside me. For, my bravest, thou wouldst spurna stranger's will, and Teucrian lords to bear.”He spoke and, mounting to his back, disposedhis limbs the wonted way and filled both handswith pointed javelins; a helm of brasswith shaggy horse-hair crest gleamed o'er his brow.Swift to the front he rode: a mingled floodsurged in his heart of sorrow, wrath, and shame;and thrice with loud voice on his foe he called.