Eth as he shakes the spears off his shield. From the bounds of ancient
Corythus Acron the Greek had come, leaving for exile a bride half won.
Seeing him afar dealing confusion amid the ranks, in crimson plumes and
his plighted wife's purple,--as an unpastured lion often ranging the
deep coverts, for madness of hunger urges him, if he haply catches sight
of a timorous roe or high-antlered stag, he gapes hugely for joy, and,
with mane on end, clings crouching over its flesh, his cruel mouth
bathed in reeking gore. . . . so Mezentius darts lightly among the thick
of the enemy. Hapless Acron goes down, and, spurning the dark ground,
gasps out his life, and covers the broken javelin with his blood. But
the victor deigned not to bring down Orodes with the blind wound of his
flying lance as he fled; full face to face he meets him, and engages man
with man, conqueror not by stealth but armed valour. Then, as with
planted foot, he thrust him off the spear: 'O men,' he cries, 'Orodes
lies low, no slight arm of the war.' His comrades shout after him the
glad battle chant. And the dying man: 'Not unavenged nor long, whoso
thou art, shalt thou be glad in victory: thee too an equal fate marks
down, and in these fields thou shalt soon lie.' And smiling on him half
wrathfully, Mezentius: 'Now die thou. But of me let the father of gods
and king of men take counsel.' So saying, he drew the weapon out of his
body. [745-780]Grim rest and iron slumber seal his e
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