hen he slays, and Mimas, whiles the friend
Like-aged of Paris; unto day and Amycus his sire
Theano gave him on the night that she who went with fire,
E'en Cisseus' daughter, Paris bore: now Paris lies asleep
In ancient Troy; Laurentian land unknown doth Mimas keep.

Tis as a boar by bite of hounds from the high mountains driven,
Who on pine-nursing Vesulus a many years hath thriven,
Or safe in that Laurentian marsh long years hath had his home,
And fed adown the reedy wood; now mid the toil-nets come 710
He stands at bay, and foameth fierce, and bristleth up all o'er,
And none hath heart to draw anigh and rouse the wrath of war,
But with safe shouts and shafts aloof they press about the place;
While he, unhastening, unafeard, doth everywhither face,
Gnashing his teeth and shaking off the spears from out his back.
So they, who 'gainst Mezentius there just wrath do nowise lack,
Lack heart to meet him hand to hand with naked brandished blade,
But clamour huge and weapon-shot from far upon him laid.

From that old land of Corythus erewhile had Acron come,
A Grecian man; half-wed he passed the threshold of his home: 720
Whom when Mezentius saw afar turmoiling the mid fight,
Purple with plumes and glorious web his love for him had dight;
E'en as a lion hunger-pinched about the high-fenced fold,
When ravening famine driveth him, if he by chance behold
Some she-goat, or a hart that thrusts his antlers up in air,
Merry he waxeth, gaping fierce his mane doth he uprear,
And hugs the flesh he lies upon; a loathsome sea of blood
Washes the horror of his mouth.
So merry runs Mezentius forth amid the press of foes,
And hapless Acron falls, and pounds the black earth mid his throes 730
With beat of heel; staining the shaft that splintered in the wound.
Scorn had he then Orodes swift to fell unto the ground
Amidst his flight, or give blind bane with unknown cast afar;
He ran to meet him man to man, prevailing in the war
By nought of guile or ambushing, but by the dint of blade.
Foot on the fallen then he set, and strength to spear-shaft laid:
"Fellows, here tall Orodes lies, no thrall in battle throng."
Then merrily his following folk shout forth their victory-song:
Yet saith the dying:
"Whosoe'er thou art, thou winnest me
Not unavenged: