The Trojan prince beheld him from afar, And dauntless undertook the doubtful war. Collected in his strength, and like a rock, Pois’d on his base, Mezentius stood the shock. He stood, and, measuring first with careful eyes The space his spear could reach, aloud he cries: “My strong right hand, and sword, assist my stroke! (Those only gods Mezentius will invoke.) His armour, from the Trojan pirate torn, By my triumphant Lausus shall be worn.” He said; and with his utmost force he threw The massy spear, which, hissing as it flew, Reach’d the celestial shield, that stopp’d the course; But, glancing thence, the yet unbroken force Took a new bent obliquely, and betwixt The side and bowels fam’d Anthores fix’d. Anthores had from Argos travel’d far, Alcides’ friend, and brother of the war; Till, tir’d with toils, fair Italy he chose, And in Evander’s palace sought repose. Now, falling by another’s wound, his eyes He cast to heav’n, on Argos thinks, and dies. The pious Trojan then his jav’lin sent; The shield gave way; thro’ treble plates it went Of solid brass, of linen trebly roll’d, And three bull hides which round the buckler fold. All these it pass’d, resistless in the course, Transpierc’d his thigh, and spent its dying force. The gaping wound gush’d out a crimson flood. The Trojan, glad with sight of hostile blood, His falchion drew, to closer fight address’d, And with new force his fainting foe oppress’d. His father’s peril Lausus view’d with grief; He sigh’d, he wept, he ran to his relief. And here, heroic youth, ’tis here I must To thy immortal memory be just, And sing an act so noble and so new, Posterity will scarce believe ’tis true. Pain’d with his wound, and useless for the fight, The father sought to save himself by flight: Encumber’d, slow he dragg’d the spear along, Which pierc’d his thigh, and in his buckler hung. The pious youth, resolv’d on death, below The lifted sword springs forth to face the foe; Protects his parent, and prevents the blow. Shouts of applause ran ringing thro’ the field, To see the son the vanquish’d father shield. All, fir’d with gen’rous indignation, strive, And with a storm of darts to distance drive The Trojan chief, who, held at bay from far, On his Vulcanian orb sustain’d the war.