“Let this be true, O father of the gods, O high Apollo!"--then, to his foe, “Come on!” And moved to meet him with the deadly spear. Mezentius answered:--“Do you frighten me With all that fierceness, now that my son is taken? How meaningless! That was the only way You could destroy me. Now I fear no death, I spare no god. Be quiet; for I come To die, but first of all I bring you this, A present from me,"--and he flung the dart, And flung another, and another, wheeling In a great arc. The boss of gold held strong. Three times in circles to the left he rode Around the steady Trojan; thrice the hand Let fly the dart, and thrice the shield of bronze Was a great forest with its load of spears. All this was wearisome,--too many darts, Too much defensiveness. Aeneas broke Out of the watchful attitude, and flung The spear between the charger’s hollow temples. The great beast reared with fore-hooves flailing air, Throwing the rider, and came tumbling down Head-foremost on him, shoulder out of joint. Trojan and Latin uproar swelled to heaven. Aeneas, sword-blade ready, rushes in:-- “Where is the fierce Mezentius now, and where All that wild rage of spirit?” But the king, Raising his eyes, drank in the sky a little, Knew a brief moment of recovery, Enough to say:--“O bitter enemy, Why all the tauntings and the threats of death? There is no wrong in slaughter: neither I Nor Lausus ever made such battle-pledges. One thing I ask, if beaten enemies Have any claim on mercy. Let my body Be granted burial. I know the hate Of my own people rages round me. Keep Their fury from me. Let me share the grave Of my dear son.” He said no more, but welcomed, Fully aware, the sword-thrust in the throat, And poured his life in crimson over the armor. BOOK XI THE DESPAIR OF THE LATINS