CV. So saying, from far his whistling shaft he threw. Wide glanced the missile, by the tough shield bent, And finding famed Antores, as it flew, 'Twixt flank and bowels pierced a deadly rent. He, friend of Hercules, from Argos sent, With king Evander, 'neath Italian skies, Had fixed his home. Alas! a wound unmeant Hath laid him low. To heaven he lifts his eyes, And of sweet Argos dreams, his native land, and dies. CVI. His javelin then the good AEneas cast; Flying it pierced the hollow disk, and through The plates of brass, thrice welded firm and fast, And linen folds, and triple bull-hides flew, And in the groin, with failing force but true, Lodged deep. At once AEneas, for his eye Glistens with joy, the Tuscan's blood to view, His trusty sword unfastening from his thigh, Springs at the faltering foe, and bids Mezentius die. CVII. Love for his sire stirred Lausus, and the tears Rolled down, and heavily he groaned. Thy fate, Brave youth! thy prowess, if the far-off years Shall give due credence to a deed so great, My verse at least shall spare not to relate. While backward limped Mezentius, spent and slow, His shield still cumbered with the javelin's weight, Forth sprang the youth, and grappled with the foe, And 'neath AEneas' sword, uplifted for the blow, CVIII. Slipped in, and checked him. Onward press the train With shouts, to shelter the retreating sire, And distant arrows on the foeman rain. Safe-covered stands AEneas, thrilled with ire. As when the storm-clouds in a deluge dire Pour down the hail, and all the ploughmen fly, And scattered hinds from off the fields retire, And rock or stream-side shields the passer-by, Till sunshine calls to toil, and reawakes the sky; CIX. So, whelmed with darts, the Trojan chief defies The cloud of war, till all its storms abate, And chides and threatens Lausus. "Fool," he cries, "Why rush to death, and dare a deed too great? Rash youth! thy love betrays thee." 'Twas too late; Rage blinds poor Lausus, and he scorns to stay. Then fiercer waxed the Dardan's wrath, and Fate The threads had gathered, for their forceful sway Hilt-deep within his breast the falchion urged its way. CX. It pierced the shield, light armour and the vest, Wrought by his mother with fine golden thread, And drenched with gore the tunic and the breast. Sweet life, departing, left the limbs outspread, And the sad spirit to the ghost-world fled. But when the son of great Anchises scanned The face, the pallid features of the dead, Deeply he groaned, and stretched a pitying hand. Grief for his own dear sire his noble soul unmanned.