And am I then preserved, and art thou lost? How much too dear has that redemption cost! 'Tis now my bitter banishment I feel: This is a wound too deep for time to heal. My guilt thy growing virtues did defame; My blackness blotted thy unblemished name. Chased from a throne, abandoned, and exiled For foul misdeeds, were punishments too mild: I owed my people these, and, from their hate, With less resentment could have borne my fate. And yet I live, and yet sustain the sight Of hated men, and of more hated light-- But will not long." With that he raised from ground His fainting limbs, that staggered with his wound; Yet, with a mind resolved, and unappalled With pains or perils, for his courser called-- Well-mouthed, well-managed, whom himself did dress } With daily care, and mounted with success-- } His aid in arms, his ornament in peace. } Soothing his courage with a gentle stroke, The steed seemed sensible, while thus he spoke:-- O Rhœbus! we have lived too long for me-- If life and long were terms that could agree. This day thou either shalt bring back the head And bloody trophies of the Trojan dead-- This day thou either shalt revenge my woe, For murdered Lausus, on his cruel foe; Or, if inexorable Fate deny Our conquest, with thy conquered master die: For, after such a lord, I rest secure, Thou wilt no foreign reins, or Trojan load,[12] endure." He said; and straight the officious courser kneels, To take his wonted weight. His hands he fills With pointed javelins; on his head he laced His glittering helm, which terribly was graced With waving horse-hair, nodding from afar; Then spurred his thundering steed amidst the war. Love, anguish, wrath, and grief, to madness wrought, Despair, and secret shame, and conscious thought Of inborn worth, his labouring soul oppressed, Rolled in his eyes, and raged within his breast. Then loud he called Æneas thrice by name: The loud repeated voice to glad Æneas came. "Great Jove," he said, "and the far-shooting god, Inspire thy mind to make thy challenge good!" He spoke no more, but hastened, void of fear, And threatened with his long protended spear. To whom Mezentius thus:--"Thy vaunts are vain. My Lausus lies extended on the plain: He's lost! thy conquest is already won; The wretched sire is murdered in the son. Nor fate I fear, but all the gods defy. } Forbear thy threats: my business is to die; } But first receive this parting legacy." } He said; and straight a whirling dart he sent; Another after, and another, went. Round in a spacious ring he rides the field, } And vainly plies the impenetrable shield. } Thrice rode he round; and thrice Æneas wheeled, } Turned as he turned: the golden orb withstood