"What am I doing?
Where can Earth for me Gape deep enough?
Ye winds that round me roar, Pity I crave, on rocks amid the sea-- 'Tis Turnus, I, a willing prayer who pour-- Dash me this ship, or drive it on the shore, 'Mid ruthless shoals, where no Rutulian eyes May see my shame, nor prying Fame explore." Thus he, and, tost in spirit, as he cries, This plan and that in turn his wavering thoughts devise: XCIII.

Madly to grasp the dagger in his hand, And through his ribs drive home the naked blade, Or plunge into the deep, and swim to land, And, armed, once more the Teucrian foes invade.
Thrice, but in vain, each venture he essayed.
Thrice Heaven's high queen, in pity fain to save, Held back the youth, and from his purpose stayed.
And borne along by favouring tide and wave, On to his father's town the level deep he clave.
XCIV.

Jove prompting, fierce Mezentius now the fight Takes up, and charges at the Teucrian foes.
And, hurrying up, the Tuscan troops unite.
All against one--one only--these and those Their gathered hate and crowding darts oppose.
Unmoved he stands, as when a rocky steep In ocean, bare to every blast that blows, Around whose base the savage waves upleap, Braves all the threats of heaven, and buffets of the deep.
XCV.

Hebrus he slew, from Dolichaon sprung, Then Latagus, then Palmus, as he fled.
Full in the face of Latagus he flung A monstrous stone, that stretched him with the dead.
Palmus, with severed hamstring, next he sped, And rolled him helpless.

Lausus takes his gear; The shining crest he fits upon his head, And dons the breastplate.