Pale Tisiphone below Fierce amid thousands raves, and bids the discord grow.
CIII.

His massive spear Mezentius, flown with pride, Shakes in his fury, as he towers amain, Like huge Orion, when with ample stride He cleaves the deep-sea, where the Nereids reign, And lifts his lofty shoulders o'er the main, Or when, uprooting from the mountain head An aged ash, he stalks along the plain, And hides his forehead in the clouds; so dread Mezentius clangs his arms, so terrible his tread.
CIV.

AEneas marks him in the files of fight Far off, and hastes to meet him in advance.
Dauntless he waits, collected in his might, The noble foe, then, measuring at a glance The space his arm can cover with the lance; "May this right hand, my deity," cried he, "And this poised javelin aid the doubtful chance.
The spoils, from this false pirate stript, to thee My Lausus, I devote; his trophy shalt thou be." 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.