By the Fate's command Thou comest; thee the gods have guided to our land.
LXIII.

"Not far from here, upon an aged rock, There stands a town, Agylla is its name, Where on Etruscan ridges dwells the stock Of ancient Lydia, men of warlike fame.
Long years it flourished, till Mezentius came And ruled it fiercely, with a tyrant's sway.
Ah me! why tell the nameless deeds of shame, The savage murders wrought from day to day?
May Heaven on him and his those cruelties repay! LXIV.

"Nay more, he joined the living to the dead, Hand linked to hand in torment, face to face.
The rank flesh mouldered, and the limbs still bled, Till death, O misery, with lingering pace, Loosed the foul union and the long embrace.
Worn out at last with all his crimes abhorred, Around the horrid madman swarmed apace The armed Agyllans.

On his roof they poured The firebrands, seized his guards and slew them with the sword.
LXV.

"He safely through the carnage slunk away To fields Rutulian, where with sheltering hand Great Turnus shields the tyrant.