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To other mastery, nor deign
That Trojan hand should sleek thy mane.'
He said, and mounting to his selle
Pressed the proud sides he knew so well,
In either hand a javelin took,
And his plumed crest disdainful shook;
So rushed he on the foe,
While kindling in each throbbing vein
A warrior's pride, a father's pain
With mingled madness glow.
Three times he called Æneas' name:
Æneas hears the loud acclaim,
And prays with fierce delight
'Grant, mighty Jove, Apollo, grant
This challenge prove no empty vaunt!
Begin, begin the fight!'
He said, and with uplifted spear
Confronts the foe in mid career:
But he: 'What means this threatening strain
To fright me, now my child is slain?
'Twas thus, and thus alone your dart
Could e'er have reached Mezentius' heart:
I fear not death, nor ask to live,
Nor quarter take from Heaven, nor give.
Forbear: I come to meet my end,
And these my gifts before me send.'
He ceased, and at the word he wings
A javelin at the foe:
Then circling round in rapid rings
Another and another flings:
The good shield bides each blow.
Thrice, fiercely hurling spears on spears,
From right to left he wheeled:
Thrice, facing round as he careers,
The steely grove the Trojan bears,
Thick planted on his shield.