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356 From ancient Corythus' domain

Had Acron come, of Grecian strain,

Leaving his spouse unwed:

Him dealing death Mezentius spied

Clad in the robe his lady dyed

And crowned with plumage red:

As lion ranging o'er the wold,

Made mad by hunger uncontrolled,

If flying roe his eyes behold

Or lofty-antlered deer,

Grins ghastly, rears his mane, and hangs

O'er the rent flesh: his greedy fangs

Dark streams of gore besmear:

So springs Mezentius on the foe:

Soon lies unhappy Acron low,

Spurns the soaked ground with dying heel,

And stains with blood the shivered steel.

Now, as Orodes strides before,

He deigns not to shed out his gore

By javelin's covert blow;

He heads, and meets him front to front,

Not by base stealth but strength's sheer brunt

Prevailing o'er his foe.

With spear infixed and scornful tread

Pressing the fallen, the conqueror said:

'Behold the great Orodes slain,

Who stemmed the war so long!'

And at the word his joyous train

Raise high the pæan song.

The chief replies: 'Whate'er thy name,

Not long shall be thy hour of pride:

The same dark powers thy presence claim,

And soon shall stretch thee at my side.'

Mezentius answers, smiling stern:

'Die thou: my fate is Jove's concern.'