“Ill-fated youth!” he cried, “how can I testify my reverence for thy filial piety and thy undaunted valor?  Thou shalt at least retain those arms which it was thy delight to wear, and thy body shall be given up unspoiled to thy friends.”  With that he summoned the dismayed followers of Lausus, and with his own hands raised from the ground the comely body, all disfigured with blood and wounds.  Meantime Mezentius had retreated to the bank of the Tiber, where he took off his armor, and bathed his wound with water.  While he was thus resting from the fatigues of the battle, he was full of anxiety for his son, and sent messenger after messenger to recall him from the fight.  But too soon a crowd of weeping warriors appeared, carrying the corpse of Lausus in their arms.  The sorrowing father divined what had occurred from their lamentations, even before the body was brought to him.  He threw dust upon his head, he clasped the loved form in his arms, and bedewed the pallid face with his tears.  “O my son,” he exclaimed, “was I possessed with such a fond desire of life as to suffer thee to offer thyself in my place to the relentless foe?  Am I preserved at the cost of these cruel wounds?  Now, indeed, I feel the calamity of exile.  My crimes have cost thee not only thy paternal throne and sceptre, but thy life also.  It was I that owed expiation to my country, and should have satisfied my people by a deserved death.  And yet I live! yet I do not quit the detested light! but I will quickly follow thee.”  Then he rose up, and though crippled by the wound in his thigh, and suffering anguish from its smart, he did not flinch, but ordered his attendants to bring his courser.  This was a horse famous for its speed and its prompt obedience to the rein.  When it was brought, he accosted it:  “Long have we lived together, Rhoebus, and many great deeds have we accomplished.  To-day we shall either bear away the head of AEneas and his arms all spattered with his blood, or we shall perish together; for I am assured that thou wilt never condescend to bear a Trojan lord.”  Then mounting the noble steed, he filled both hands with darts, and dashed recklessly into the midst of the battle.  His heart swelling with rage and shame and grief, he thrice loudly summoned AEneas to the combat.  AEneas heard, and rejoiced at the challenge; and with threatening spear advanced to meet his foe.  “Barbarous wretch,” cried Mezentius, “thinkest thou to affright me with thy weapons, now that thou hast robbed me of my son?  That was the only means by which thou couldst destroy me.  I fear neither death nor the anger of any of your gods.  Forbear threats; now am I come hither to die, but first I bring you these gifts.”  So saying, he rapidly hurled one dart after another at the hero, whirling swiftly round him on his horse; but the shield framed by Vulcan’s hands received all the shafts and repelled them.  Wearied at last of so unequal a fight, in which he had to endure ceaseless attacks