nets, stands at bay, snorting with fury and bristling his
back; none has the courage to flame forth and come near
him; at safe distance they press him with their darts
and their cries; even so of them who hate Mezentius with 15
a righteous hate, none has the heart to face him with
drawn steel; with missiles and deafening shouts they
assail him from afar; while he, undaunted, is pausing
now here, now there, gnashing his teeth, and shakes off
the javelins from his buckler’s hide. There was one 20
Acron from Corythus’ ancient borders, a Grecian wight,