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(Deserv’d from them) then I had been return'd
A breathless victor, and my son had mourn'd.
Yet will not I my Trojan friend upbraid, 250
Nor grudge th'alliance I so gladly made.
'Twas not his fault my Pallas fell so young,
But my own crime for having liv'd too long.
Yet, since the gods had destin'd him to die,
At least he led the way to victory:
First for his friends he won the fatal fore,
And sent whole herds of slaughter'd foes before :
A death too great, too glorious to deplore.
Nor will I add new honours to thy grave;
Content with those the Trojan hero gave.
260 That funeral pomp thy Phrygian friends design'd; In which the Tuscan chiefs and army join'd: Great spoils, and trophies gain’d by thee, they bear : Then let thy own atchievements be thy share. Ev’n thou, O Turnus, hadít a trophy stood, Whose mighty trunk had better grac'd the wood. If Pallas had arriv'd, with equal length Of years, to match thy bulk with equal strength. But why, unhappy man, dost thou detain These troops to view the tears thou shed'st in vain ! Go, friends, this message to your lord relate; 271 Tell him, that if I bear my bitter fate, And after Pallas' death, live lingering on, 'Tis to behold his vengeance for
fon, I say for Turnus; whose devoted head
275 Is owing to the living and the dead :
My fon and I expect it from his hand;
'Tis all that he can give, or we demand.
Joy is no more: but I would gladly go,
To greet my Pallas with such news below..
The morn had now dispellid the shades of night;
Restoring toils, when the restord the light:
The Trojan king, and Tuscan chief, command
To raise the piles along the winding strand :
Their friends convey the dead to funeral fires;
Black smouldring smoke from the green wood expires;
The light of heaven is chok’d, and the new day retires.
Then thrice around the kindled piles they go
(For ancient custom had ordain'd it fo).
Thrice horse and foot about the fires are led, 29?
· And thrice with loud laments they hail the dead.
Tears trickling down their breasts bedew the ground; ,
And drums and trumpets mix their mournful sound. .
Amid the blaze, their pious brethren. throw
The spoils, in battle taken from the foe;
295 Helms, bitts emboss’d, and swords of shining steel, One casts a target, one a chariot-wheel : Some to their fellows their own arms restore : The fauchions which in luckless fight they bore : Their bucklers pierc'd, their darts bestow'd in vain, And shiver'd lances gather'd from the plain, 301 Whole herds of offer'd bulls about the fire, And bristled boars, and woolly Sheep expire. Around the piles a careful troop attends, To watch the wafting flames, and weep
their burning friends.
Lingering along the shore, till dewy night
306 New decks the face of heaven with starry light.
The conquer'd Latians, with like pious care,
Piles without number for their dead prepare;
Part, in the places where they fell, are laid; 310
And part are to the neighbouring fields convey'd.
The corpse of kings, and captains of renown,
Born off in state, are bury'd in the town:
The reit unhonour'd, and without a name,
Are cast a common heap to feed the fame, 315
Trojans and Latians vie with like desires
To make the field of battle shine with fires;
And the promiscuous blaze to heaven aspires.
Now had the morning thrice renew'd the light,
And thrice dispell’d the shadows of the night;
When those who round the wasted fires remain,
Perform the last fad office to the Nain :
They rake the yet warm afhes, from below;
These, and the bones unburn'd, in earth bestow :
These relicks with their country rites they grace;
And raise a mount of turf to mark the place.
But in the palace of the king, appears
A scene more folemn, and a pomp of tears.
Maids, matrons, widows, mix their common moans :
Orphans their fires, and fires lament their fons.
3.30 All in that universal forrow share, And curse the cause of this unhappy war. A broken league, a bride unjustly fought, A crown usurp'd, which with their blood is bought!
These are the crimes, with which they load the name
Of Turnus, and on liim alone exclaim.
Let him, who lords it o'er th’ Ausonian land,
Engage the Trojan hero hand to hand :
His is the gain, our lot is but to serve :
'Tis juft, the fway he feks, he should deserve. 340
This Drances aggravates; and adds, with spight,
His foe expects, and dares hinı to the fight.
Nor Turnus wants a party, to support
His cause and credit, in the Latian court.
His former acts secure his present fame;
345 And the queen shades him with her mighty name.
While thus their factious minds with fury burn;
The legates from th' Ætolian prince return :
Sad news they bring, that, after all the cost,
And care employ'd, their embassy is lok:
That Diomede refus'd his aid in war;
Unniov'd with presents, and as deaf to prayer.
Some new alliance must elsewhere be sought ;
Or peace with Truy on hard conditions bought.
Latinus, sunk in sorrow, finds too late
A foreign son is pointed out by fate :
And till Æneas shall Lavinia wed,
The wrath of heaven is hovering o'er his head.
The gods, he saw, espous’d the juiter side,
When late their titles in the field were try'd : 360
Witness the fresh laments, and funeral tears undry’d.
Thus, full of anxious thought, he summons all
The Latian senate to the council-hall :
The princes come, commanded by their head,
And crowd the paths that to the palace lead.
Supreme in power, and reverenc'd for his years,
He takes the throne, and in the midst appears :
Majestically sad, he sits in state,
And bids his envoys their fuccess relate.
When Venulus began, the murmuring found 370
Was huthod, and sacred silence reign’d around.
We have, said he, perform'd your high command :
And pass’d with peril a long tract of land :
We reach'd the place desir’d, with wonder fillid,
The Grecian tents and rising towers beheld. 375
Great Diomede has compass”d round with walls
The city, which Argyripa he calls ;
From his own Argos nam’d: we touch’d, with joy,
The royal hand that raz’d unhappy Troy.
When introduc’d, our prefents first we bring,
Then crave an instant audience from the king :
His leave obtain'd, our native foil we name;
And tell th' important cause for which we came.
Attentively he heard us, while we spoke;
Then, with soft accents, and a pleafing look, 385
Made this return : Ausonian race, of old
Renown'd for peace, and for an age of gold,
What madness has your alter'd minds pofiess’d,
To change for war hereditary rest?
Solicit arms unknown, and tempt the sword
390 (A needless ill your ancestors abhor’d). We (for myself I speak, and all the name Of Grecians, who to Troy's destruction came)