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Æneis erects a trophy of the spoils of Mezentius;

grants a truce for burying the dead ; and sends home the body of Pallas with great folemnity. Latius calls a council to propose offers of peace to Æneas, which occafions great animosity betwixt Turnus and Drances : in the mean time there is a sharp engagement of the horse; wherein Camilla fignalizes her." felf; is killed : and the Latine troops are intirely defeated.

SCARC
CARCE had the rosy morning rais'd her head

Above the waves, and left her watery bed;
The pious chief whom double cares attend
For his unbury'd soldiers, and his friend:
Yet first to heaven perform’d a victor's vow : 5
He bar'd an ancient oak of all her bouglis :
Then on a riting ground the trunk he plac'd ;
Which with the spoils of liis dead foe he grac'd.
VOL. VII.

B

The

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The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked shag in triumph borne,
Was hung on high; and glitter'd from afar :
A trophy sacred to the god of war.
Above his arms, fix'd on the leafless wood,
Appear'd his plumy crest, besmear'd with blood;
His brazen buckler on the left was seen ;
Truncheons of shiver'd lances hung between :
And on the right was plac'd his corslet, bord;
And to the neck was ty'd his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man:
Who thus, confpicuous in the midst, began:

Our toils, my friends, are crown'd with fure success:
The greater part perform’d, atchieve the less.
Now follow.chearful to the trembling town;
Press but an entrance, and presume it won.
Fear is no more : for fierce Mezentius lies,

25 As the firft fruits.of war, a sacrifice. Turnus shall stand extended on the pain ; And in this omen is already slain. Prepar'd in arms, pursue your happy chance : | That none unwarn’d, may plead his ignorance: And I, at heaven's appointed hour, may

find
Your walike ensigns waving in the wind.
Mean time the rites and funeral pomps prepare,
Due to your dead companions of the war:
The last respect the living can bestow,

35 "To nield their shadows from contempt below. That conquer'd earth be theirs for which they fought; And which for us with their own blood they bought.

But

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But first the corpfe of our unhappy friend,
To the fad city of Evander fend:

-40 Who not inglorious in his age's bloom Was hurry'd hence by too severe a doom.

Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way, Wherc, now in death, lamented Pallas lay : Acoetes watch'd the corpse; whose youth deserv'd 4.5 The father's trust, and now the son he serv'd With equal faith, but less auspicious care: Th' attendants of the slain his sorrow share. A troop of Trojans mix'd with these appear, And mourning matrons with dishevel'd hair. Soon as the prince appears, they raise a cry; All beat their breasts, and echoes rend the sky. They rear his drooping forehead from the ground; But when Æneas view'd the grily wound Which Pallas in his inanly bosom bore,

55 And the fair flesh diftain'd with purple gore : First, melting into tears, the pious man Deplor'd so sad a fight, then thus began :

Unhappy youth! when fortune gave the rest Of my full wishes, the refus’d the best!

60 She came; but brought not thee along, to bless My longing eyes, and share in my success : She grudg'd thy fafe return, the triumphs due To prosperous valour, in the public view. Not thus I promis’d, when my father lent Thy needless succour with a fad confent; Embrac'd me parting for th’ Etrurian land, And sept ine to posiels a large command.

He

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He warn'd, and from his own experience told,
Our foes were warlike, disciplin'd, and bold :
And now perhaps, in hopes of thy return,
Rich odours on his loaded altars burn;
While we, with vain officious pomp, prepare
To lend him back his portion of the war;
A bloody breathless body: which can owe 75
No farther debt, but to the powers below.
The wretched father, ere his race is

run,
Shall view the funeral honours of his fon.
These are my triumphs of the Latian war;
Fruits of my plighted faith, and boasted care. 80
And yet, unhappy Sire, thou shalt not see
A son, whose death disgrac'd his ancestry;
Thou shalt not blush, old man, however griev'd:
Thy Pallas no dishonest wound receiv'd.
He dy'd no death to make thee wilh, too late,
Thou had it not liv'd to see his shameful fate.
But what a champion has th’ Ausonian coast,
And what a friend haft thou, Ascanius, loit!

Thus having mourn'd, he gave the word around,
Toʻraise the breathlet's body from the ground;
And chose a thousand horse, the flower of all
His warlike troops, wait the funeral :
To bear him back, and share Evander's grief
(A well-becoming, but a weak relief).
Of oaken twigs they twist an easy bier;

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Then on their shoulders the fad burden rear.
The body on this rural herse is born,
Strew'd leaves and funeral greens the bier adorn.

All

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