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Alí pale he lies, and looks a lovely flower,
New cropt by virgin hands, to dress the bower :
Unfaded yet, but yet unfed below,
No more to mother earth or the green stem shall owe.
Then two fair vests, of wondrous work and cost,
Of purple woven, and with gold err.boss'd,
For ornament the Trojan hero brought,

Which with her hands Sidonian Dido wrought.
One vest array'd the corpte, and one they spread
O'er his clos'd eyes, and wrap'd around his head :
That when the yellow hair in flame should fall,
The catching fire might burn the golden caul.
Besides, the spoils of foes in battle flain,
When he descended on the Latian plain :
Arms, trappings, horses, by the herse he led!
In long array (th' atchievements of the dead).
Then, pinion'd with their hands behind, appear IIS
Th' unhappy captives, marching in the rear :
Appointed offerings in the victor's name,
To sprinkle with their blood, the funeral fiamne.
Inferior trophies by the chiefs are born;
Gauntlets and helms, their loaded hands adorn; 120
And fair inscriptions fix'd, and titles read
Of Latian leaders conquer'd by the dead.

Acætes on his pupil's corpse attends, With feeble steps ; supported by his friends : Pausing at every pace, in forrow drown'd, 125 Betwixt their arms he fiks upon the ground. Where groveling, while he lies in deep despair, Pe beats his breast, and rends his boary hair.


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The champion's chariot next is seen to roll,
Besmear’d with hostile blood, and honourably foul.
To close the pomp, Æthon, the steed of state, 131
Is led, the funerals of his lord to wait.
Stripp'd of his tappings, with a fullen pace
He walks, and the big tears run rolling down his face.
The lance of Pallas, and the crimson crest,

Are borne behind; the victor: seiz’d the rest.
The march begins: the trumpets hoarsely sound,
The pikes and lances trail along the ground.
Thus while the 'Trojan and Arcadian horse,
To Pallantean towers direct their course,

140 In long procession rank’d; the pious chief Stopp'd in the rear, and gave a vent to grief. The public care, he said, which war attends, Diverts our present woes, at least suspends : Peace with the manes of great Pallas dwell; 145 Hail holy relicks, and a last farewell! He said no more, but inly though he mourn'd, Restrain d his tears, and to the camp

return'd. Now suppliants, from Laurentum sent, demand A truce, with olive-branches in their hand.

1 50. Obtest his clemency, and from the plain Beg leave to draw the bodies of their llain. They plead, that none those common rites deny To conquer'd foes, that in fair battle die. All cause of hate was ended in their death ; 155 Nor could he war with bodies void of breath.. A king, they hop'd, would hear a king's request. Whose son he once was call'd, and once his guest.


Their suit, which was too just to be deny’d,
The hero grants, and farther thus reply'd : 160
O Latian princes, how severe a fate
In causeless quarrels has involvid your

And arm'd against an unoffending man,
Who fought your friendship ere the war began!
You beg a truce, which I would gladly give,
Not only for the flain, but those who live.
I came not hither but by heaven's command,
And sent by Fate to share the Latian land.
Nor wage. I wars unjust; your king deny'd
My proffer'd friendship, and my promis'd bride.

Left me for Turnus ; Turnus then should try
His cause in arms, to conquer or to die.
My right and his are dispute : the slain
Fell without fault, our quarrel to maintain.
In equal arms let us alone contend;
And let him vanquish, whom his Fates befriend.
This is the way, so tell him, to poffefs
The royal virgin, and restore the peace.
Bear this my message back; with ample leave

slain friends may funeral-rites receive. 120 Thus having said, th’ embassadors amazid, Stood mute a while, and on each other gaz'd: Drances, their chief, who harbour'd in his breast Long hate to Turnus, as his foe profess’d, Broke silence first, and to the godlike man,

185 With graceful action bowing, thus began:

Auspicious prince, in arms a mighty name, But yet whose actions far transcend your fame :



That your



Would I your justice or your

force express, Thought can but equal; and all words are less : igo Your answer we shall thankfully relate, And favours granted to the Latian state : If wish'd success your labour shall attend, Think peace concluded, and the king your

friend : Let Turnus leave the realm to your command :

195 And seek alliance in some other land : Build you the city which your Fates assign : We shall be proud in the great work to join. Thus Drances; and his words so well persuade The rest impower'd, that foon a truce is made. Twelve days the term allow'd: and during those, Latians and Trojáns, now no longer foes, Mix'd in the woods, for funeral piles prepare, To fell the timber, and forget the war. Loud axes through the groaning groves resound: 205 Oak, mountain-ath, and poplar, spread the ground : Firs fall from high: and some the trunks receive, In loaden wains, with wedges some they cleave.

And now the fatal news by Fame is blown Through the short circuit of th’ Arcadian town, Of Pallas Nain : by Fame, which just before His triumphs on diftended pinions bore. Rushing from out the gate, the people stand, Each with a funeral flambeau in his hand : Wildly they stare, distracted with amaze :

215 The fields are lighten'd with a fiery blaze, That cast a sullen fplendor on their friends (The marching troop which their dread prince attends)




Both parties meet : they raise a doleful cry:
The matrons from the walls with frieks reply: 220
And their mix'd mourning rends the vaulted sky.
The town is fill'd with tumult and with tears,
Till the loud claimours reach Evander's ears :
Forgetful of his fate, he runs along,
With a disorder'd pace, and cleaves the throng: 225
Falls on the corpse, and groaning there he lies,
With filent grief, that speaks but at his

eyes : Short sighs and lobs succeed: till forrow breaks A passage, and at once he weeps and speaks.

O Pallas ! thou liaft fail'd thy plighted word! 230 To fight with caution, not to tempt the sword, I warn'd thee, but in vain ; for well I knew What periis youthful ardour would pursue : Tlat boiling blood would carry thee too far; Young as thou wert in dangers, raw to war! 235 O curst essay of arms, disastrous doom, Prelude of bloody fields, and fights to come! Hard elements of inauspicious war., Vain vows to heaven, and unavailing care ! Thrice happy thou, dear partner of my bed, 249 Whole holy soul the stroke of fortune fied: Præscious of ills, and leaving me behind, To drink the dregs of life by fate allign'd. Beyond the goal of nature I have gone; My Pallas late set out, but reach'd too soon. 245 If, from my league against th’ Ausonian state, Amid their weapons I had found my fate,


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