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But first the corpse of our unhappy friend,
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, Where, now in death, lamented Pallas lay: Acætes watch'd the corpse; whose youth deserv'd 45 The father's trust, and now the son he serv'd With equal faith, but less aufpicious care: Th' attendants of the slain his forrow 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 grisly wound Which Pallas in his manly bosom bore,
55 And the fair flesh distain'd with purple gore: First, melting into tears, the pious man Deplor'd so fad a fight, then thus began:
Unhappy youth! when fortune gave the rest Of my full wishes, she 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 thy father lent 65 Thy needless fuccour with a fad consent; Embrac'd me parting for th’ Etrurian land, And sent me to poffefs a large command.
He warn'd, and from his own experience told,
Thus having mourn’d, he gave the word around,
All pale he lies, and looks a lovely flower,
105 Which with her hands Sidonian Dido wrought. One vest array'd the corpse, 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, pinión'd with their hands behind, appear 15 Th' unhappy captives, marching in the rear: Appointed offerings in the victor's name, To sprinkle with their blood, the funeral fiame. Inferior trophies by the chiefs are born; Gauntlets and helms, their loaded hands adorn; 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; fupported by his friends : Pausing at every pace, in forrow drown'd,
125 Betwixt their arms he finks upon
the ground. Where groveling, while he lies in deep despair, He beats his breast, and rends his hoary hair.
The champion's chariot next is seen to roll,
return'd. Now suppliants, from Laurentum sent, demand A truce, with olive branches in their hand.
150 Obtest his clemency, and from the plain Beg leave to draw the bodies of their flain. 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,
175 And let him vanquish, whom his Fates befriend. This is the way, so tell him, to possess The royal virgin, and restore the peace. Bear this my message back; with ample leave That your slain friends
funeral-rites receive. 180 Thus having said, th' ambassadors amaz'd, 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, With graceful action bowing, thus began.
Auspicious prince, in arms a mighty name, But yet whose actions far transcend your fame: