At length resolved, he throws, with all his force, 1275 Full at the temples of the warrior horse.
Just where the stroke was aim'd th' unerring spear
Made way, and stood transfix'd through either ear.
Seized with unwonted pain, surprised with fright,
The wounded steed curvets, and, raised upright, 1280
Lights on his feet before: his hoofs behind
Spring up in air aloft, and lash the wind.
Down comes the rider headlong from his height:
His horse came after with unwieldy weight,
And flound'ring forward, pitching on his head,
His lord's encumber'd shoulder overlaid.
From either host, the mingled shouts and cries Of Trojans and Rutulians rend the skies: Æneas, hast'ning, waved his fatal sword High o'er his head, with this reproachful word: 1290 'Now! where are now the vaunts, the fierce dis
Of proud Mezentius, and the lofty strain?'
Struggling, and wildly staring on the skies
With scarce recover'd sight, he thus replies :
'Why these insulting words, this waste of breath,
To souls undaunted, and secure of death?
'Tis no dishonor for the brave to die:
Nor came I here with hope of victory;
Nor ask I life, nor fought with that design.
As I had used my fortune, use thou thine.
My dying son contracted no such band;
The gift is hateful from his murd'rer's hand.
For this, this only favor let me sue,
If pity can to conquer'd foes be due,
Refuse it not: but let my body have
The last retreat of humankind, a grave.
Too well I know th' insulting people's hate:
Protect me from their vengeance after fate.
This refuge for my poor remains provide;
And lay my much-loved Lausus by my side.'
He said, and to the sword his throat applied.
The crimson stream distain'd his arms around,
And the disdainful soul came rushing through the
ÆNEAS erects a trophy of the spoils of Mezentius; grants a truce for burying the dead, and sends home the body of Pallas with great solemnity-Latinus calls a council, to propose offers of peace to Æneas; which occasions great animosity betwixt Turnus and Drances-In the mean time there is a sharp engagement of the horse; wherein Camilla signalises herself; is killed; and the Latine troops are intirely defeated.
SCARCE had the rosy morning raised her head
Above the waves, and left her wat'ry bed;
The pious chief, whom double cares attend
For his unburied soldiers and his friend,
Yet first to heav'n perform'd a victor's vows:
He bared an ancient oak of all her boughs ;
Then on a rising ground the trunk he placed,
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he graced.
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked snag 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.
10
His brazen buckler on the left was seen:
Truncheons of shiver'd lances hung between ;
And on the right was placed his corselet, bored;
And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man,
Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began :
'Our toils, my friends, are crown'd with sure suc
The greater part perform'd, achieve the less.
Now follow cheerful to the trembling town:
Press but an entrance, and presume it won.
Fear is no more; for fierce Mezentius lies,
As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.
Turnus shall fall extended on the plain,
And, in this omen, is already slain.
Prepared in arms, pursue your happy chance;
That none unwarn'd may plead his ignorance,
And I, at heaven's appointed hour, may find
Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.
Meantime the rites and fun'ral pomps prepare,
Due to your dead companions of the war-
The last respect the living can bestow,
To shield their shadows from contempt below.
That conquer'd earth be theirs, for which they
And which for us with their own blood they bought.
But first the corpse of our unhappy friend
To the sad city of Evander send;
Who, not inglorious, in his age's bloom
Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.'
Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way,
Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay.
Acœtes watch'd the corpse; whose youth deserved 45
The father's trust; and now the son he served
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 dishevell'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,
And the fair flesh distain'd with purple gore ;
First, melting into tears, the pious man
Deplored so sad a sight, then thus began :
'Unhappy youth! when Fortune gave the rest
Of my full wishes, she refused the best!
She came; but brought not thee along, to bless
My longing eyes, and share in my success:
She grudged thy safe return, the triumphs due
To prosp'rous valor, in the public view.
Not thus I promised, when thy father lent
Thy needless succor with a sad consent;
Embraced me, parting for th' Etrurian land,
And sent me to possess a large command.
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 odors on his loaded altars burn;
While we, with vain officious pomp, prepare
To send him back his portion of the war,
A bloody breathless body, which can owe
No farther debt but to the pow'rs below.
The wretched father, ere his race is run,
Shall view the fun'ral honors of his son.
These are my triumphs of the Latian war,
Fruits of my plighted faith and boasted care :
And yet, unhappy sire, thou shalt not see
A son, whose death disgraced his ancestry :
Thou shalt not blush, old man, however grieved:
Thy Pallas no dishonest wound received.
He died no death to make thee wish, too late,
Thou had'st not lived to see his shameful fate.
But what a champion has th' Ausonian coast,
And what a friend hast thou, Ascanius, lost!'
Thus having mourn'd, he gave the word around
To raise the breathless body from the ground;
And chose a thousand horse, the flow'r of all
His warlike troops, to 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,
Then on their shoulders the sad burden rear.
The body on this rural hearse is borne :
Strew'd leaves and fun'ral greens the bier adorn.
All pale he lies, and looks a lovely flow'r,
New cropt by virgin hands, to dress the bow'r:
Unfaded yet, but yet unfed below,
No more to mother earth or the green stem shall
Then two fair vests, of wondrous work and cost,
Of purple woven, and with gold emboss'd,
For ornament the Trojan hero brought,
Which with her hands Sidonian Dido wrought.
One vest array'd the corpse; and one they spread
O'er his closed eyes, and wrapp'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 slain,
When he descended on the Latian plain-
Arms, trappings, horses-by the hearse are led
In long array-th' achievements of the dead :
Then, pinion'd with their hands behind, appear
Th' unhappy captives, marching in the rear;
Appointed off'rings in the victor's name,
To sprinkle with their blood the fun'ral flame.
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