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Then Liger thus: "Thy confidence is vain

To 'scape from hence, as from the Trojan plain:
Nor these the steeds which Diomede bestrode,
Nor this the chariot where Achilles rode :
Nor Venus' veil is here, nor Neptune's shield:
Thy fatal hour is come: and this the field."
Thus Liger vainly vaunts: the Trojan peer
Return'd his answer with his flying spear.
As Lucagus to lash his horses bends,
Prone to the wheels, and his left foot protends,
Prepar'd for flight, the fatal dart arrives,
And through the border of his buckler drives;
Pass'd through, and pierc'd his groin; the deadly

Cast from his chariot, roll'd him on the ground.
Whom thus the chief upbraids with scornful spite:
"Blame not the slowness of your steeds in flight;
Vain shadows did not force their swift retreat:
But you yourself forsake your empty seat."
He said, and seiz'd at once the loosen'd rein
(For Liger lay already on the plain
By the same shock); then, stretching out his hands,
The recreant thus his wretched life demands:

Now by thyself, O more than mortal man!
By her and him from whom thy breath began,
Who form'd thee thus divine, I beg thee spare
This forfeit life, and hear thy suppliant's prayer."
Thus much he spoke; and more he would have

But the stern hero turn'd aside his head,
And cut him short: "I hear another man,
You talk'd not thus before the fight began:
Now take your turn: and, as a brother should,
Attend your brother to the Stygian flood:"
Then through his breast his fatal sword he sent,
And the soul issued at the gaping vent.
As storms the skies, and torrents tear the ground,
Thus rag'd the prince, and scatter'd deaths around:
At length Ascanius, and the Trojan train,
Broke from the camp, so long besieg'd in vain.
Meantime the king of gods and mortal man
Held conference with his queen, and thus began:
"My sister-goddess, and well pleasing wife,
Still think you Venus' aid supports the strife;
Sustains her Trojans, or themselves alone,
With inborn valour, force their fortune on?
How fierce in fight, with courage undecay'd!
Judge if such warriors want immortal aid."
To whom the goddess with the charming eyes,
Soft in her tone, submissively replies:
"Why, O my sovereign lord, whose frown I fear,
And cannot, unconcern'd, your anger bear;
Why urge you thus my grief? when, if I still
(As once I was) were mistress of your will,
From your almighty power, your pleasing wife
Might gain the grace of lengthening Turnus' life;
Securely snatch him from the fatal fight;
And give him to his aged father's sight.
Now let him perish, since you hold it good,
And glut the Trojans with his pious blood.
Yet from our lineage he derives his name,
And in the fourth degree from god Pilumnus came!
Yet he devoutly pays you rites divine,
And offers daily incense at your shrine."

Then shortly thus the sovereign god reply'd:
"Since in my power and goodness you confide;
If for a little space, a lengthen'd span,
You beg reprieve for this expiring man:
I grant you leave to take your Turnus hence,
From instant fate, and can so far dispense.

But if some secret meaning lies beneath,
To save the short-liv'd youth from destin d death:
Or if a farther thought you entertain,
To change the fates, you feed your hopes in

To whom the goddess thus, with weeping eyes:
"And what if that request your tongue denies,
Your heart should grant; and not a short reprieve,
But length of certain life to Turnus give?
Now speedy death attends the guiltless youth,
If my presaging soul divines with truth:
Which, O! I wish might err thro' causeless fears,
And you (for you have power) prolong his years.”

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Thus having said, involv'd in clouds, she flies, And drives a storm before her through the skies. Swift she descends, alighting on the plain, Where the fierce foes a dubious fight maintain. Of air condens'd, a spectre soon she made, And what Æneas was, such seem'd the shade. Adorn'd with Dardan arms, the phantom bore His head aloft, a plumy crest he wore : This hand appear'd a shining sword to wield, And that sustain'd an imitated shield: With manly mien he stalk'd along the ground; Nor wanted voice bely'd, nor vaunting sound. (Thus haunting ghosts appear to waking sight, Or dreadful visions in our dreams by night.) The spectre seems the Daunian chief to dare, And flourishes his empty sword in air: At this advancing, Turnus hurl'd his spear; The phantom wheel'd, and seem'd to fly for fear. Deluded Turnus thought the Trojan fled, Aud with vain hopes his haughty fancy fed. "Whither, O coward!" (thus he calls alond, Nor found he spoke to wind, and chas'd a cloud ;) Why thus forsake your bride! Receive from me The fated land you sought so long by sea." He said; and, brandishing at once his blade, With eager pace pursu'd the flying shade. By chance a ship was fasten'd to the shore, Which from old Clusium king Osinius bore: The plank was ready laid for safe ascent; For shelter there the trembling shadow bent, And skipp'd, and sculk'd, and under hatches went. Exulting Turnus, with regardless haste, Ascends the plank, and to the galley pass'd. Scarce had he reach'd the prow, Saturnia's hand The hausers cuts, and shoots the shi from land. With wind iu poop, the vessel ploughs the sea, And measures back with speed her former way. Meantime Æneas seeks his absent foe, And sends his slaughter'd troops to shades below. The guileful phantom now forsook the shrowd, And flew sublime, and vanish'd in a cloud. Too late young Turnus the delusion found, Far on the sea, still making from the ground. Then, thankless for a life redeem'd by shame, With sense of honour stung, and forfeit fame, Fearful besides of what in fight had pass d, His hands and haggard eyes to Heaven he cast. "O Jove!" he cry'd, "for what offence have I Deserv'd to bear this endless infamy? Whence am I fore'd, and whither am I borne, How, and with what reproach, shall I return! Shall ever I behold the 'atian plain, Or see Laurentum's lofty towers again? What will they say of their deserting chief? The war was mine, I fly from their relief: I led to slaughter, and in slaughter leave ; And ev'n from hence their dying groans receive,

Here, over-match'd in fight, in heaps they lie,
There, scatter'd o'er the fields, ignobly fly.
Gape wide, O Earth! and draw me down alive,
Or, oh, ye pitying winds! a wretch relieve;
On sands or shelves the splitting vessel drive:
Or set me shipwreck'd on some desert shore,
Where no Rutulian eyes may see me more;
Unknown to friends, or foes, or conscious fame,
Lest she should follow, and my flight proclaim ""
Thus Turnus rav'd, and various fates revolv'd,
The choice was doubtful, but the death resolv’d.
And now the sword, and now the sea took place:
That to revenge, and this to purge disgrace.
Sometimes he thought to swim the stormy main,
By stretch of arms the distant shore to gain :
Thrice he the sword assay'd, and thrice the flood;
But Juno, mov'd with pity, both withstood;
And thrice repress'd his rage: strong gales supply'd,
And push'd the vessel o'er the swelling tide.
At length she lands him on his native shores,
And to his father's longing arms restores.

Meantime, by Jove's impulse, Mezentius arm'd,
Succeeding Turnus, with his ardour warm'd
His fainting friends, reproach'd their shameful

Repell'd the victors, and renew'd the fight.
Against their king the Tuscan troops conspire,
Such is their hate, and such their fierce desire
Of wish'd revenge: on him, and him alone,
All hands employ'd, and all their darts are thrown.
He, like a solid rock by seas enclos'd,
To raging winds and roaring waves oppos'd;
From his proud summit looking down, disdains
Their empty menace, and unmov'd remains.

Beneath his feet fell haughty Hebrus dead,
Then Latagus; and Palmus, as he fled:
At Latagus a weighty stone he flung,
His face was flatted, and his helmet rung.
But Palmus from behind receives his wound,
Hamstring'd he falls, and grovels on the ground:
His crest and armour, from his body torn,
Thy shoulders, Lausus, and thy head adorn.
Evas and Mymas, both of Troy, he slew;
Mymas his birth from fair Theano drew:
Born on that fatal night, when, big with fire,
The queen produe'd young Paris to his sire.
But Paris in the Phrygian fields was slain;
Unthinking Mymas, on the Latian plain.

And as a savage boar on mountains bred, With forest mast and fattening marshes fed; When once he sees himself in toils enclos'd, By huntsmen and their eager hounds oppos'd, He whets his tusks, and turns, and dares the war; Th' invaders dart their javelins from afar; All keep aloof, and safely shout around, But none presumes to give a nearer wound. He frets and froths, erects his bristled hide, And shakes a grove of lances from his side: Not otherwise the troops, with hate inspir'd And just revenge, against the tyrant fir'd; Their darts with clamour at a distance drive, And only keep the languish'd war alive.


From Coritus came Acron to the fight,
Who left his sponse betroth'd and unconsummate
Mezentius sees him through the squadrons ride,
Proud of the purple favours of his bride.
Then, as a hungry lion, who beholds
A gamesoine goat, who frisks about the folds,'
Or beamy stag, that grazes on the plain;

runs, roars, he shakes his rising mane;


He grins, and opens wide his greedy jaws,
The prey lies panting underneath his paws;
He fills his famish'd maw, his mouth runs o'er
With unchew'd morsels, while he churns the gore:
So proud Mezentius rushes on his foes,
And first unhappy Acron overthrows:
Stretch'd at his length, he spurns the swarthy
The lance, besmear'd with blood, lies broken in the
Then with disdain the haughty victor view'd
Orodes flying, nor the wretch pursu'd:
Nor thought the dastard's back deserv'd a wound,
But running gain'd th' advantage of the ground.
Then, turning short, he met him face to face,
To give his victory the better grace.
Orodes falls, in equal fight opprest:
Mezentius fix'd his foot upon his breast,
And rested lance: and thus aloud he cries,
"Lo, here the champion of my rebels lies!"
The fields around with lö Pæan ring,
And peals of shouts applaud the conqu'ring king.
At this the vanquish'd, with his dying breath,
Thus faintly spoke, and prophesy'd in death:
"Nor thou, proud man, unpunish'd shalt remain;
Like death attends thee on this fatal plain."
Then, sourly smiling, thus the king reply'd:


For what belongs to me, let Jove provide; But die thou first, whatever chance ensue." He said, and from the wound the weapon drew: A hovering mist came swimming o'er his sight, And seal'd his eyes in everlasting night.

By Cadicus, Alcathous was slain;
Sacrator laid Hydaspes on the plain :
Orses the strong to greater strength must yield:
He, with Parthenius, were by Rapo kill'd.
Then brave Messapus Ericetes slew,

Who from Lycaon's blood his lineage drew.
But from his headstrong horse his fate he found,
Who threw his master as he made a bound;
The chief, alighting, stuck him to the ground.
Then Clonius hand in hand, on foot assails,
The Trojan sinks, and Neptune's son prevails.

Agis the Lycian, stepping forth with pride,
To single fight the boldest foe defy'd ;
Whom Tuscan Valerus by force o'ercame,
And not bely'd his mighty father's fame.
Salius to death the great Antronius sent,
But the same fate the victor underwent ;
Slain by Nealces' hand, well skill'd to throw
The flying dart, and draw the far-deceiving bow.

Thus equal deaths are dealt with equal chance; ̈
By turns they quit their ground, by turns advance!
Victors, and vanquish'd, in the varions field,
Nor wholly overcome, nor wholly yield.
The gods from Heaven survey the fatal strife,
And mourn the miseries of human life.
Above the rest two goddesses appear
Concern'd for each: bere Venus, Juno there:
Amidst the crowd infernal Atè shakes

Her scourge aloft, and crest of hissing snakes.

Once more the proud Mezentius, with disdain, Brandish'd his spear, and rush'd into the plain: Where towering in the midmost ranks he stood, Like tall Orion stalking o'er the flood:

When with his brawny breast he cuts the waves, His shoulders scarce the topmost billow laves. Or like a mountain-ash, whose roots are spread, Deep fixt in earth, in clouds he hides his head.

The Trojan prince beheld him from afar, And dauntless undertook the doubtful wan

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Collected in his strength, and like a rock,
Pois'd on his base, Mezentius stood the shock.
He stood, and, measuring first with careful eyes
The space his spear could reach, aloud he cries:
My strong right-hand, and sword, assist my
(Those only gods Mezentius will invoke.) [stroke;
His armour, from the Trojan pirate torn,
By my triumphant Lausus shall be worn."
He said, and with his utmost force he threw-
The massy spear, which, hissing as it flew,
Reach'd the celestial shield that stopp'd the course;
But glancing thence, the yet-unbroken force
Took a new bent obliquely, and betwixt
The sides and bowels fam'd Anthores fix'd.
Anthores had from Argos travell'd far,
Alcides' friend, and brother of the war:
Till, tir'd with toils, fair Italy he chose,
And in Evander's palace sought repose:
Now falling by another wound, his eyes
He cast to Heaven, on Argos thinks, and dies.
The pious Trojan then his javelin sent;
The shield gave way: through treble plates it went
Of solid brass, of linen trebly roll'd,

And three bull-hides, which round the buckler roll'd.
All these it pass'd, resistless in the course,
Transpiere'd his thigh, and spent its dying force.
The gaping wound gush'd out a crimson flood;
The Trojan, glad with sight of hostile blood,
His falchion drew, to closer fight address'd,
And with new force his fainting foe oppress'd.
His father's peril Lausus view'd with grief,
He sigh'd, he wept, he ran to his relief:
And here, heroic youth, 'tis here I must
To thy immortal memory be just ;
And sing an act so noble and so new,
Posterity will scarce believe 'tis true.

Pain'd with his wound, and useless for the fight,
The father sought to save himself by flight:
Encumber'd, slow he dragg'd the spear along,
Which pierc'd his thigh, and in his buckler hung.
The pious youth, resolv'd on death, below
The lifted sword springs forth, to face the foe;
Protects his parent, and prevents the blow.
Shouts of applause ran ringing through the field,
To see the son the vanquish'd father shield:
All fir'd with generous indignation strive;
And, with a storm of darts, at distance drive
The Trojan chief: who, held at bay from far,
On his Vulcanian orb sustain'd the war.


As when thick hail comes rattling in the wind,
The ploughman, passenger, and labouring hind,
For shelter to the neighbouring covert fly;
Or hous'd, or safe in hollow caverns lie;
But, that o'erblown, when Heaven above them
Return to travel, and renew their toils;
Eneas, thus, o'erwhelm'd on every side,
The storm of darts, undaunted, did abide; [cry'd:
And thus to Lausus loud, with friendly threatening,
"Why wilt thou rush to certain death, and rage
In rash attempts, beyond thy tender age,
Betray'd by pious love?" Nor, thus foreborn,
The youth desists, but with insulting scorn
Provokes the lingering prince, whose patience,

Gave place, and all his breast with fury fir'd.
For now the Fates prepar'd their sharpen'd sheers;
And, lifted high, the flaming sword appears,
Which full descending, with a frightful sway,,
Thro' shield and corslet forc'd th' impetuous way,
And buried deep in his fair besom lay.

The purple streams through the thin armour strove And drench'd th' embroider'd coat his mother wove;

And life at length forsook his heaving heart,
Loth from so sweet a mansion to depart.

But when, with blood and paleness all o'erspread,
The pious prince beheld young Lausus dead;
He griev'd, he wept, the sight an image brought
Of his own filial love; a sadly pleasing thought!
Then stretch'd his hand to hold him up, and said,
"Poor halpless youth! what praises can be paid
To love so great, to such transcendent store
Of early worth, and sure presage of more!
Accept whate'er Æneas can afford:
Untouch'd thy arms, untaken be thy sword!
And all that pleas'd thee living, still remain
Inviolate, and sacred to the slain!
Thy body on thy parents I bestow
To rest thy soul, at least if shadows know,
Or have a sense of human things below.
There to thy fellow-ghosts with glory tell,
''Twas by the great Æneas' hand I fell.'"
With this his distant friends he beckons near,
Provokes their duty, and prevents their fear :
Himself assists to lift him from the ground,
With clotted locks, and blood that well'd from out
the wound.

Meantime his father, now no father, stood, And wash'd his wounds by Tiber's yellow flood: Opprest with anguish, panting, and o'erspent, His fainting limbs against an oak he leant. A bough his brazen helmet did sustain, His heavier arms lay scatter'd on the plain: A chosen train of youth around him stand, His drooping head was rested on his hand : His grisly beard his pensive bosom sought, And all on Lausus ran his restless thought. Careful, concern'd his danger to prevent, He much inquir'd, and many a message sent To warn him from the field: alas! in vain; Behold his mournful followers bear him slain : O'er his broad shield still gush'd the yawning wound,

And drew a bloody trail along the ground.

Far off he heard their cries, far off divin'd
The dire event with a foreboding mind.
With dust he sprinkled first his hoary head,
Then both his lifted hands to Heaven he spread ;
Last the dear corpse embracing, thus he said:
"What joys, alas! could this frail being give,
That I have been so covetous to live?
To see my son, and such a son, resign
His life, a ransom for preserving mine?
And am I then preserv'd, and art thou lost?
How much too dear has that redemption cost!
'Tis now my bitter banishment I feel;
This is a wound too deep for time to heal.
My guilt thy growing virtues did defame,
My blackness blotted thy unblemish'd name.
Chas'd from a throne, abandon'd, and exil'd,
For foul misdeeds, were punishments too mild:
I ow'd my people these, and from their hate
With less resentment could have borne my fate.
And yet I live, and yet sustain the sight
Of hated men, and of more hated light:
But will not long." With that he rais'd from

His fainting limbs, that stagger'd with his wound.
Yet with a mind resolv'd, and unappall'd
With pains or perils, for his courser call'd:

Well-mouth'd, well-manag'd, whom himself did
With daily care, and mounted with success: [dress
His aid in arms, his ornament in peace.

Soothing his courage with a gentle stroke,
The steed seem'd sensible while thus he spoke :
"O Rhæbus, we have liv'd too long for me
(If life and long were terms that could agree);
This day thou either shalt bring back the head
And bloody trophies of the Trojan dead;
This day thou either shalt revenge my woe
For murder'd Lausus, on his cruel foe;
Or, if inexorable fate deny

Our conquest, with thy conquer'd master die :
For, after such a lord, I rest secure.


Thou wilt no foreign reins, or Trojan load, endure."
He said and straight th' officious courser kneels
To take his wonted weig' t. His hands he fills
With pointed javelins: on his head he lac'd
His glittering helm, which terribly was grac'd
With waving horse-hair, nodding from afar ;
Then spurr'd his thundering steed amidst the war.
Love, anguish, wrath, and grief, to madness


Despair, and secret shame, and conscious thought
Of inborn worth, his labouring soul oppress'd,
Roll'd in his eyes, and rag'd within his breast.
Then loud he call'd Æneas thrice by name,
The loud repeated voice to glad Æneas came.
"Great Jove," he said, "and the far shooting god,
Inspire thy mind to make thy challenge good."
He spoke no more, but hasten'd, void of fear,
And threaten'd with his long protended spear.

To whom Mezentius thus: "Thy vaunts are
My Lausus lics extended on the plain : [vain,
He's lost! thy conquest is already won,
The wretched sire is murder'd in the son.

Nor fate I fear, but all the gods defy,
Forbear thy threats, my business is to die;
But first receive this parting legacy."

He said and straight a whirling dart he sent:
Another after, and another went.


Round in a spacious ring he rides the field,
And vainly plies th' impenetrable shield:
Thrice rode he round, and thrice Æneas wheel'd,
Turn'd as he turn'd; the golden orb withstood
The strokes; and bore about an iron wood.
Impatient of delay, and weary grown,
Still to defend, and to defend alone;

To wrench the darts which in his buckler light,
Urg'd and o'erlabour'd in unequal fight:
At length resolv'd, he throws with all his force
Full at the temples of the warrior-horse.
Just where the stroke was aim'd, th' unerring spear
Made way, and stood transfixt through either ear.
Seiz'd with unwonted pain, surpris'd with fright,
The wounded steed curvets; and, rais d upright,
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 unwiel ¡y weight;
And, foundering 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.
Eneas hastening, wav'd his fatal sword
High o'er his head, with this reproachful word:
"Now where are now thy vaunts, the fierce disdain
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 dishonour for the brave to die,
Nor came I here with hope of victory.
Nor ask life, nor fought with that design;
As I had us'd my fortune, use thou thine.
My dying son contracted no such band;
The gift is hateful from his murderer's hand
For this, this only favour let me sue:
If pity can to conquer'd foes be due,
Refuse it not but let my body have
The last retreat of human kind, a grave.
Too well I know th' insulting people's hates
Protect me from their vengeance after fate:
This refuge for my poor remains provide,
And lay my much-lov'd Lausus by my side."
He said, and to the throat his sword apply'd.
The crimson stream distain'd his arms around,
And the disdainful soul came rushing through the




NEAS erects a trophy of the spoils of Mezentins; grants a truce for burving the dead; and sends home the body of Pallas with great solemnity. Latius calls a council to propose offers of peace to Eneas, which occasions great animosity be twixt Turnus and Drances: in the mean time there is a sharp engagement of the horse; wherein Camilla signalizes herself; is killed: and the Latine troops are entirely defeated.

SCARCE 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 vows:
He bar'd an ancient oak of all her boughs:
Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac'd;
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grad
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, fixt 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. bor'd;
And to the neck was ty'd his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs enclose the godlike man;
Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began:

"Our toils, my friends, are crown'd with surf


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 stand extended on the plain;
And in this omen is already slain.
Prepar'd in arms, pursue your happy chance;
That none, unwarn'd, may plead his ignorances

And I, at Heaven's appointed hour, may find
Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.
Meantime the rites and funeral 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 hurry'd hence by too severe a doom."
Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way,
Where, now in death, lamented Pallas lay:
Acates watch'd the corpse; whose youth de-

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 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 neas 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
Deplor'd so sad a sight, then thus began:

All pale he lies, and looks a lovely flower,
New cropt by virgin hands, to dress the bower:
Un'aded yet, but yet unfed below,


No more to mother earth or the green stem shall
Then two fair vests, of wondrous work and cust,
Of purple woven, and with gold embost,
For ornament the Trojan hero brought,
Which with her hands Sidonian Di lo wrought.
One vest array'd the corpse, and one they spread
O'er his clos'd 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 he 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 offerings in the victor's name,
To sprinkle with their blood the funeral flame.
Inferior trophies by the chiefs are borne;
Gauntlets and helms, their loaded hands adorn;
And fair inscriptions fixt, 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 sorrow drown'd,
Betwixt their arms he sinks upon the ground.
Where groveling, while be lies in deep despair,
He beats his breast, and rends his hoary hair,

"Unhappy youth! when Fortune gave the rest The champion's chariot next is seen to roll,

Of my full wishes, she refus'd the best!

She came; but brought not thee along, to bless
My longing eyes, and share in my success:
She grudg'd thy safe return, the triumphs due
To prosperous valour, in the public view.
Not thus I promis'd, when thy father lent
Thy needless succour with a sad consent;
Embrac'd 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 odours 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 powers below.
The wretched father, ere his race is run,
Shall view the funeral honours 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 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 wish, too late,
Thou had'st not liv'd 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 flower 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 burthen rear.
The body on this rural hearse is borne,
Strew'd leaves and funeral greens the bier adorn.

Besmear'd with hostile blood, and honourably foul.
To close the pomp, Ethon, the steed of state,
Is led, the funerals of bis lord to wait.
Stripp'd of his trappings, with a sullen 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,
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;
Hail, holy relics, 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.
Obtest his clemency, and from the plain
Beg leave to draw the bodies of their slain.
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;
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:
"O Latian princes, how severe a fate,
In causeless quarrels, has involv'd your state!
And arm'd against an unoffending man,
Who sought your friendship ere the war began!
You beg a truce, which I would gladly give,
Not only for the slain, but those who live.

I came not hither but by Heaven's command,
And sent by fate to share the Latian land.

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