SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais-d 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: 5
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 grac-d.
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked snag in triumph borne, 10
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; 15
Truncheons of shiver-d lances hung between;
And on the right was placed his corslet, bor-d;
And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man,
Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began: 20
-Our toils, my friends, are crown-d with sure success;
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, 25
As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.
Turnus shall fall 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 ignorance, 30
And I, at Heav-n-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, 35
To shield 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 first the corpse of our unhappy friend
To the sad city of Evander send, 40
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.
Acoetes 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 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. 50
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 à?neas 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 sad a sight, 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 safe return, the triumphs due
To prosp-rous valor, in the public view.
Not thus I promis-d, when thy father lent 65
Thy needless succor 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. 70
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 75
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! 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 died no death to make thee wish, too late, 85
Thou hadst 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; 90
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, 95
Then on their shoulders the sad burden rear.
The body on this rural hearse is borne:
Strew-d leaves and funeral greens the bier adorn.
All pale he lies, and looks a lovely flow-r,
New cropp-d by virgin hands, to dress the bow-r: 100
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 emboss-d,
For ornament the Trojan hero brought, 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 wrapp-d around his head,
That, when the yellow hair in flame should fall,
The catching fire might burn the golden caul. 110
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 115
Th- unhappy captives, marching in the rear,
Appointed off-rings in the victor-s name,
To sprinkle with their blood the fun-ral flame.
Inferior trophies by the chiefs are borne;
Gauntlets and helms their loaded hands adorn; 120
And fair inscriptions fix-d, and titles read
Of Latian leaders conquer-d by the dead.
Acoetes on his pupil-s corpse attends,
With feeble steps, supported by his friends.
Pausing at ev-ry pace, in sorrow drown-d, 125
Betwixt their arms he sinks upon the ground;
Where grov-ling while he lies in deep despair,
He beats his breast, and rends his hoary hair.
The champion-s chariot next is seen to roll,
Besmear-d with hostile blood, and honorably foul. 130
To close the pomp, à?thon, the steed of state,
Is led, the fun-rals of his 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, 135
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 tow-rs 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 relics! and a last farewell!�
He said no more, but, inly thro- 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; 150
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; 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 denied,
The hero grants, and farther thus replied: 160
-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, 165
Not only for the slain, but those who live.
I came not hither but by Heav-n-s comma