ht to any heavenly hand.
Unhappy, thou shalt look upon thy dead unhappy son!
Is this the coming back again? is this the triumph won?
Is this my solemn troth?--Yet thee, Evander, bides no sight
Of craven beat with shameful wounds, nor for the saved from fight
Shalt thou but long for dreadful death.--Woe's me, Ausonian land!
Woe's me, Iulus, what a shield is perished from thine hand!"

Such wise he wept him, and bade raise the hapless body dead,
And therewithal a thousand men, his war-hosts' flower, he sped 60
To wait upon him on the way with that last help of all,
And be between his father's tears: forsooth a solace small
Of mighty grief; a debt no less to that sad father due.
But others speed a pliant bier weaving a wattle through,
Of limber twigs of berry-bush and boughs of oaken-tree,
And shadow o'er the piled-up bed with leafy canopy.
So there upon the wild-wood couch adown the youth is laid;
E'en as a blossom dropped to earth from fingers of a maid--
The gilliflower's bloom maybe, or jacinth's hanging head,
Whose lovely colour is not gone, nor shapely fashion fled, 70
Although its mother feedeth not, nor earth its life doth hold.

Thereon two woven webs, all stiff with purple dye and gold,
AEneas bringeth forth, which erst with her own fingers fair
Sidonian Dido wrought for him, and, glad the toil to bear,
Had shot across the web thereof with thin and golden thread:
In one of these the youth he wrapped, last honour of the dead,
And, woeful, covered up the locks that fire should burn away.
And furthermore a many things, Laurentum's battle-prey,
He pileth up, and bids the spoil in long array be borne:
Horses and battle-gear he adds, late from the foemen torn: 80
And men's hands had he bound aback whom shortly should he send
Unto the ghosts; whose blood should slake the fire that ate his friend.
And trunks of trees with battle-gear from foemen's bodies won
He bids the leaders carry forth, with foemen's names thereon.
Hapless Acoetes, spent with eld, is brought forth; whiles he wears
His bosom with the beat of fists, and whiles his face he tears:
Then forth he falls, and grovelling there upon the ground doth lie.
They bring the war-wain now, o'errained with blood of Rutuli:
AEthon his war-horse comes behind, stripped of his gear of state,