nging home today!--
Yet, Teucrians, on your troth and you no blaming would I lay,
Nor on our hands in friendship joined: 'twas a foreordered load
For mine old age: and if my son untimely death abode,
'Tis sweet to think he fell amidst the thousand Volscians slain,
And leading on the men of Troy the Latin lands to gain.
Pallas, no better funeral rites mine heart to thee awards
Than good AEneas giveth thee, and these great Phrygian lords, 170
The Tyrrhene dukes, the Tyrrhene host, a mighty company;
While they whom thine own hand hath slain great trophies bear for thee.
Yea, Turnus, thou wert standing there, a huge trunk weapon-clad,
If equal age, if equal strength from lapse of years ye had.
--But out!--why should a hapless man thus stay the Teucrian swords?
Go, and be mindful to your king to carry these my words:
If here by loathed life I bide, with Pallas dead and gone,
Thy right hand is the cause thereof, which unto sire and son
Owes Turnus, as thou wottest well: no other place there is
Thy worth and fate may fill. God wot I seek no life-days' bliss, 180
But might I bear my son this tale amid the ghosts of earth!"

Meanwhile the loveliness of light Aurora brought to birth
For heartsick men, and brought aback the toil of heart and hand:
Father AEneas therewithal down on the hollow strand,
And Tarchon with him, rear the bales; and each man thither bears
His dead friend in the ancient guise: beneath the black flame flares,
The heaven aloft for reek thereof with night is overlaid:
Three times about the litten bales in glittering arms arrayed
They run the course; three times on steed they beat the earth about
Those woeful candles of the dead and sing their wailing out; 190
The earth is strewn with tears of men, and arms of men forlorn,
And heavenward goes the shout of men and blaring of the horn:
But some upon the bale-fires cast gear stripped from Latins slain:
War-helms, and well-adorned swords, and harness of the rein,
And glowing wheels: but overwell some knew the gifts they brought,
The very shields of their dead friends and weapons sped for nought.
Then oxen manifold to Death all round about they slay,
And bristled boars, and sheep they snatch from meadows wide away,
And hew them down upon the flame; then all the shore about
They gaze upon their burnin