The champion's chariot next is seen to roll,
Befmear'd with hoftile blood, and honourably foul.
To clofe the pomp, Æthon, the steed of state,
Is led, the funerals of his lord to wait.
Stripp'd of his tappings, with a fullen pace
He walks, and the big tears run rolling down his face. The lance of Pallas, and the crimson creft,
Are borne behind; the victor feiz'd the reft.
The march begins: the trumpets hoarfely found,
The pikes and lances trail along the ground.
Thus while the Trojan and Arcadian horse,
To Pallantean towers direct their course,
In long proceffion 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 prefent woes, at least suspends:
Peace with the manes of great Pallas dwell ;.
Hail holy relicks, and a laft farewell!
He said no more, but inly though he mourn'd,
Reftrain'd his tears, and to the camp return'd.
Now fuppliants, from Laurentum fent, demand
A truce, with olive-branches in their hand..
Obteft his clemency, and from the plain
Beg leave to draw the bodies of their flain.
They plead, that none thofe common rites deny
To conquer'd foes, that in fair battle die.
All caufe 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 requests.
Whose fon he once was call'd, and once his guest.
Their fuit, which was too just to be deny'd,
The hero grants, and farther thus reply'd :
Latian princes, how fevere a faté
In caufelefs quarrels has involv'd your state!
And arm'd against an unoffending man,
Who fought your friendship ere the war began!
You beg a truce, which I would gladly give,
Not only for the flain, but thofe who live.
I came not hither but by heaven's command,
And fent by Fate to fhare the Latian land.
Nor wage I wars unjust; your king deny'd
My proffer'd friendship, and my promis'd bride.
Left me for Turnus; Turnus then should try
His caufe in arms, to conquer or to die.
My right and his are in difpute: the flain
Fell without fault, our quarrel to maintain.
In equal arms let us alone contend;
And let him vanquish, whom his Fates befriend.
This is the way, fo tell him, to poffefs
That your flain friends may funeral-rites receive. 120
Thus having faid, th' embassadors amaz'd,
Stood mute a while, and on each other gaz'd:
Drances, their chief, who harbour'd in his breast
Long hate to Turnus, as his foe profess'd,
Broke filence first, and to the godlike man,
With graceful action bowing, thus began:
Aufpicious prince, in arms a mighty name,
But yet whofe actions far tranfcend your fame :
Would I your juftice or your force exprefs,
Thought can but equal; and all words are lefs:
Your anfwer we shall thankfully relate,
And favours granted to the Latian state:
If wish'd fuccefs your labour fhall attend,
Think peace concluded, and the king your friend:
Let Turnus leave the realm to your command:
And feek alliance in fome other land:
Build you the city which your Fates affign:
We shall be proud in the great work to join.
Thus Drances; and his words fo well perfuade
The reft impower'd, that foon a truce is made.
Twelve days the term allow'd: and during thofe,
Latians and Trojans, now no longer foes,
Mix'd in the woods, for funeral piles prepare,
To fell the timber, and forget the war.
Loud axes through the groaning groves refound:
Oak, mountain-afh, and poplar, spread the ground:
Firs fall from high: and fome the trunks receive,
In loaden wains, with wedges fome they cleave.
And now the fatal news by Fame is blown
Through the short circuit of th' Arcadian town,
Of Palļas fļain: by Fame, which just before
His triumphs on diftended pinions bore.
Rushing from out the gate, the people stand,
Each with a funeral fiambeau in his hand :
Wildly they ftare, diftracted with amaze :
The fields are lighten'd with a fiery blaze,
That caft a fullen fplendor on their friends
(The marching troop which their dread prince attends).
Both parties meet: they raise a doleful cry :
The matrons from the walls with fhrieks reply: 220
And their mix'd mourning rends the vaulted sky.
The town is fill'd with tumult and with tears,
Till the loud clamours reach Evander's ears:
Forgetful of his state, he runs along,
With a diforder'd pace, and cleaves the throng:
Falls on the corpfe, and groaning there he lies,
With filent grief, that speaks but at his eyes:
Short fighs and fobs fucceed: till forrow breaks
A paffage, and at once he weeps and speaks.
O Pallas! thou haft fail'd thy plighted word! 230
To fight with caution, not to tempt the fword,
I warn'd thee, but in vain; for well I knew
What perils youthful ardour would pursue:
That boiling blood would carry thee too far;
Young as thou wert in dangers, raw to war!
O curft effay of arms, difaftrous doom,
Prelude of bloody fields, and fights to come!
Hard elements of inaufpicious war,
Vain vows to heaven, and unavailing care!
Thrice happy thou, dear partner of my bed,
Whofe holy foul the stroke of fortune fled:
Præícious of ills, and leaving me behind,
To drink the dregs of life by fate affign'd.
Beyond the goal of nature I have gone;
My Pallas late fet out, but reach'd too foon.
If, from my league against th' Ausonian state,
Amid their weapons I had found my fate,
(Deferv'd from them) then I had been return'd
A breathless victor, and my fon had mourn'd.
Yet will not I my Trojan friend upbraid,
Nor grudge th' alliance I so gladly made.
'Twas not his fault my Pallas fell so young,
But my own crime for having liv'd too long.
Yet, fince the gods had deftin'd him to die,
At least he led the way to victory:
First for his friends he won the fatal fhore,
And fent whole herds of flaughter'd foes before:
A death too great, too glorious to deplore.
Nor will I add new honours to thy grave;
Content with those the Trojan hero gave.
That funeral pomp thy Phrygian friends defign'd;
In which the Tufcan chiefs and army join'd:
Great fpoils, and trophies gain'd by thee, they bear:
Then let thy own atchievements be thy fhare.
Ev'n thou, O Turnus, hadft a trophy stood,
Whofe mighty trunk had better grac'd the wood.
If Pallas had arriv'd, with equal length
Of years, to match thy bulk with equal ftrength.
But why, unhappy man, doft thou detain
Thefe troops to view the tears thou fhed'ft in vain!
Go, friends, this message to your lord relate;
Tell him, that if I bear my bitter fate,
And after Pallas' death, live lingering on,
Tis to behold his vengeance for my fon.
I ftay for Turnus; whofe devoted head
Is owing to the living and the dead:
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