My fon and I expect it from his hand';
"Tis all that he can give, or we demand.
Joy is no more: but I would gladly go,
To greet my Pallas with fuch news below.
The morn had now dispell'd the fhades of night;
Reftoring toils, when she restor'd the light:
The Trojan king, and Tufcan chief, command
To raise the piles along the winding strand:
Their friends convey the dead to funeral fires;
Black fmouldring smoke from the green wood expires;
The light of heaven is chok'd, and the new day retires.
Then thrice around the kindled piles they go
(For ancient custom had ordain'd it fo).
Thrice horse and foot about the fires are led,
And thrice with loud laments they hail the dead.
Tears trickling down their breasts bedew the ground;
And drums and trumpets mix their mournful found.
Amid the blaze, their pious brethren throw
The fpoils, in battle taken from the foe;
Helms, bitts emboss'd, and swords of shining steel,
One cafts a target, one a chariot-wheel:
Some to their fellows their own arms reftore:
The fauchions which in luckless fight they bore:
Their bucklers pierc'd, their darts bestow'd in vain,
And shiver'd lances gather'd from the plain,
Whole herds of offer'd bulls about the fire,
And briftled boars, and woolly fheep expire.
Around the piles a careful troop attends,
To watch the wafting flames, and weep their burning
Lingering along the fhore, till dewy night
New decks the face of heaven with ftarry light.
The conquer'd Latians, with like pious care,
Piles without number for their dead prepare;
Part, in the places where they fell, are laid;
And part are to the neighbouring fields convey'd.
The corpfe of kings, and captains of renown,
Born off in state, are bury'd in the town:
The reft unhonour'd, and without
Are caft a common heap to feed the flame.
Trojans and Latians vie with like defires
To make the field of battle shine with fires;.
And the promiscuous blaze to heaven afpires.
Now had the morning thrice renew'd the light,
And thrice difpell'd the fhadows of the night;
When those who round the wafted fires remain,
Perform the laft fad office to the flain:
They rake the yet warm afhes, from below;
Thefe, and the bones unburn'd, in earth bestow:
These relicks with their country rites they grace;
And raise a mount of turf to mark the place.
But in the palace of the king, appears
A fcene more folemn, and a pomp of tears.
Maids, matrons, widows, mix their common moans:
Orphans their fires, and fires lament their fons.
All in that univerfal forrow fhare,
And curfe the cause of this unhappy war.
A broken league, a bride unjustly fought,
A crown ufurp'd, which with their blood is bought!
These are the crimes, with which they load the name
Of Turnus, and on him alone exclaim.
Let him, who lords it o'er th' Aufonian land,
Engage the Trojan hero hand to hand :
His is the gain, our lot is but to serve :
'Tis juft, the sway he feeks, he should deserve.
This Drances aggravates; and adds, with fpight,
His foe expects, and dares him to the fight.
Nor Turnus wants a party, to support
His caufe and credit, in the Latian court.
His former acts fecure his prefent fame;
And the queen fhades him with her mighty name.
While thus their factious minds with fury burn;
The legates from th' Ætolian prince return :
Sad news they bring, that, after all the coft,
And care employ'd, their embaffy is loft:
That Diomede refus'd his aid in war;
Unmov'd with presents, and as deaf to prayer.
Some new alliance must elsewhere be fought;
Or peace with Troy on hard conditions bought.
Latinus, funk in forrow, finds too late
A foreign fon is pointed out by fate :
And till Æneas fhall Lavinia wed,
The wrath of heaven is hovering o'er his head.
The gods, he saw, efpous'd the juster side,
When late their titles in the field were try'd: 360
Witness the fresh laments, and funeral tears undry'd.
Thus, full of anxious thought, he fummons all
The Latian fenate to the council-hall:
The princes come, commanded by their head,
And crowd the paths that to the palace lead.
Supreme in power, and reverenc'd for his years,
He takes the throne, and in the midst appears:
Majeftically fad, he fits in ftate,
And bids his envoys their fuccefs relate.
When Venulus began, the murmuring found
Was hush'd, and facred filence reign'd around.
*We have, faid he, perform'd your high command:
And pafs'd with peril a long tract of land:
We reach'd the place defir'd, with wonder fill'd,
The Grecian tents and rifing towers beheld.
Great Diomede has compafs'd round with walls
The city, which Argyripa he calls;
From his own Argos nam'd: we touch'd, with joy,
The royal hand that raz'd unhappy Troy.
When introduc'd, our prefents first we bring,
Then crave an instant audience from the king:
His leave obtain'd, our native foil we name;
And tell th' important caufe for which we came.
Attentively he heard us, while we spoke ;
Then, with foft accents, and a pleasing look,
Made this return: Aufonian race, of old
Renown'd for peace, and for an age of gold,
What madness has your alter'd minds poffefs'd,
To change for war hereditary reft?
Solicit arms unknown, and tempt the fword
(A needlef's ill your ancestors abhor'd).
We (for myself I speak, and all the name
Of Grecians who to Troy's destruction came)
Omitting those who were in battle flain,
Or borne by rolling Simois to the main:
Not one but fuffer'd, and too dearly bought
The prize of honour which in arms he fought,
Some doom'd to death, and some in exile driven,
Out-cafts, abandon'd by the care of heaven:
So worn, fo wretched, so despis'd a crew,
A's ev'n old Priam might with pity view.
Witnefs the veffels by Minerva toss'd
In ftorms, the vengeful Capharean coast ;
Th' Eubean rocks; the prince, whofe brother led
Our armies to revenge his injur'd bed,
In Egypt loft; Ulyffes, with his men,
Have feen Charybdis, and the Cyclops den:
Why should I name Idomeneus, in vain,
Reftor'd to fceptres, and expell'd again?
Or young Achilles, by his rival flain?
Ev'n he, the king of men, the foremost name
Of all the Greeks, and most renown'd by fame,
The proud revenger of another's wife,
Yet by his own adulterefs loft his life:
Fell at his threshold, and the spoils of Troy
The foul polluters of his bed enjoy.
The Gods have envy'd me the sweets of life,
My much-lov'd country, and my more lov'd wife:
Banish'd from both, I mourn; while in the fky,
Transform'd to birds, my loft companions fly: 420
Hovering about the coasts they make their moan;
And cuff the cliffs with pinions not their own.
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