Meanwhile Dawn rose and left the ocean waves:
though Aeneas’s sorrow urged him to spend his time
on his comrades’ burial, and his mind was burdened by death,
as victor, at first light, he discharged his vows to the gods.
He planted a great oak trunk, its branches lopped all round,
on a tumulus, and decked it out as a trophy to you, great god of war,
in the gleaming armour stripped from the leader, Mezentius;
he fastened the crests to it, dripping with blood, the warrior’s
broken spears, and the battered breastplate, pierced
in twelve places; he tied the bronze shield to its left side
and hung the ivory-hilted sword from its neck.
Then he began to encourage his rejoicing comrades:
“We have done great things, men; banish all fear of what’s left
to do; these are the spoils of a proud king, the first fruits of victory,
and this is Mezentius, fashioned by my hands.
Now our path is towards King Latinus and his city walls.
Look to your weapons, spiritedly, make war your expectation,
so when the gods above give us the sign to take up our standards
and lead out our soldiers from the camp, no delay may halt us
unawares or wavering purpose hold us back through fear.
Meanwhile let us commit to earth the unburied bodies
of our friends, the only tribute recognised in Acheron’s depths.
Go,” he said, “grace these noble spirits with your last gifts,
who have won this country for us with their blood,
and first let Pallas’s body be sent to Evander’s grieving city,
he whom a black day stole, though no way lacking
in courage, and plunged in death’s bitterness.”
So he spoke, weeping, and retraced his steps to the threshold
where Pallas’s lifeless corpse was laid, watched
by old Acoetes, who before had been armour-bearer
to Arcadian Evander, but then, under less happy auspices,
set out as the chosen guardian for his dear foster-child.
All the band of attendants and the Trojan crowd stood around,
and the Ilian women, hair loosened as customary in mourning.
As Aeneas entered the tall doorway, they struck
their breasts and raised a great cry to the heavens,
and the royal pavilion rang with sad lamentation.
When he saw the pillowed face and head of Pallas,
pale as snow, and the open wound of the Ausonian spear
in his smooth chest, he spoke, his tears rising:
“Unhappy child, when Fortune entered smiling, was it she
who begrudged you to me, so that you would not see
my kingdom or ride victorious to your father’s house?
This was not the last promise I made your father, Evander,
on leaving, when he embraced me, sending me off
to win a great empire, and warned me with trepidation
that the enemy were brave, a tough race.
And now, greatly deluded by false hopes, he perhaps
is making vows, piling the altars high with gifts,
while we, grieving, follow his son in vain procession,
one who no longer owes any debt to the gods.
Unhappy one, you will see the bitter funeral of your child!
Is this how we return, is this our hoped-for triumph?
Is this what my great promise amounted to?
Yet, Evander, your eyes will not see a son struck down
with shameful wounds, nor be a father praying for death,
accursed because your son came home alive. Alas, how great
was the protector who is lost to you, Ausonia, and you, Iulus!”
When he had ended his lament, he ordered them to lift
the sad corpse, and he sent a thousand men, chosen
from the ranks, to attend the last rites and share the father’s tears,
a meagre solace for so great a grief, but owed a father’s sorrow.
Others, without delay, interwove the frame of a bier
with twigs of oak and shoots of arbutus, shading
the bed they constructed with a covering of leaves.
Here they placed the youth high on his rustic couch:
like a flower plucked by a young girl’s fingers,
a sweet violet or a drooping hyacinth, whose brightness
and beauty have not yet faded, but whose native earth
no longer nourishes it or gives it strength.
Then Aeneas brought two robes of rigid gold and purple
that Sidonian Dido had made for him once with her own hands,
delighting in the labour, interweaving the fabric with gold thread.
Sorrowing, he draped the youth with one of these as a last honour,
and veiled that hair, which would be burned, with its cloth,
and heaped up many gifts as well from the Laurentine battle
and ordered the spoils to be carried in a long line;
he added horses and weapons stripped from the enemy.
He had the hands of those he sent as offerings to the shades,
to sprinkle the flames with blood in dying, bound behind their backs,
and ordered the leaders themselves to carry tree-trunks
draped with enemy weapons, with the names of the foe attached.
Unhappy Acoetes, wearied with age, was led along,
now bruising his chest with his fists, now marring his face
with his nails, until he fell, full-length on the ground;
and they led chariots drenched with Rutulian blood.
Behind went the war-horse, Aethon, without his trappings,
mourning, wetting his face with great tear drops.
Others carried Pallas’s spear and helmet, the rest Turnus
held as victor. Then a grieving procession followed,
Trojans, Etruscans, and Arcadians with weapons reversed.
When all the ranks of his comrades had advanced far ahead,
Aeneas halted, and added this, with a deep sigh:
“This same harsh fate of warfare calls me from here
to other weeping: my salute for eternity to you, noble Pallas,
and for eternity, farewell.” Without speaking more, he turned
his steps toward the camp and headed for the walls.
Oceanum interea surgens Aurora reliquit:
Aeneas, quamquam et sociis dare tempus humandis
praecipitant curae turbataque funere mens est,
vota deum primo victor solvebat Eoo.
ingentem quercum decisis undique ramis 5
constituit tumulo fulgentiaque induit arma,
Mezenti ducis exuvias, tibi magne tropaeum
bellipotens; aptat rorantis sanguine cristas
telaque trunca viri, et bis sex thoraca petitum
perfossumque locis, clipeumque ex aere sinistrae 10
subligat atque ensem collo suspendit eburnum.
tum socios (namque omnis eum stipata tegebat
turba ducum) sic incipiens hortatur ovantis:
'maxima res effecta, viri; timor omnis abesto,
quod superest; haec sunt spolia et de rege superbo 15
primitiae manibusque meis Mezentius hic est.
nunc iter ad regem nobis murosque Latinos.
arma parate, animis et spe praesumite bellum,
ne qua mora ignaros, ubi primum vellere signa
adnuerint superi pubemque educere castris, 20
impediat segnisve metu sententia tardet.
interea socios inhumataque corpora terrae
mandemus, qui solus honos Acheronte sub imo est.
ite,' ait 'egregias animas, quae sanguine nobis
hanc patriam peperere suo, decorate supremis 25
muneribus, maestamque Evandri primus ad urbem
mittatur Pallas, quem non virtutis egentem
abstulit atra dies et funere mersit acerbo.'
Sic ait inlacrimans, recipitque ad limina gressum
corpus ubi exanimi positum Pallantis Acoetes 30
servabat senior, qui Parrhasio Evandro
armiger ante fuit, sed non felicibus aeque
tum comes auspiciis caro datus ibat alumno.
circum omnis famulumque manus Troianaque turba
et maestum Iliades crinem de more solutae. 35
ut vero Aeneas foribus sese intulit altis
ingentem gemitum tunsis ad sidera tollunt
pectoribus, maestoque immugit regia luctu.
ipse caput nivei fultum Pallantis et ora
ut vidit levique patens in pectore vulnus 40
cuspidis Ausoniae, lacrimis ita fatur obortis:
'tene,' inquit 'miserande puer, cum laeta veniret,
invidit Fortuna mihi, ne regna videres
nostra neque ad sedes victor veherere paternas?
non haec Evandro de te promissa parenti 45
discedens dederam, cum me complexus euntem
mitteret in magnum imperium metuensque moneret
acris esse viros, cum dura proelia gente.
et nunc ille quidem spe multum captus inani
fors et vota facit cumulatque altaria donis, 50
nos iuvenem exanimum et nil iam caelestibus ullis
debentem vano maesti comitamur honore.
infelix, nati funus crudele videbis!
hi nostri reditus exspectatique triumphi?
haec mea magna fides? at non, Evandre, pudendis 55
vulneribus pulsum aspicies, nec sospite dirum
optabis nato funus pater. ei mihi quantum
praesidium, Ausonia, et quantum tu perdis, Iule!'
Haec ubi deflevit, tolli miserabile corpus
imperat, et toto lectos ex agmine mittit 60
mille viros qui supremum comitentur honorem
intersintque patris lacrimis, solacia luctus
exigua ingentis, misero sed debita patri.
haud segnes alii cratis et molle feretrum
arbuteis texunt virgis et vimine querno 65
exstructosque toros obtentu frondis inumbrant.
hic iuvenem agresti sublimem stramine ponunt:
qualem virgineo demessum pollice florem
seu mollis violae seu languentis hyacinthi,
cui neque fulgor adhuc nec dum sua forma recessit, 70
non iam mater alit tellus virisque ministrat.
tum geminas vestis auroque ostroque rigentis
extulit Aeneas, quas illi laeta laborum
ipsa suis quondam manibus Sidonia Dido
fecerat et tenui telas discreverat auro. 75
harum unam iuveni supremum maestus honorem
induit arsurasque comas obnubit amictu,
multaque praeterea Laurentis praemia pugnae
aggerat et longo praedam iubet ordine duci;
addit equos et tela quibus spoliaverat hostem. 80
vinxerat et post terga manus, quos mitteret umbris
inferias, caeso sparsurus sanguine flammas,
indutosque iubet truncos hostilibus armis
ipsos ferre duces inimicaque nomina figi.
ducitur infelix aevo confectus Acoetes, 85
pectora nunc foedans pugnis, nunc unguibus ora,
sternitur et toto proiectus corpore terrae;
ducunt et Rutulo perfusos sanguine currus.
post bellator equus positis insignibus Aethon
it lacrimans guttisque umectat grandibus ora. 90
hastam alii galeamque ferunt, nam cetera Turnus
victor habet. tum maesta phalanx Teucrique sequuntur
Tyrrhenique omnes et versis Arcades armis.
postquam omnis longe comitum praecesserat ordo,
substitit Aeneas gemituque haec addidit alto: 95
'nos alias hinc ad lacrimas eadem horrida belli
fata vocant: salve aeternum mihi, maxime Palla,
aeternumque vale.' nec plura effatus ad altos
tendebat muros gressumque in castra ferebat.
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