HKB
And part are to the neighb’ring fields convey’d. The corps of kings, and captains of renown, Borne off in state, are buried in the town; The rest, unhonour’d, and without a name, Are cast a common heap to feed the flame. Trojans and Latians vie with like desires To make the field of battle shine with fires, And the promiscuous blaze to heav’n aspires.
Now had the morning thrice renew’d the light, And thrice dispell’d the shadows of the night, When those who round the wasted fires remain, Perform the last sad office to the slain. They rake the yet warm ashes from below; These, and the bones unburn’d, in earth bestow; These relics 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 scene more solemn, and a pomp of tears. Maids, matrons, widows, mix their common moans; Orphans their sires, and sires lament their sons. All in that universal sorrow share, And curse the cause of this unhappy war: A broken league, a bride unjustly sought, A crown usurp’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’ Ausonian land Engage the Trojan hero hand to hand: His is the gain; our lot is but to serve; ’Tis just, the sway he seeks, he should deserve.” This Drances aggravates; and adds, with spite: “His foe expects, and dares him to the fight.” Nor Turnus wants a party, to support His cause and credit in the Latian court. His former acts secure his present fame, And the queen shades him with her mighty name.
While thus their factious minds with fury burn, The legates from th’ Aetolian prince return: Sad news they bring, that, after all the cost And care employ’d, their embassy is lost; That Diomedes refus’d his aid in war, Unmov’d with presents, and as deaf to pray’r. Some new alliance must elsewhere be sought, Or peace with Troy on hard conditions bought.
Latinus, sunk in sorrow, finds too late, A foreign son is pointed out by fate; And, till Aeneas shall Lavinia wed, The wrath of Heav’n is hov’ring o’er his head. The gods, he saw, espous’d the juster side, When late their titles in the field were tried: Witness the fresh laments, and fun’ral tears undried. Thus, full of anxious thought, he summons all The Latian senate to the council hall. The princes come, commanded by their head, And crowd the paths that to the palace lead. Supreme in pow’r, and reverenc’d for his years, He takes the throne, and in the midst appears. Majestically sad, he sits in state, And bids his envoys their success relate.