Chased from a throne, abandoned and exiled
For foul misdeeds, were punishments too mild ;
I owed my people these, and from their hate,
With less resentment could have borne my fate.
And yet I live, and yet sustain the sight

Of hated men, and of more hated light;

But will not long." With that he raised from ground
His fainting limbs that staggered with his wound.
Yet with a mind resolved, and unappalled

With pains or perils, for his courser called;
Well-mouthed, well-managed, whom himself did dress,
With daily care, and mounted with success;
His aid in arms, his ornament in peace.

Soothing his courage with a gentle stroke,
The steed seemed sensible, while thus he spoke
"O Rhæbus, we have lived too long for me
(If life and long were terms that could agree);
This day thou either shalt bring back the head
And bloody trophies of the Trojan dead :
This day thou either shalt revenge my woe
For murdered Lausus, on his cruel foe;
Or if inexorable Fate deny

Our conquest, with thy conquered master die;
For after such a lord, I rest secure,

Thou wilt no foreign reins or Trojan load endure.
He said; and straight the officious courser kneels
To take his wonted weight. His hands he fills
With pointed javelins: on his head he laced
His glittering helm, which terribly was graced
With waving horsehair, nodding from afar;
Then spurred his thundering steed amidst the war.
Love, anguish, wrath, and grief, to madness wrought,
Despair and secret shame, and conscious thought
Of inborn worth, his labouring soul oppressed,
Rolled in his eyes, and raged within his breast.
Then loud he called Æneas thrice by name,
The loud repeated voice to glad Æneas came.
"Great Jove," he said, " and the far-shooting god,
Inspire thy mind to make thy challenge good."
He spoke no more, but hastened, void of fear,
And threatened with his long protended spear.
To whom Mezentius thus: " Thy vaunts are vain,
My Lausus lies extended on the plain;
He's lost! Thy conquest is already won,
The wretched sire is murdered in the son,

Nor Fate I fear, but all the gods defy,
Forbear thy threats, my business is to die;
But first receive this parting legacy."

He said. And straight a whirling dart he sent,
Another after, and another went.

Round in a spacious ring he rides the field,
And vainly plies the impenetrable shield;

Thrice rode he round, and thrice Æneas wheeled,
Turned as he turned; the golden orb withstood
The strokes, and bore about an iron wood.
Impatient of delay and weary grown,
Still to defend, and to defend alone;

To wrench the darts which in his buckler light
Urged and o'er-laboured in unequal fight;
At length resolved, he throws with all his force
Full at the temples of the warrior horse.

Just where the stroke was aimed the unerring spear
Made way, and stood transfixed through either ear.
Seized with unwonted pain, surprised with fright,
The wounded steed curvets, and raised upright,
Lights on his feet before: his hoofs behind
Spring up in air aloft and lash the wind.
Down comes the rider headlong from his height,
His horse came after with unwieldy weight,
And floundering forward, pitching on his head,
His lord's encumbered shoulder overlaid.

From either host the mingled shouts and cries
Of Trojans and Rutulians rend the skies;
Æneas hastening waved his fatal sword

High o'er his head, with this reproachful word: "Now, where are now thy vaunts, the fierce disdain Of proud Mezentius, and the lofty strain ?"

Struggling and wildly staring on the skies,

With scarce recovered sight, he thus replies:
'Why these insulting words, this waste of breath,
To souls undaunted and secure of death?

'Tis no dishonour for the brave to die,
Nor came I here with hope of victory;
Nor ask I life, nor fought with that design,
As I had used my fortune, use thou thine.
My dying son contracted no such band;
The gift is hateful from his murderer's hand.
For this, this only favour let me sue,
If pity can to conquered foes be due ;
Refuse it not, but let my body have
The last retreat of human kind, a grave.

I

Too well I know the insulting people's hate;
Protect me from their vengeance after fate;
This refuge for my poor remains provide,
And lay my much-loved Lausus by my side."
He said, and to the sword his throat applied;
The crimson stream distained his arms around,
And the disdainful soul came rushing through the
wound.

BOOK XI.

THE ARGUMENT.

Æneas erects a trophy of the spoils of Mezentius; grants a truce for burying the dead; and sends home the body of Pallas with great solemnity. Latinus calls a council to propose offers of peace to Eneas, which occasions great animosity betwixt Turnus and Drances. In the meantime there is a sharp engagement of the horse, wherein Camilla signalizes herself; is killed; and the Latin troops are entirely defeated.

SCARCE had the rosy morning raised her head
Above the waves, and left her watery bed,
The pious chief, whom double cares attend
For his unburied soldiers and his friend:
Yet first to heaven performed a victor's vows,
He bared an ancient oak of all her boughs:
Then on a rising ground the trunk he placed,
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he graced.
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked snag in triumph borne,
Was hung on high, and glittered from afar,
A trophy sacred to the god of war.
Above his arms, fixed on the leafless wood,
Appeared his plumy crest, besmeared with blood;
His brazen buckler on the left was seen,`
Truncheons of shivered lances hung between ;
And on the right was placed his corselet bored,
And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man,
Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began :

"Our toils, my friends, are crowned with sure success,
The greater part performed, achieve the less.
Now follow cheerful to the trembling town;
Press but an entrance, and presume it won.
Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies,
As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.
Turnus shall fall extended on the plain,
And in this omen is already slain.
Prepared in arms, pursue your happy chance,

That none unwarned may plead his ignorance;
And I, at Heaven's appointed hour, may find
Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.
Meantime the rites and funeral pomps prepare,
Due to your dead companions of the war;
The last respect the living can bestow,

To shield their shadows from contempt below.
That conquered earth be theirs for which they fought,
And which for us with their own blood they bought.
But first the corpse of our unhappy friend
To the sad city of Evander send ;

Who not inglorious, in his age's bloom,
Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.”

Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way,
Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay ;
Acœtes watched the corpse, whose youth deserved
The father's trust, and now the son he served
With equal faith, but less auspicious care,
The attendants of the slain his sorrow share.
A troop of Trojans mixed with these appear,
And mourning matrons with dishevelled hair.
Soon as the Prince appears they raise a cry ;
All beat their breasts, and echoes rend the sky.
They rear his drooping forehead from the ground;
But when Æneas viewed the grizzly wound
Which Pallas in his manly bosom bore,
And the fair flesh distained with purple gore;
First melting into tears, the pious man
Deplored so sad a sight, then thus began :

"Unhappy youth! When fortune gave the rest

Of my full wishes, she refused the best ;

She came, but brought not thee along, to bless
My longing eyes, and share in my success;
She grudged thy safe return, the triumphs due
To prosperous valour, in the public view.
Not thus I promised, when thy father lent
Thy needless succour with a sad consent;
Embraced me parting for the Etrurian land,
And sent me to possess a large command.
He warned, and from his own experience told
Our foes were warlike, disciplined, and bold;
And now perhaps, in hopes of thy return,
Rich odours on his loaded altars buin ;
While we, with vain officious pomp, prepare
To send him back his portion of the war;
A bloody breathless body, which can owe