Aeneid
Virgil
Vergil. The Aeneid of Virgil. Williams, Theodore, C, translator. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1910.
- Meanwhile o'er sorrowing mortals the bright morn
- had lifted her mild beam, renewing so
- the burden of man's toil. Aeneas now
- built funeral pyres along the winding shore,
- King Tarchon at his side. Each thither brought
- the bodies of his kin, observing well
- all ancient ritual. The fuming fires
- burned from beneath, till highest heaven was hid
- in blackest, overmantling cloud. Three times
- the warriors, sheathed in proud, resplendent steel,
- paced round the kindling pyres; and three times
- fair companies of horsemen circled slow,
- with loud lamenting, round the doleful flame.
- The wail of warriors and the trumpets' blare
- the very welkin rend. Cast on the flames
- are spoils of slaughtered Latins,—helms and blades,
- bridles and chariot-wheels. Yet others bring
- gifts to the dead familiar, their own shields
- and unavailing spears. Around them slain
- great herds of kine give tribute unto death:
- swine, bristly-backed, from many a field are borne,
- and slaughtered sheep bleed o'er the sacred fire.
- So on the shore the wailing multitude
- behold their comrades burning, and keep guard
- o'er the consuming pyres, nor turn away
- till cooling night re-shifts the globe of heaven,
- thick-strewn with numberless far-flaming stars.
- Likewise the mournful Latins far away
- have built their myriad pyres. Yet of the slain
- not few in graves are laid, and borne with tears
- to neighboring country-side or native town;
- the rest—promiscuous mass of dead unknown—
- to nameless and unhonored ashes burn;
- with multitude of fires the far-spread fields
- blaze forth unweariedly. But when from heaven
- the third morn had dispelled the dark and cold,
- the mournful bands raked forth the mingled bones
- and plenteous ashes from the smouldering pyres,
- then heaped with earth the one sepulchral mound.
- Now from the hearth-stones of the opulent town
- of old Latinus a vast wail burst forth,
- for there was found the chief and bitterest share
- of all the woe. For mothers in their tears,
- lone brides, and stricken souls of sisters fond,
- and boys left fatherless, fling curses Ioud
- on Turnus' troth-plight and the direful war:
- “Let him, let Turnus, with his single sword
- decide the strife,”—they cry,—“and who shall claim
- Lordship of Italy and power supreme.”
- Fierce Drances whets their fury, urging all
- that Turnus singly must the challenge hear,
- and singly wage the war; but others plead
- in Turnus' favor; the Queen's noble name
- protects him, and his high renown in arms
- defends his cause with well-won trophies fair.