No More Learning

. . ' Thus much he utters, and moves up to meet him with levelled
spear. And he: 'Why seek to frighten me, fierce man, now my son is gone?
this was thy one road to my ruin. We shrink not from death, nor relent
before any of thy gods. Cease; for I come to my death, first carrying
these gifts for thee. ' He spoke, and hurled a weapon at his enemy; then
plants another and yet another as he darts round in a wide circle; but
they are stayed on the boss of gold. Thrice he rode wheeling close round
him by the [886-908]left, and sent his weapons strongly in; thrice the
Trojan hero turns round, taking the grim forest on his brazen guard.
Then, weary of lingering in delay on delay, and plucking out spear-head
after spear-head, and hard pressed in the uneven match of battle, with
much counselling of spirit now at last he bursts forth, and sends his
spear at the war-horse between the hollows of the temples. The creature
raises itself erect, beating the air with its feet, throws its rider,
and coming down after him in an entangled mass, slips its shoulder as it
tumbles forward. The cries of Trojans and Latins kindle the sky. Aeneas
rushes up, drawing his sword from the scabbard, and thus above him:
'Where now is gallant Mezentius and all his fierce spirit? ' Thereto the
Tyrrhenian, as he came to himself and gazing up drank the air of heaven:
'Bitter foe, why these taunts and menaces of death? Naught forbids my
slaughter; neither on such terms came I to battle, nor did my Lausus
make treaty for this between me and thee.
This one thing I beseech thee,
by whatsoever grace a vanquished enemy may claim: allow my body
sepulture. I know I am girt by the bitter hatred of my people. Stay, I
implore, their fury, and grant me and my son union in the tomb. ' So
speaks he, and takes the sword in his throat unfalteringly, and the
lifeblood spreads in a wave over his armour.




BOOK ELEVENTH

THE COUNCIL OF THE LATINS, AND THE LIFE AND DEATH OF CAMILLA


Meanwhile Dawn arose forth of Ocean. Aeneas, though the charge presses
to give a space for burial of his comrades, and his mind is in the
tumult of death, began to pay the gods his vows of victory with the
breaking of the East. He plants on a mound a mighty oak with boughs
lopped away on every hand, and arrays it in the gleaming arms stripped
from Mezentius the captain, a trophy to thee, mighty Lord of War; he
fixes on it the plumes dripping with blood, the broken spears, and the
corslet struck and pierced in twelve places; he ties the shield of brass
on his left hand, and hangs from his neck the ivory sword. Then among
his joyous comrades (for all the throng of his captains girt him close
about) he begins in these words of cheer:

'The greatest deed is done, O men; be all fear gone for what remains.
These are the spoils of a haughty king, the first-fruits won from him;
my hands have set Mezentius here. Now our way lies to the walls of the
Latin king. Prepare your arms in courage, and let your hopes anticipate
the war; let no ignorant delay hinder or tardy thoughts of fear keep us
back, so soon as heaven grant us to pluck up the standards and lead our
army from the camp. [22-58]Meanwhile let us commit to earth the
unburied bodies of our comrades, since deep in Acheron this honour is
left alone. Go,' says he, 'grace with the last gifts those noble souls
whose blood won us this land for ours; and first let Pallas be sent to
Evander's mourning city, he whose valour failed not when the day of
darkness took him, and the bitter wave of death. '

So speaks he weeping, and retraces his steps to the door, where aged
Acoetes watched Pallas' lifeless body laid out for burial; once
armour-bearer to Evander in Parrhasia, but now gone forth with darker
omens, appointed attendant to his darling foster-child. Around is the
whole train of servants, with a crowd of Trojans, and the Ilian women
with hair unbound in mourning after their fashion. When Aeneas entered
at the high doorway they beat their breasts and raise a loud wail aloft,
and the palace moans to their grievous lamentation.