Meanwhile o'er sorrowing mortals the bright mornhad lifted her mild beam, renewing sothe burden of man's toil. Aeneas nowbuilt funeral pyres along the winding shore,King Tarchon at his side. Each thither broughtthe bodies of his kin, observing wellall ancient ritual. The fuming firesburned from beneath, till highest heaven was hidin blackest, overmantling cloud. Three timesthe warriors, sheathed in proud, resplendent steel,paced round the kindling pyres; and three timesfair companies of horsemen circled slow,with loud lamenting, round the doleful flame.The wail of warriors and the trumpets' blarethe very welkin rend. Cast on the flamesare spoils of slaughtered Latins,—helms and blades,bridles and chariot-wheels. Yet others bringgifts to the dead familiar, their own shieldsand unavailing spears. Around them slaingreat 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 multitudebehold their comrades burning, and keep guardo'er the consuming pyres, nor turn awaytill cooling night re-shifts the globe of heaven,thick-strewn with numberless far-flaming stars.

Likewise the mournful Latins far awayhave built their myriad pyres. Yet of the slainnot few in graves are laid, and borne with tearsto 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 fieldsblaze forth unweariedly. But when from heaventhe third morn had dispelled the dark and cold,the mournful bands raked forth the mingled bonesand plenteous ashes from the smouldering pyres,then heaped with earth the one sepulchral mound.Now from the hearth-stones of the opulent townof old Latinus a vast wail burst forth,for there was found the chief and bitterest shareof all the woe. For mothers in their tears,lone brides, and stricken souls of sisters fond,and boys left fatherless, fling curses Ioudon Turnus' troth-plight and the direful war:“Let him, let Turnus, with his single sworddecide the strife,”—they cry,—“and who shall claimLordship of Italy and power supreme.”Fierce Drances whets their fury, urging allthat Turnus singly must the challenge hear,and singly wage the war; but others pleadin Turnus' favor; the Queen's noble nameprotects him, and his high renown in armsdefends his cause with well-won trophies fair.

Amid these tumults of the wrathful throng,lo, the ambassadors to Diomedarrive with cloudy forehead from their questin his illustrious town; for naught availedtheir toilsome errand, nor the gifts and gold,nor strong entreaty. Other help in warthe Latins now must find, or humbly suepeace from the Trojan. At such tidings direeven Latinus trembles: Heaven's decreesand influence of gods too visiblesustain Aeneas; so the wrath divineand new-filled sepulchres conspicuousgive warning clear. Therefore the King convenesa general council of his captains bravebeneath the royal towers. They, gathering,throng the approaches thither, where their Iord,gray-haired Latinus, takes the central throne,wearing authority with mournful brow.He bids the envoys from Aetolia's Kingsent back, to speak and tell the royal wordsin order due. Forthwith on every tonguefell silence, while the princely Venulus,heeding his Iord's behest, began the parle:

“My countrymen,” he said, “our eyes have seenstrongholds of Greeks and Diomed the King.We braved all perils to our journey's endand clasped that hand whereof the dreadful strokewrought Ilium's fall. The hero built a town,Argyripa, hereditary name,near mount Garganus in Apulian land:passing that city's portal and the King's,we found free audience, held forth thy gifts,and told our names and fatherland. We showedwhat condict was enkindled, and what causebrought us to Arpi's King. He, hearing all,with brow benign made answer to our plea:‘O happy tribes in Saturn's kingdom born,Ausonia's ancient stem! What fortune blindtempts ye from peace away, and now ensnaresin wars unknown? Look how we men that daredlay Ilium waste (I speak not of what woesin battling neath her lofty walls we bore,nor of dead warriors sunk in Simois' wave)have paid the penalty in many a landwith chastisement accurst and changeful woe,till Priam's self might pity. Let the starof Pallas tell its tale of fatal storm,off grim Caphereus and Eubcea's crags.Driven asunder from one field of war,Atrides unto farthest Egypt strayed,and wise Ulysses saw from Aetna's cavesthe Cyclops gathering. Why name the throneof Pyrrhus, or the violated hearthwhence fled Idomeneus? Or Locri caston Libya's distant shore? For even he,Lord of Mycenae by the Greeks obeyed,fell murdered on his threshold by the handof that polluted wife, whose paramourtrapped Asia's conqueror. The envious godswithheld me also from returning hometo see once more the hearth-stone of my sires,the wife I yearn for, and my Calydon,the beauteous land. For wonders horriblepursue me still. My vanished followersthrough upper air take wing, or haunt and rovein forms of birds the island waters o'er:ah me, what misery my people feel!The tall rocks ring with their lament and cry.Naught else had I to hope for from that daywhen my infatuate sword on gods I drew,and outraged with abominable woundthe hand of Venus. Urge me not, I pray,to conflicts in this wise. No more for meof war with Trojans after Ilium's fall!I take no joy in evils past, nor wishsuch memory to renew. Go, lay these gifts,brought to my honor from your ancient land,at great Aeneas' feet. We twain have stoodconfronting close with swords implacablein mortal fray. Believe me, I have knownthe stature of him when he lifts his shield,and swings the whirlwind of his spear. If Troy two more such sons had bred, the Dardan hordehad stormed at Argos' gates, and Greece to-daywere for her fallen fortunes grieving sore.Our lingering at Ilium's stubborn wall,our sluggard conquest halting ten years Iong,was his and Hector's work. Heroic pair!Each one for valor notable, and eachfamous in enterprise of arms,—but hewas first in piety. Enclasp with hisyour hands in plighted peace as best ye may:but shock of steel on steel ye well may shun.’now hast thou heard, good King, a king's reply,and how his wisdom sits in this vast war.”

Soon as the envoys ceased, an answering soundof troubled voices through the council flowedof various note, as when its rocky bedimpedes an arrowy stream, and murmurs breakfrom the strait-channelled flood; the fringing shoresrepeat the tumult of the clamorous wave.But when their hearts and troublous tongues were still,the King, invoking first the gods in heaven,thus from a Iofty throne his sentence gave: