And after these, and last, twelve gallant sons
Of the brave Trojans, butchered by the sword;
For he was bent on evil. To the pile
He put the iron violence of fire,
And, wailing, called by name the friend he loved.
* * * * *
...They quenched with dark red wine
The pyre, where’er the flames had spread, and where
Lay the deep ashes: then, with many tears,
Gathered the white bones of their gentle friend,