Joy is no more; but I would gladly go,
To greet my Pallas with such news below."
The morn had now dispelled the shades of night,
Restoring toils, when she restored the light.
The Trojan king, and Tuscan chief, command
To raise the piles along the winding strand.
}
{ Their friends convey the dead to funeral fires;
{ Black smouldering smoke from the green wood expires;
{ The light of heaven is choked, and the new day retires.