an hour less happy was serving as the appointed guardian 5
of the pupil he loved. Around the corpse were thronging
the retinue of menials and the Trojan train, and dames
of Ilion with their hair unbound in mourning fashion.
But soon as Æneas entered the lofty portal, a mighty
wail they raise to the stars, smiting on their breasts, and 10
the royal dwelling groans to its centre with their agony
of woe. He, when he saw the pillowed head and countenance
of Pallas in his beauty, and the deep cleft of the
Ausonian spear in his marble bosom, thus speaks, breaking