the rest, a mighty mass of promiscuous carnage, they burn 15
uncounted and unhonoured; and thereon the plains
through their length and breadth gleam with the thickening
rivalry of funeral fires. The third morrow had withdrawn
the chill shadows from the sky: the mourners were
levelling the piles of ashes and sweeping the mingled bones 20
from the hearths, and heaping over them mounds of earth
where the heat yet lingers. But within the walls, in the
city of Latium’s wealthy king, the wailing is preëminent,
and largest the portion of that long agony. Here are