But when Anchises' son beheld the face of that dead man,
His face that in a wondrous wise grew faded out and wan,
Groaning for ruth his hand therewith down toward him did he move,
For o'er his soul the image came of his own father's love:
"O boy, whom all shall weep, what then for such a glorious deed,
What gift can good Æneas give, thy bounteous valour's meed?
Keep thou the arms thou joyedst in. I give thy body here
Unto thy father's buried ghosts, if thou thereof hast care.
But let this somewhat solace thee for thine unhappy death,
By great Æneas' hand thou diest."
Then chiding words he saith830
Unto his fellows hanging back, and lifteth up the dead
From off the lea, where blood defiled the tresses of his head.
Meanwhile the father by the wave that ripples Tiber's breast
With water staunched his bleeding hurt and gave his body rest,
Leaning against a tree-trunk there: high up amid the tree
Hangeth his brazen helm; his arms lie heavy on the lea;
The chosen war-youths stand about: he, sick and panting now,
Nurseth his neck, and o'er his breast his combed-down beard lets flow.
Much about Lausus did he ask, and sore to men he spake
To bid him back, or warning word from his sad sire to take.840
But Lausus dead his weeping folk were bearing on his shield;
A mighty heart, to mighty hand the victory must he yield
The father's soul foretaught of ill, afar their wail he knew,
And fouled his hoar hair with the dust, and both his hands upthrew
Toward heaven aloft; then clinging fast unto that lifeless one:
"What lust," saith he, "of longer life so held my heart, O son,
That thee, my son, I suffered thus to bare thee to the bane
Instead of me; that I, thy sire, health of thy hurts I gain,
Life of thy death! Ah now at last my exile is become
A woe unto my weary heart; yea, now the wound goes home.850
For I am he who stained thy name, O son, with guilt of mine,
Thrust forth by Fate from fatherland and sceptre of my line:
I should have paid the penalty unto my country's hate,
And given up my guilty soul to death, my very fate.
I live: I leave not sons of men, nor let the light go by—
—Yet will I leave them."
So he spake, and on his halting thigh
Rose up, and, howsoe'er his hurt might drag his body down,
Unvanquished yet, he called his horse, his very pleasures crown,
And glory; who had borne him forth victorious from all war;
And thus he spake unto the beast that seemed to sorrow sore:860
"Rhœbus, o'erlong—if aught be long to men that pass away—
Have we twain lived: those bloody spoils shalt thou bring home today,
And carrying Æneas' head avenge my Lausus' woe.
Or if our might no more may make a road whereby to go,
Thou too shalt fall: I deem indeed thou, stout-heart, hast no will
To suffer other men's commands, or Trojan joy fulfil."
And therewithal he backeth him, and as he used of old
Settleth his limbs: good store of shafts his either hand doth hold:
His head is glittering o'er with brass, and horse-hair shags his crest.
So midmost of the fight he bears, and ever in his breast870
Swelleth the mighty sea of shame and mingled miseries.
And now across the fight his voice thrice on Æneas cries.
Æneas knew it well forsooth, and joyfully he prayed:
"So grant the Father of the Gods! So may Apollo aid
That thou may'st fall on me in fight!"
So much he spake, and went his way to meet the foeman's shaft;
But spake the other: "Bitter wretch, who took'st away my son,
Why fright me now? by that one way my heart might be undone:
No death I dread, no God that is, in battle would I spare.
Enough—I come to thee to die; but first these gifts I bear."880
He spake the word, and 'gainst the foe a dart withal he cast,
And shaft on shaft he lays on him about him flitting fast,
Wide circling; but the golden boss through all the storm bore out
Thrice while Æneas faceth him he rides the ring about,
Casting the weapons from his hand; and thrice the Trojan lord
Bears round a mighty thicket set in brazen battle-board.
But when such tarrying wearieth him, such plucking forth of spears,
And standing in such ill-matched fight the heart within him wears,
Turning the thing o'er manywise, he breaketh forth to speed
A shaft amid the hollow brow of that war-famous steed:890
Then beating of the air with hoof uprears the four-foot thing
And with his fallen master falls, and 'neath his cumbering
Weighs down his shoulders brought to earth, and heavy on him lies.
Then Trojan men and Latin men with shouting burn the skies,
And swift Æneas runneth up and pulleth forth his sword,
And crieth o'er him:
"Where is now Mezentius, eager lord?
Where is the fierce heart?"
Unto whom the Tuscan spake, when he
Got sense again, and breathed the air, and o'er him heaven did see:
"O bitter foe, why chidest thou? why slayest thou with words?899
Slay me and do no wrong! death-safe I came not mid the swords;
And no such covenant of war for us my Lausus bought:
One thing I pray, if vanquished men of grace may gain them aught,
Let the earth hide me! well I know how bitter and how nigh
My people's wrath draws in on me: put thou their fury by,
And in the tomb beside my son I pray thee let me lie."
He saith, and open-eyed receives the sword-point in his throat,
And o'er his arms in waves of blood his life and soul doth float.