260
ot such thy promise to thy sire,
Warely to trust the War-God in the fray.
I knew what ardour would thy soul inspire,
The charms of new-won fame, and battle's fierce desire.
XX. "O bitter first-fruits of a youth so fair!
O war's stern prelude! promise dashed to scorn!
Unheeded vows, and unavailing prayer!
O happy spouse! not left, like me, to mourn
A son thus slaughtered, and a life outworn.
I have o'erlived my destiny; life fled
When Pallas left me childless and forlorn.
O, had I fall'n with Trojans in his stead,
And me this pomp brought home, and not my Pallas, dead!
XXI. "Yet, Trojans, you I blame not, nor the hands
We joined in friendship, nor the league we swore.
Old age--too old--this cruel lot demands.
Ah, sweet to think, though falling in his flower,
He fell, where thousand Volscians fell before,
Leading Troy's sons to Latium. Thou shalt have
A Trojan's funeral--can I wish thee more?--
What rites AEneas offers to the brave,
And all Etruria's hosts shall bear thee to the grave.
XXII. "Proud trophies those who perish by thy hand
Bear thee, and slaughtered foemen speak thy fame.
Thou, Turnus, too, an effigy should'st stand,
Hung round with arms, and Pallas' praise proclaim,
Had but thine age and Pallas' been the same,
Like thine the vigour of his years. But O!
Why, Teucrians, do I keep you? wherefore claim
An old man's privilege of empty woe?
This message bear your king, and con it as ye go.
XXIII. "If yet I linger on, with Pallas slain,
Loathing the light, and longing to expire,
'Tis thy right hand that tempts me to remain,
That hand from which--thou see'st it--son and sire
The penalty of Turnus' blood require.
This niche of fame,--'tis all the Fates bestow--
Awaits thee still. For me, all life's desire--
'Twere vain--hath fled; but gladly would I go,
And bear the welcome news to Pallas' shade below."
XXIV. Meanwhile to wear