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Now look to march where glory calls,
To king Latinus and the walls;
Let courage dream of deeds of might,
And dazzling hope forestall the fight;
So, when at last in prosperous hour
Heaven bids us marshal forth our power,
No ignorance shall breed delay,
No coward fears our onset stay.
Now turn we to our comrades slain,
The mighty dead that load the plain,
And pay to each the rites we owe,
The sole sad joy that spectres know.
Haste we,' he cries, 'consign to earth,
The flesh that clothed those souls of worth,
Who gave their precious lives to win
This land of ours for us, their kin:
First send we to Evander's town
Brave Pallas, heir of high renown,
Whose hopeful day has set too soon,
O'ercast by darkness ere its noon.'

So spake he, dropping tears like dew;
Then sought the tent again,
Where old Acœtes, liegeman true,
Was watching o'er the slain,
Acœtes, who in times of yore
Evander's arms in battle bore,
Since called by fate less kind to tend
The royal heir, his guide and friend.
The gathered menials round him stand,
And dames of Troy, a mourning band,
Their flowing locks unbound.
Soon as Æneas meets their sight,
They shriek to heaven, their breasts they smite:
The walls return the sound.