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their countenance to the father's tears, a scant solace for
that mighty sorrow, yet not the less the wretched parent's
due. Others, nothing slack, plait the framework of a
pliant bier with shoots of arbute and oaken twigs, and
shroud the heaped-up bed with a covering of leaves. 5
Here place they the youth raised high on his rustic litter,
even as a flower cropped by maiden's finger, be it of delicate
violet or drooping hyacinth, unforsaken as yet of its
sparkling hue and its graceful outline, though its parent
earth no longer feeds it or supplies it with strength. Then 10
brought forth Æneas two garments stiff with gold and purple,
which Dido had wrought for him in other days with
her own hands, delighting in the toil, and had streaked
their webs with threads of gold. Of these the mourner
spreads one over his youthful friend as a last honour, 15
and muffles the locks on which the flame must feed: moreover
he piles in a heap many a spoil from Laurentum's
fray, and bids the plunder be carried in long procession.
The steeds too and weapons he adds of which he had
stripped the foe. Already had he bound the victims' 20
hands behind their backs, doomed as a sacrifice to the
dead man's spirit, soon to spill their blood over the fire:
and now he bids the leaders in person carry tree-trunks
clad with hostile arms, and has the name of an enemy
attached to each. There is Acœtes led along, a lorn old 25
man, marring now his breast with blows, now his face with
laceration, and anon he throws himself at his full length
on the ground. They lead too the car, all spattered
with Rutulian blood. After it the warrior steed, Æthon,
his trappings laid aside, moves weeping, and bathes his 30
visage with big round drops. Others carry the spear and
the helm: for the rest of the harness is Turnus' prize.
Then follows a mourning army, the Teucrians, and all the
Tuscans, and the sons of Arcady with weapons turned
downward. And now after all the retinue had passed on 35
in long array, Æneas stayed, and groaning deeply uttered
one word more: "We are summoned hence by the same
fearful destiny of war to shed other tears: I bid you hail