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to the tent-door, where by the breathless clay
of Pallas stood Acoetes, aged man,
once bearer of Evander's arms, but now
under less happy omens set to guard
his darling child. Around him is a throng
of slaves, with all the Trojan multitude,
and Ilian women, who the wonted way
let sorrow's tresses loosely flow. When now
Aeneas to the lofty doors drew near,
all these from smitten bosoms raised to heaven
a mighty moaning, till the King's abode
was loud with anguish. There Aeneas viewed
the pillowed head of Pallas cold and pale,
the smooth young breast that bore the gaping wound
of that Ausonian spear, and weeping said:
“Did Fortune's envy, smiling though she came,
refuse me, hapless boy, that thou shouldst see
my throne established, and victorious ride
beside me to thy father's house? Not this
my parting promise to thy King and sire,
Evander, when with friendly, fond embrace
to win imperial power he bade me go;
yet warned me anxiously I must resist
bold warriors and a stubborn breed of foes.
And haply even now he cheats his heart
with expectation vain, and offers vows,
heaping with gifts the altars of his gods.
But we with unavailing honors bring
this lifeless youth, who owes the gods of heaven
no more of gift and vow. O ill-starred King!
Soon shalt thou see thy son's unpitying doom!
What a home-coming! This is glory's day
so Iong awaited; this the solemn pledge
I proudly gave. But fond Evander's eyes
will find no shameful wounding on the slain,
nor for a son in coward safety kept
wilt thou, the sire, crave death. But woe is me!
How strong a bulwark in Ausonia falls!
What loss is thine, Iulus!”
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