Æneas, with saddened face and steadfast eye, moves on, leaving the cave behind, and revolves in his mind the secrets of the future. Achates, ever faithful, walks at his side, and plants his foot with no less consciousness of care. Many were the things exchanged in their ranging talk—who could be the dead comrade that the priestess 5 spoke of, what the corpse that needed burial. And lo! Misenus, soon as they came, there on the dry beach they see him, snatched by death that should have spared him—Misenus, son of Æolus, than whom none was mightier to stir men’s hearts with his clarion, and kindle with music 10 the war-god’s flame. Hector the great had been his chief: in Hector’s service he performed a warrior’s part, famous alike with the trumpet and the spear. But after the conquering arm of Achilles robbed his master of life, valiant hero, he made himself the comrade of the Dardan Æneas, 15 nor found the standard he followed meaner than of old. But in those days, as he was making his hollow shell ring over the waters, infatuate mortal, challenging the gods to compete, Triton, roused to jealousy, seized him, if the story be true, and plunged him in a moment in the billow 20 that laps among the rocks. So they all stood round, uttering loud shrieks; louder than the rest Æneas the good. And then without delay they set about the Sibyl’s bidding, weeping sore, and in mournful rivalry heap up the funeral pyre with trees, and carry it into the sky. 25