your fortune to fill. I ask not for triumph to gild my life: that thought were crime: I ask but for tidings that I may bear to my son down in the spectral world.” Meantime the Goddess of Dawn had lifted on high her 25 kindly light for suffering mortality, recalling them to task and toil. Already father Æneas, already Tarchon, have set up their funeral piles along the winding shore. Hither each man brings the body of friend or kinsman as the rites of his sires command; and as the murky flames are applied 30 below, darkness veils the heights of heaven in gloom. Thrice they ran their courses round the lighted pyres, sheathed in shining armour; thrice they circled on their steeds the mournful funeral flame, and uttered the voice of wailing. Sprinkled is the earth with their tears, 35 sprinkled is the harness. Upsoars to heaven at once the shout of warriors and the blare of trumpets. Others fling upon the fire plunder torn from the Latian slain, helms and shapely swords and bridle-reins and glowing wheels; some bring in offering the things the dead men wore, their own shields and the weapons that sped so ill. Many carcases of oxen are sacrificed round the piles: bristly swine and cattle harried from the country round are 5 made to bleed into the flame. Then along the whole line of coast they gaze on their burning friends, and keep sentry over the half-quenched fire-bed, nor let themselves be torn away till dewy night rolls round the sky with its garniture of blazing stars. 10