LXII. So strove AEneas, weeping, to appease Her wrathful spirit. She, with down-fixt eyes Turns from him, scowling, heedless of his pleas, And hard as flint or marble, nor replies. Then, starting, to the shadowy grove she flies, Where dead Sychaeus, her old lord, renews His love with hers, and sorrows with her sighs. Touched by her fate, the Dardan hero views, And far with tearful gaze the melting shade pursues. LXIII. Thus onward to the furthest fields they strayed, The haunts of heroes here doth Tydeus fare, Parthenopaeus, pale Adrastus' shade. And many a Dardan, wailed in upper air, And fallen in war. Sighing, he sees them there, Glaucus, Thersilochus and Medon slain, Antenor's sons, three brethren past compare, And Polyphoetes, priest of Ceres' fane, And brave Idaeus, still grasping the sword and rein. LXIV. All throng around, nor rest content to claim One look, but linger with delight, and fain Would pace beside, and question why he came. But when the Greeks and Agamemnon's train Beheld the hero, and his arms shone plain, Huge terror shook them, and some turned to fly, As erst they scattered to their ships; some strain Their husky voice, and raise a feeble cry. The warshout mocks their throats, the gibbering accents die. LXV. There, too, he sees great Priam's son, the famed Deiphobus, in evil plight forlorn; A mangled shape, his visage marred and maimed. His ravaged face the ruthless steel had torn,-- Face, nose and ears--and both his hands were shorn. Him, cowering back, and striving to disown The shameful tokens of his foemen's scorn, Scarcely AEneas knew, then, soon as known, Thus, unaccosted, hailed in old, familiar tone: LXVI. "O brave Deiphobus, great Teucer's seed! Whose heart had will, whose cruel hand had might To wreak such punishment? Fame told, indeed, That, tired with slaughter, thou had'st sunk that night On heaps of mingled carnage in the fight. Then on the shore I reared an empty mound, And called (thy name and armour mark the site) Thy shade. Thyself, dear comrade, ne'er was found. Vain was my parting wish to lay thee in the ground." LXVII. "Not thine the fault"; Deiphobus replied, "Thy debt is rendered; thou hast dealt aright. Fate, and the baseness of a Spartan bride Wrought this; behold the tokens of her spite. Thou know'st--too well must thou recall--that night Passed in vain pleasure and delusive joy, What time the fierce Steed, with a bound of might, Big with armed warriors, eager to destroy, Leaped o'er the wall, and scaled the citadel of Troy.