XXVIII. But loudest in Laurentum rose the noise Of woe and wailing for their friends who died. Here, mothers, wives, sad sisters, orphaned boys Curse the dire war, and Turnus and his bride. "Let him, let Turnus fight it out," they cried; "Who claims chief honours and Italia's throne, And caused the quarrel, let his sword decide"; And spiteful Drances: "Ay, 'tis he alone Whom Latium's foes demand; the challenge is his own." XXIX. And voices, too, with various reasons, plead For Turnus, sheltered by the queen's great name, And spoils that speak for many a glorious deed. Lo, in the midst, the tumult still aflame, With doleful news from Diomede, back came The envoys. All was useless,--gifts, and prayer, And proffered gold; his answer was the same: Let Latins look for other arms elsewhere, Or beg the Trojan king in clemency to spare. XXX. Grief bowed Latinus, and his heart sank low. The wrath of Heaven, the recent funerals, The graves before them--all AEneas show The god's true choice. A council straight he calls, And Latium's chiefs convenes within his walls. All meet; along the crowded ways the peers Stream at the summons. In his palace-halls Amidst them sits Latinus, first in years, And first in sceptred state, but filled with anxious fears. XXXI. Forthwith the envoys he invites, each man To tell his message, and the terms expound, Then, silence made, thus Venulus began: "Friends, we have seen great Diomede, and found The Argive camp, and, safe from peril, crowned Our journey's end, and pressed the mighty hand That razed old Troy. On Iapygian ground By Garganus the conqueror hath planned Argyripa's new town, named from his native land. XXXII. "There, audience gained and liberty to speak, The gifts we tender, and our names declare And country, who our foemen, what we seek, And why to Arpi and his court we fare. He hears, and gently thus bespeaks us fair: 'O happy nations, once by Saturn blest, Time-old Ausonians, what sad misfare, What evil fortune mars your ancient rest And tempts to wage strange wars, and dare the doubtful test? XXXIII. "'All we, whoever with the steel profaned Troy's fields (I leave the wasting siege alone, The dead, who lie in Simois), all have drained Evils past utterance, o'er the wide world blown, And, suffering, learned our trespass to atone, A hapless band! E'en Priam's self might weep For woes like ours, as Pallas well hath known, Whose baleful star once wrecked us on the deep, And grim Euboea's rocks, Caphareus' vengeful steep.