"Hearken Arcadians, bear ye back Evander words well learned: Pallas I send him back again, dealt with as he hath earned, If there be honour in a tomb, or solace in the earth, I grudge it not--Ænean guests shall cost him things of worth." So spake he, and his left foot then he set upon the dead, And tore the girdle thence away full heavy fashionèd, And wrought with picture of a guilt; that youthful company Slain foully on one wedding-night: bloody the bride-beds lie. This Clonus son of Eurytus had wrought in plenteous gold, Now Turnus wears it triumphing, merry such spoil to hold.-- 500 --O heart of man, unlearned in Fate and what the days may hide, Unlearned to be of measure still when swelled with happy tide! The time shall come when Turnus wealth abundantly would pay For Pallas whole, when he shall loathe that spoil, that conquering day. But Pallas' folk with plenteous groans and tears about him throng, And laid upon his battle-shield they bear the dead along. O thou, returning to thy sire, great grief and glory great, Whom one same day gave unto war and swept away to fate, Huge heaps of death Rutulian thou leav'st the meadow still. And now no rumour, but sure word of such a mighty ill 510 Flies to Æneas, how his folk within the deathgrip lie, And how time pressed that he should aid the Teucrians turned to fly. So all things near with sword he reaps, and wide he drives the road Amid the foe with fiery steel, seeking thee, Turnus proud, Through death new wrought; and Pallas now, Evander, all things there Live in his eyes: the boards whereto that day he first drew near, A stranger, and those plighted hands. Four youths of Sulmo wrought, And the like tale that Ufens erst into the world's life brought, He takes alive to slay them--gifts for that great ghost's avail, And with a shower of captive blood to slake the dead men's bale. 520 Then next at Magus from afar the shaft of bane he sent; Deftly he cowered, and on above the quivering weapon went, And clasping both Æneas' knees thus spake the suppliant one: "O by thy father's ghost, by hope Iulus hath begun, I pray thee for my sire and son my life yet let me win: I have a high house, silver wrought is dug adown therein, A talent's weight, and store therewith of wrought and unwrought gold: This will not snatch the victory from out the Teucrian's hold, Nor can the life of one alone such mighty matter make."