But when Anchises' son beheld the face of that dead man, His face that in a wondrous wise grew faded out and wan, Groaning for ruth his hand therewith down toward him did he move, For o'er his soul the image came of his own father's love: "O boy, whom all shall weep, what then for such a glorious deed, What gift can good Æneas give, thy bounteous valour's meed? Keep thou the arms thou joyedst in. I give thy body here Unto thy father's buried ghosts, if thou thereof hast care. But let this somewhat solace thee for thine unhappy death, By great Æneas' hand thou diest." Then chiding words he saith 830 Unto his fellows hanging back, and lifteth up the dead From off the lea, where blood defiled the tresses of his head. Meanwhile the father by the wave that ripples Tiber's breast With water staunched his bleeding hurt and gave his body rest, Leaning against a tree-trunk there: high up amid the tree Hangeth his brazen helm; his arms lie heavy on the lea; The chosen war-youths stand about: he, sick and panting now, Nurseth his neck, and o'er his breast his combed-down beard lets flow. Much about Lausus did he ask, and sore to men he spake To bid him back, or warning word from his sad sire to take. 840 But Lausus dead his weeping folk were bearing on his shield; A mighty heart, to mighty hand the victory must he yield The father's soul foretaught of ill, afar their wail he knew, And fouled his hoar hair with the dust, and both his hands upthrew Toward heaven aloft; then clinging fast unto that lifeless one: "What lust," saith he, "of longer life so held my heart, O son, That thee, my son, I suffered thus to bare thee to the bane Instead of me; that I, thy sire, health of thy hurts I gain, Life of thy death! Ah now at last my exile is become A woe unto my weary heart; yea, now the wound goes home. 850 For I am he who stained thy name, O son, with guilt of mine, Thrust forth by Fate from fatherland and sceptre of my line: I should have paid the penalty unto my country's hate, And given up my guilty soul to death, my very fate. I live: I leave not sons of men, nor let the light go by-- --Yet will I leave them." So he spake, and on his halting thigh Rose up, and, howsoe'er his hurt might drag his body down, Unvanquished yet, he called his horse, his very pleasures crown, And glory; who had borne him forth victorious from all war; And thus he spake unto the beast that seemed to sorrow sore: 860