But good Æneas, since their prayer might not be put aside, Let all his pardon fall on them, and sayeth furthermore: "O Latin folk, what hapless fate hath tangled you in war So great and ill? From us, your friends, why must ye flee away? For perished men, dead thralls of Mars, a little peace ye pray, 110 But to your living folk indeed fain would I grant the grace. I had not come here, save that Fate here gave me home and place: No battle with your folk I wage; nay, rather 'twas your lord Who left my friendship, trusting him to Turnus' shield and sword. For Turnus to have faced the death were deed of better worth: If he deems hands should end the war and thrust the Teucrians forth, 'Twere lovely deed to meet my hand amid the rain of strife; Then let him live to whom the Gods have given the gift of life. Go ye, and 'neath your hapless ones lay ye the bale-fire's blaze." He made an end; but still they stood and hushed them in amaze, 120 And each on each they turned their eyes, and every tongue refrained, Till elder Drances, whom for foe child Turnus well had gained By hate-filled charges, took the word, and in such wise began: "O great in fame, in dint of war yet greater, Trojan man! What praise of words is left to me to raise thee to the sky? For justice shall I praise thee most, or battle's mastery? Now happy, to our fathers' town this answer back we bear, And if good-hap a way thereto may open anywhere, Thee to Latinus will we knit--let Turnus seek his own!-- Yea, we shall deem it joy forsooth about your fateful town: 130 To raise the walls, and Trojan stones upon our backs to lay." Such words he spake, and with one mouth did all men murmur yea. For twice six days they covenant; and in war-sundering peace The Teucrians and the Latins blent about the woods increase, About the hill-sides wander safe; the smitten ash doth know The ring of steel; the pines that thrust heaven-high they overthrow; Nor cease with wedge to cleave the oak and cedar shedding scent, Or on the wains to lead away the rowan's last lament.