And let him vanquish, whom his fates befriend. This is the way (so tell him) to possess The royal virgin, and restore the peace. Bear this my message back--with ample leave, That your slain friends may funeral rites receive." Thus having said--the embassadors, amazed, Stood mute a while, and on each other gazed. Drances, their chief, who harboured in his breast Long hate to Turnus, as his foe professed, Broke silence first, and to the godlike man, With graceful action bowing, thus began:-- "Auspicious prince, in arms a mighty name, But yet whose actions far transcend your fame! Would I your justice or your force express, Thought can but equal; and all words are less. Your answer we shall thankfully relate, And favours granted to the Latian state. If wished success our labour shall attend, Think peace concluded, and the king your friend: Let Turnus leave the realm to your command, And seek alliance in some other land: Build you the city which your fates assign; We shall be proud in the great work to join." Thus Drances; and his words so well persuade The rest empowered, that soon a truce is made. Twelve days the term allowed: and, during those, Latians and Trojans, now no longer foes, Mixed in the woods, for funeral piles prepare To fell the timber, and forget the war. Loud axes through the groaning groves resound; Oak, mountain-ash, and poplar, spread the ground; Firs fall from high; and some the trunks receive In loaden wains; with wedges some they cleave. And now the fatal news by Fame is blown Through the short circuit of the Arcadian town, Of Pallas slain--, by Fame, which just before His triumphs on distended pinions bore. Rushing from out the gate, the people stand, Each with a funeral flambeau in his hand. Wildly they stare, distracted with amaze: The fields are lightened with a fiery blaze, That casts a sullen splendour on their friends-- The marching troop which their dead prince attends. Both parties meet: they raise a doleful cry; } The matrons from the walls with shrieks reply, } And their mixed mourning rends the vaulted sky. } The town is filled with tumult and with tears, Till the loud clamours reach Evander's ears: Forgetful of his state, he runs along, With a disordered pace, and cleaves the throng; Falls on the corpse; and groaning there he lies, With silent grief, that speaks but at his eyes. Short sighs and sobs succeed; till sorrow breaks A passage, and at once he weeps and speaks:-- "O Pallas! thou hast failed thy plighted word! To fight with caution, not to tempt the sword, I warned thee, but in vain; for well I knew What perils youthful ardour would pursue-- That boiling blood would carry thee too far, Young as thou wert in dangers, raw to war!