Behold, how glorious in his regal spoil
Marcellus comes, a victor more than human!
He, mighty warrior, shall the Roman weal
Establish, when by perils fierce assailed;
Proud Carthage shall he crush, and rebel Gaul,
And be the third his votice arms to give
An offering to the founder, Romulus.
- Abrupt here spake Æneas; for he saw
Close by the hero's side a stripling fair,
Beauteous in form, and bright with burnished arms,
But joyless look'd his eyes, and sorrowing brow.
- Who, father, then is he, that follows thus
Yon passing warrior-shade? perchance a son,-
Or one of his illustrious progeny?
How loudly those surrounding comrades hail
The peerless in himself! - yet dismal night
About his forehead flits in darkening shades.
- To whom Anchises, choked with bursting tears:
O son, seek not to learn the sorrows huge
Of thine own people. Him - the fates to earth
Shall only show, nor grant to sojourn there.
Truly, ye gods, the Roman family
To you had seem'd too gloriously blest
Were such a boon their own. O what a wail
Of mourners to the mighty city of Mars
That burial-place shall waft! what sorrowing rites
Funereal, shall the conscious Tiber see
Soft-gliding by the new-made tomb of youth!
Never shall child of Iliac ancestry
Raise Latin hope so high; nor Roman soil
Shall ever boast in such another son.
Alas for piety, and ancient faith,
And prowess in the battle-field unmatch'd!
For not a foe shall scatheless bear the brunt
Of his arm'd onset, whether he fight a-foot
Or dig with reeking spur his charger's flank.
Alas, poor blighted youth of many tears!
If e'er thou burst the gyves of thy hard fate,
Thou, thou shalt be Marcellus. Scatter lilies
With liberal hand for him, - and I the while
Will sprinkle blushing flowers, and the spirit
Of my fair scion will at least endow
With such poor gifts as these, paying to him
An unavailing homage.--