These bear the dead man's helmet and his spear; All else the victor for his spoils hath ta'en.
A melancholy phalanx close the rear, Teucrians, and Tuscans, and Arcadia's train, With arms reversed, and mourning for the slain.
So passed the pomp, and, while the tear-drops fell, AEneas stopped, and, groaning, cried again, "Hail, mighty Pallas! us the fates compel Yet other tears to shed.

Farewell! a long farewell!" XIII.

He spake, then, turning, to the camp doth fare.
Thither Laurentum's envoys found their way.
Branches of olive in their hands they bear, And beg a truce,--a respite from the fray, Their slaughtered comrades in the ground to lay, And glean the war's sad harvest.

Brave men ne'er Warred with the dead and vanquished.

Once were they His hosts and kinsmen; he would surely spare.
Their plea AEneas owns, and thus accosts them fair: XIV.