59When he had finished weeping these words, he orders the pitiable body to be lifted, and sends a thousand men chosen from the whole army to accompany the last honour and share the father's tears, small comfort for a vast grief, but owed to the wretched father. 64Others, not slow, weave hurdles and a soft bier from arbutus shoots and oak wicker, and shade the heaped-up couch with a canopy of leaves. 67Here they lay the young man high on his rustic bed, like a flower cut by a maiden's thumb, a soft violet or a drooping hyacinth, whose sheen and beauty have not yet departed: no longer does mother earth nourish it and supply its strength.
72Then Aeneas brought out twin garments, stiff with gold and purple, which Sidonian Dido, glad in the labour, had once made for him with her own hands, and had picked out the weave with fine gold. 76One of these, in sorrow, he puts on the young man as a last honour, and veils in the cloth the hair that is to burn, and besides heaps up many prizes from the Laurentine battle and orders the booty to be led in a long line. 80He adds the horses and weapons of which he had stripped the enemy. 81He had bound behind their backs the hands of those he would send to the shades as offerings for the dead, to sprinkle the flames with the blood of their slaughter, and he orders the leaders themselves to carry tree-trunks dressed in enemy arms, and the hated names to be fixed on them.
85Unhappy Acoetes is led along, worn out with age: now disfiguring his breast with his fists, now his face with his nails, he throws himself down and lies stretched full length on the earth . . . 88They lead too the chariots drenched with Rutulian blood. 89Behind comes the warhorse Aethon, his trappings laid aside, weeping, and he wets his face with great drops. 91Others carry his spear and helmet, for the rest Turnus holds as victor. 92Then follow the mourning phalanx, the Teucrians and all the Tyrrhenians, and the Arcadians with arms reversed. 94When the whole column of companions had gone far ahead, Aeneas halted and with a deep groan added this: 'The same grim fates of war call us hence to other tears: hail for ever, greatest Pallas, and for ever farewell.' 98Saying no more, he made for the high walls and took his way into the camp.