And weapons from the foeman ta'en

And fiery chargers swell the train.
There walk with hands fast bound behind
The victim prisoners, designed
⁠For slaughter o'er the flames;
And mighty warriors march erect
'Neath trunks with arms of foemen decked
⁠And marked with hostile names.
Then sad Acœtes, worn with years,
⁠Moves on, by others led;
His breast he beats, his cheeks he tears,
⁠And rolls on earth outspread.
There too is seen the dead man's car,
Blood-sprinkled from Rutulian war.
Then Æthon comes, his trappings doffed,
⁠The warrior's gallant horse:
Big drops of pity oft and oft
⁠Adown his visage course.
In sad procession others bring
The lance and helm: the Rutule king
⁠Is lord of all but those:
And Teucrian, Tuscan, Arcad bands,
Their spears inverted in their hands,
⁠The mournful pageant close.
Now, as the train at length goes by,
Æneas speaks with deep-drawn sigh:
'Fate calls us other tears to shed,
⁠And we must needs obey:
Hail, mighty firstling of the dead;
⁠Hail and farewell for aye!'
Then turns him back, the greeting said,
⁠And campward takes his way.

⁠Now from Laurentum's town appear
⁠Ambassadors sedate and grave;